#[put a title in front of your name of enough significance and you’ll win her it’s so easy.

[godblooded]

kitty valentine won’t bow to anyone unless you’re royalty. then all you have to do is ask.

[ppersonna]

my only wish - knj | m

“ santa can you hear me? i have been so good this year. and all i want is one thing. please tell me my true love is here ” - my only wish (this year), britney spears

✹ summary- There are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

✹ word count- 15.1k OOF

✹ genre- smut, fluff, tiny tiny angst if you squint, enemies to lovers, fake dating au, idiots to lovers, brief mention of YoonMin

✹ warnings- penetrative sex, unprotected sex (dont do it), daddy kink lolol, namjoon has a big dick, oral sex (m/f receiving), cum swallowing, light cum play, dirty talk, light degradation (very light tbh), praise kink, lots of mentions of joon being a beefy boy, masturbation,

✹ a/n- its here!! finally! my contribution to rockin around the christmas tropes. big big big shout out to @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @untaemedqueen​ @underthejoon​ @yeojaa​ @snackhobi​ for being my co collaborators. and a warm shout out to @wwilloww​ and @hobi-gif​ for being some very lovely betas. thank you thank you! i hope you enjoy!

There are few things you hate most in this world. 

 Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange…

 But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things: 

 Christmas. 

 And Kim Namjoon. 

Christmas, in your opinion, is nothing more than a consumerist holiday, anchored on ensuring you’re guilted enough from November 1st to the 25th of December to spend your hard earned money on shit your friends and loved ones won’t even use. It’s a time for people to pretend they love giving and caring, while shoving you out of lines in stores, buying up all the groceries as if it’s the end times, and forcing party after mindless party for “celebration” that ends in seeing your boss drunk and pants-less by the punchbowl. 

 And don’t even start on Kim Namjoon. 

 On paper, he’s your colleague, to put the terms friendly. In reality, he’s your opponent, your adversary. He’s annoying, rude, stuck up, and not to mention a douchebag heartbreaker. He’s everything you hate wrapped in one disgustingly handsome face. 

 The man never misses a chance to steal a case from underneath your nose, rub the praise he receives from your bosses in your face, and look ridiculously delectable in his tight suits that he insists he wears around the office. He absolutely infuriates you. 

 And now, as you sit in the company-wide meeting, your heart sinks as you realize the worst thing about Namjoon—he’s about to get the promotion you’ve been vying for your entire career.

 That position was as good as yours—at least, you had thought.

 That was until lead counsel, Seokjin, stands in front of all the attorneys present and calls out Namjoon’s name, commending him on winning his latest case—the case that you had done the bulk of the work for. Seokjin even tells the rest of the lawyers in the room that Namjoon is “someone to watch” with a glint of pride in his eyes. 

 The smug smile Namjoon sends in your direction as he teasingly nibbles on a pen with his sultry mouth is enough to make you want to tear his eyes out and use them as olives in the martini you sorely needed.

 Namjoon smirks as he walks past you once the meeting ends.

 “Make sure you watch me, baby,” he whispers into your ear. 

 His hand rests on your lower back and you hate how much he aggravates you, and hate even more so that he frustrates you sexually as much as he does intellectually.

 Unfortunately, your body can’t keep up with your mind’s distaste for the elder lawyer. His presence around you makes your blood vessels tighten and your head feel light—nipples prickling against your bra when he winks at you.

 “Asshole,” you whisper under your breath as you pack up your notebook.

 “Oh, ___!” Seokjin calls out just as you’re about to leave the all-glass meeting room.

 Your head suddenly screeches to a very frustrated, sexual halt when you turn to face the lead counsel of your company.

 “Yes, Mr. Kim?”

 “I’ve got a case for you.”

 The smile on his face makes you relax. Maybe he sees your potential. Maybe he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing Namjoon. Maybe you’ll be the “one to watch” and you can rub that right in Namjoon’s perfect, stunning face.

 A thick manila folder slides across the oak table towards you from Seokjin’s hands. The impressive volume of the dossier makes you giddy with anticipation.

 “I know you won’t let me down.”

 You nod, nibbling at your lips, before bowing to your superior and dashing out of the room as fast as your Louboutins can handle.

 It’s not until you sit at your desk, a cramped little cubicle next to Park Jimin, your best friend and paralegal assistant, that you open the folder.

 Your heart sinks as your eyes hurriedly rush over the title page.

 Personal Injury Suit.

 A dejected sigh leaves you as you throw the folder onto your desk and slouch back in your ergonomic office chair.

 “What’s up, pussycat?” Jimin smiles as he rolls his chair over to your side of the cubicle. “Namjoon got you worked up again?”

 You groan as you take off your reading glasses, setting them aside to rub at the burgeoning headache building at your temples. You had momentarily forgotten all about Namjoon in the hurried hope that you’d land a case of significance, something you could finally use to prove yourself.

 Instead, you gained yet another in-and-out, settle outside of court case. Likely some elderly geriatric suing a corporation for too-slippery floors.

 “Another fucking personal injury suit,” you whine as you thrust the folder into the lithe paralegal’s hands.

 He looks over the documents and sucks his teeth.

 “Man, Seokjin really has it out for you.”

 You level a look at your best friend, before nodding and holding your head in your hands.

 “Namjoon is getting all the good cases! He gets the media attention, the litigation deals, everything! It’s like I’m not even given a chance to show what kind of lawyer I can be when I’m stuck with all the nursing home and car accident suits!”

 Jimin bows dutifully, nodding his head as you express your woes.

 “I can do more than just personal injury litigation… and Seokjin knows that! It’s just that Namjoon keeps getting all the air-time!”

 “I know, babe. I know.”

 With one last sigh of disbelief, you take the folder out of Jimin’s hands and sit upright at your desk.

 “Well, I guess if I’m going to be a personal injury lawyer, I’m going to be the best fucking one yet. Let’s get to work.”

 “Yeah! Fighting!” Jimin cheers.

  Namjoon sighs as he listens to his mother blabber on and on through his phone. He leans back in his chair and surveys the wide expanse of his corner office.

 Seokjin gave him this space, an upgrade from the desolate cubicles when he won his last big case, Kim Taehyung, artist v. the city of New York. He can’t help but smirk as he glimpses you from his window, pouring over a case file. He notes the curve of your back in the silk blouse you’re wearing and the way it tucks into your pencil skirt. He wishes he could see the outline of your ass and watch as it sways back and forth when you walk.

 “I just don’t understand why you can’t ever bring anyone home for the holidays!”

 His mother breaks him from his silent reverie of detailing every aspect of your backside.

 “You know your grandmother will not be alive much longer! And all she wants is her only grandson to be happy and in love! And a few grandchildren won’t hurt!”

 “I am her grandchild, Mom.”

 She’s silent for a moment.

 “Well, I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren either.”

 He groans again and presses his fingers to his forehead, a headache bubbling up behind his eyes.

 “Don’t you act like that, young man! You have a big empty house, big car, big life, and no one to share it with. I just want you to be happy.”

 She continues on and Namjoon can’t help but let her words sink in.

 He has it all. Expensive luxury apartment, enormous bed, gorgeous kitchen, money to spend on traveling and enjoying life. Yet he spends most of his time here, stuck in his office. He’s utterly alone, regardless of how many social guests he tries to entertain, horrid dates he attempts to go on. He’s always left alone, and he feels it deep at the very bottom of his heart—the loneliness and desire for a companion.

 “Mom! Mom!” He interrupts her diatribe on the futility of his adult life. “Stop!”

 “Namjoon, I’m just conce-”

 “I’ll bring home my girlfriend for the holidays, okay?”

There’s a stunned silence on the other end.

 “A girlfriend?” she asks, tentatively. “Really?”

 “Yeah,” he breathes, wincing already at the lie he’s spoon-feeding his poor mother—all in the name of getting her off his back. “She’s kind of shy, so I didn’t want to tell you about her yet, but now seems like the best time. I’m... I’m even thinking of proposing.”

 The words come out of Namjoon’s mouth before he can stop them. His mom bursts into screams of delight, and he can tell she’s running to his beloved grandmother to tell her the news.

 “Oh, Namjoon! This is all we’ve ever wanted for you. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to meet her! Oh, goodness, I can’t want to tell your father. Goodbye, son! I’ll see you two soon!”

 She hangs up before Namjoon has a chance to even breathe.

 “Fuck.”

 He drops his phone to his wooden desk and grimaces. 

 How the hell is he going to find a fiance in the next 3 days before the holiday break? 

 There’s Jennie, his ex.

 He thinks about it for a moment, before quickly dismissing it. No, much too clingy and possessive. She’d take it to be real, and he’d be stuck with her.

 His last hookup, Jihoo?

 No, too aloof. His mom would never buy that they were a love-sick couple on the brink of engagement.

 A crash outside his office startles Namjoon, making him stand and exit the large corner suite.

 The commotion is coming from your cubicle, where he can see you’re struggling to use the decrepit computer. The crash must have been from you slamming the keyboard to the desk, causing the individual keys to pop off the board.

 “Shit! Jimin, help me put this keyboard back together!” 

 You shimmy out of your chair and onto your knees, an excellent sight for Namjoon if he wasn’t so concerned about your well-being.

 The paralegal is standing above you, watching as you kneel to gather the pieces of the obliterated keyboard.

 “Oh no, honey. It’s against my personal constitution to be on my knees unless it’s for a handsome man.”

 “God, Jimin, come on.”

 “Hey, it’s not my fault you hulk-smashed the life out of that poor keyboard.”

 Namjoon smirks, turning back into his office and sliding into his desk. He easily opens his MacBook and emails Yoongi in IT, requesting a brand new computer for your desk—no holds barred. He wants the top of the line for you.

 He suddenly has just the person in mind to be his fake fiancée. 

  A brand new, gorgeous computer is at your desk the next day you arrive.  You nearly spill your hot peppermint mocha when you see the sleek machine atop your old plastic desk instead of the broken clunker that was there the day before.

 “What the hell?” You ask Jimin as you set your coffee down gently as if any movement might scare the new computer away. “Did you order this?”

 “I love you, but I would never order you something this nice.” 

 You can’t help but roll your eyes as you sit down to marvel at the modern machinery. At least Jimin is honest.

 “Maybe I’ll call Yoongi and ask him where it came from,” you wonder aloud, hand hovering over your phone.

 “YOONGI?” Jimin screeches, eyes suddenly wide and crazed.

 “Yeah? The IT guy?”

 “I know who Yoongi is, you dumbass! Here, let me call him! I’m your assistant!”

 He scrambles to grab the phone out of your hand.

 “You literally refuse to do anything I ask.”

 Jimin smiles cherubically, completely ignoring your confusion. He’s suddenly the picture of a model employee.

 “Don’t you worry! I’ll be right on it!”

 He hops from your desk with your cell phone gripped tight, and saunters away to a secluded area out of your eyesight.

 “What the fuck is going on today?” You ask out loud, settling into your chair and unloading your bag of files.

 “How's the new computer?”

 The sudden intruder makes you jump, nearly spilling your coffee, yet again.

 “Fuck!” You shriek as you attempt to right yourself and the dangerously hot liquid sloshing in the paper cup. “You scared me!”

 The chuckle that comes from behind you makes your stomach flip. You know that laugh. You could recognize that laugh a hundred miles away, in a hurricane, with headphones on.

 That laugh is the sultry demon himself, Kim Namjoon.

 “I—How did you know about my computer?”

 Namjoon takes a knee, bringing his face to your level in your chair. He’s close to you, so dangerously close. You can smell the Giorgio Armani cologne applied to his pressure points—the heat of his skin warming the scent and mingling with his own subtleties. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head. He smells so comforting—like a home you never knew you were missing until he arrived.  

 “I saw it when I walked in this morning.” 

 He breaks you from your daydreaming of warm, firm hands caressing your body and you’re thrown headfirst back into reality—the reality where you can’t stand the man mere inches from you.

 You push back from where you are and stand, eager to get away from Namjoon’s sudden interest in close proximity. He smirks and rises from his spot, pocketing his hands in his tight cream suit.

 “Care to join me in my office for some coffee?” He asks.

 His office. The one he scored after he won the Kim Taehyung case. The bitter betrayal still lingers in your mouth. 

 For the longest time, you had been equal in every sense; both living in the dingy cubicles with the computers long-destined for retirement. Then, Seokjin awarded him with the corner office, the one with the view of the entire city. You’d never forgiven either of them.

 “I have my own coffee.”

 Namjoon smirks as he eyes your paper cup, clearly a quick grab from the 7-Eleven around the corner.

 “Looks fancy.”

 You purse your lips and clutch your coffee even closer.

 “Please,” he asks again. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

 Namjoon’s face loses its snark, and you’re curious about what could cause the man to become so serious.

 “Fine.”

 You motion with your arm towards his office, encouraging him to walk ahead. He smirks again, ah—there’s that smirk, before he turns and heads into the gorgeous corner room.

 He lingers by the door as you enter, waiting until you’ve crossed the threshold to close the door behind you. It surprises you. Something about being in a closed room with Namjoon sets you on edge. You can nearly imagine the man bending you over that fine oak desk, hiking your skirt up and spanking your ass until it’s red.

 “Coffee?” He asks as he moves towards the in-office espresso machine.

 “Are you fucking kidding me? You have a Nespresso in your office?” 

 All desperate and wanton thoughts of Namjoon sliding into you leave once you see the stainless steel contraption in the room's corner. Of course he has a $500 coffee machine in his office. He has everything you want.

 “You like it?” His question is cocky. He already knows the answer.

 “Fuck off.”

 Namjoon grins and turns the machine on, pulling out two mugs while you sip your now lukewarm coffee. It suddenly tastes disgusting.

 “So, what’s the deal, Namjoon?” You ask as he rests against the wall and waits for the coffee to brew. “You said it was important.”

 Namjoon nods, a more reserved look taking the place of his usual cocky grin on his face. His gaze turns down to his shiny dress shoes.

 “I need a favor.”

 “No.” Your answer is quick.

 Namjoon looks up at you in surprise.

 “You haven’t even heard it yet!”

 “Yeah, well…,” you huff. “I’m not interested in helping you.”

 Namjoon leaves his post by his elaborate coffee maker, forgetting about the piping-hot liquid drizzling into white mugs, as he stands in front of you. There’s that fucking cologne again. Why does he have to smell so good?

 “You’ve got to help me. Please.”

 His sudden closeness to you sets your brain off—your steely resolve begins to crumble.

 “Fine, I’ll bite. What is it?”

 His face lights up again. God, he has such a handsome mouth.

 “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for my family Christmas party.”

 If you hadn’t had such a good grip on the convenience store cup of coffee, it’d surely drop from your clutch and splatter on the expensive carpet of Namjoon’s office.

 Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls agape.

 “You—You what?!”

 Namjoon sighs and lowers his voice.

 “Look, I…” he struggles. “I told my mom I have a girlfriend, so she’d get off my back about it.”

 “And why am I suddenly your best option for that?!” 

 You step away from the man, determined to clear your mind as the scenario weaves its way through your head. 

 Namjoon’s girlfriend. He wants you to be his girlfriend.

 Well, his fake girlfriend.

 He would hold your hand. He would kiss you. He would touch your body in ways you convince yourself you don’t think of often. 

 “You’re the only girl I know who’s got a good enough poker face to go along with it. And honestly… you’re the only girl I really know well enough.”

 His last admission shocks you. Namjoon seems like the womanizing type—one to bring a different girl home every night.

 “That doesn’t explain why the fuck I would want to help you.”

 Namjoon steps back and moves towards the coffee machine again.

 “If you help me, I’ll take all your shitty cases that Jin is giving you.”

 Your eyes narrow at the tall man. It seems too good to be true.

 “How d'you know about them?”

 Namjoon shrugs and grabs a mug full of freshly brewed expensive coffee.

 “I can hear you complain to Jimin about it every day.”

 You grumble under your breath, sucking on your teeth as you try to process the terms of Namjoon’s deal.

 “So you want me to be your fake girlfriend for your family…” you muse.

 “Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ll do all your worst cases for the next 2 months. I’ll even give you my next big one. I know you want that.”

 God, he’s right. That’s all you want. A chance to prove yourself to Seokjin, to the company.

 With an aggravated sigh, you relent. 

 “Fine! But it better be a good fucking case. And, I’m using your coffee maker every morning.”

 Namjoon can’t help but chuckle, loving the fire in your voice. 

 “Deal?” He murmurs.

 He holds out his hand to shake on it, and it takes you by surprise how warm and soft his large hands are once you slide your own into his grip.  

 “Deal.”

 Jimin is not going to let you live this one down.

  Jimin doesn’t let you live it down.

 He’s sitting on your couch, legs crossed underneath him as he hoists his wine glass filled to the brim. He holds it away from his body as he shakes with laughter.

 “You’re telling me,” he wheezes. “That you agreed to be Namjoon’s fake Christmas girlfriend? You hate that man!”

 Flopping into the couch beside him, you sigh.

 “Yeah, well, it was my only option. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

 “Okay, Godfather,” Jimin snickers. “Lord knows you still want to bone that man, anyway.”

 “Jimin!” You admonish. “I do not! And that wasn’t the deal!”

 He sips at his red wine with an impish smile. You hate it when Jimin looks at you like that, like he can see behind the lie you’ve so carefully crafted of your hatred for Namjoon.

 “Then tell me, what was the deal?”

 You fiddle with the stem of your own wine glass, sighing.

 “He’s offered to take all our shitty personal injury suits for the next two months. And he’s giving me his next big case.”

 Jimin actually looks surprised—as if he didn’t expect Namjoon to provide a deal so worth the cost.

 “Wow,” he breathes.

 You nod in reply, taking a large gulp of the pinot grigio in your glass.

 “You’re still going to fuck him though, I know it,” Jimin adds.

 You splutter your wine from your mouth, hand reaching over to gently slap Jimin on his taut abdomen.

 “Shut up!” You cry.

 Jimin looks proud of himself, sipping his red wine gleefully while he settles further into your couch. Wine nights with Jimin is the highlight of your weeks. Together, you bitch over cases, coworkers, dating struggles, and eat too much cheese and cured meats and nurse a hangover the following day with brunch.

 “Hey,” you say to Jimin as you set your wine down on the coffee table. “Did you ever talk to Yoongi?”

 Jimin’s cheeks immediately turn a shade of rouge.

 “Yoongi? Yoongi who?”

 “Oh my god,” you groan. “Yoongi from IT. You stole my phone to call him today? To ask about my new computer?”

 Jimin swallows a large swig of his wine.

 “Oh. Yes, I did.”

 “And?” You encourage the blonde to answer further.

 “And he’s doing well,” Jimin replies demurely.

 “Jimin!” You huff. “The computer?!”

 Jimin makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth and bites his lip.

 “I… might have forgotten to ask.”

 Your mouth drops open.

 “You literally stole my phone out of my hands to call him! What did you talk about?!”

 There’s his blush again. The shade of pink on Jimin’s cheeks would be adorable if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his answers.

 “I have a date tomorrow night.” He takes another sip as you let the reply sink in.

 “Oh. My. God.” You gasp, a smile now overtaking your features. “You have a crush on Min Yoongi!”

 Jimin sets his wine glass down next to yours and turns to you.

 “I had no idea if he was into me! But when I called, I totally forgot why I was calling him and we sort of just… started talking and next thing I know, he’s asking me out to dinner tomorrow night.”

 You playfully slap at Jimin’s thigh.

 “You little slut—using my phone to get yourself a date. On company time!”

 Jimin sticks his tongue out at you, before grabbing a pillow and slapping you with the overstuffed cushion.

 “At least I didn’t agree to be his fake girlfriend!”

  It’s the sound of your phone ringing at 7:32 am that wakes you from your spot on the couch, wine glass still clutched in your hand.

 “What the fuck?” You grumble, eyes blearily seeking the offending object disturbing your sleep.

 Jimin grumbles next to you, kicking at your foot as if it will stop the phone from ringing.  

“Stop,” he whines and cuddles into his fetal position. “Turn it ooooff.”

 You locate your cell phone and groan as you recognize the name on the caller ID. Namjoon. What the fuck could he possibly be calling for? And why did he have to call at seven in the goddamn morning? 

 “What do you want?” You snap as you hold the phone to your cheek and throw yourself back onto the couch.

 “Well, good morning to you, sunshine.”

 Namjoon’s voice, as sexy and sultry as it sounds, still aggravates you.

 “Why are you calling me? It’s Saturday. Its seven am.”

 Namjoon chuckles and you fight the shiver that works through your spine at the sound.

 “I tend to keep human hours on the weekend.”

 You can’t hold back the sarcastic guffaw that escapes you.  

 “Okay, Mr. Perfect,” you sigh. “That doesn’t explain calling me.”

 Jimin kicks at your foot again. 

 “Stop talking,” he grumbles.

 God, Jimin is such a diva when he’s hungover.

 “Meet me at the cafe on First Street,” Namjoon says casually. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

 “Right now?!” You ask, incredulous.

 “I’m literally already here. Hurry before your coffee gets cold.”

 You let out a whine that could rival a 5-year-old’s temper tantrum.

 “Fuck you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

 There’s no care about your phone when you end the call and throw it to the floor.  Jimin grumbles and rubs at his eyes.

 “Why the fuck are you having phone sex with Namjoon so early in the morning?” He asks.

 “Jimin, I swear to God.”

 He wraps himself in the throw blanket and buries his face back into the couch while you stand and retreat to your bedroom to throw on some semblance of appropriate clothing for the occasion.

 “Fucking Namjoon,” you grumble under your breath as you change into jeans and a sweater. “Fuck him and his stupid, sexy face. And his unbelievable ass. And his stupid, probably enormous penis. Man, I hate him.”

 As you’re re-entering the living room and grabbing your important items (keys, wallet, lip gloss just in-case), Jimin pops his head out of his blanket cave.

 “Where are you going?” He asks, suddenly less annoyed and more pathetic. “You’re leaving me?”

 “I have to go meet Namjoon for coffee. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”

 “You’re really going to let me suffer here? Alone? With no coffee?”

 You spin around to face your best friend, who’s giving you an absolutely soul-crushing pout and puppy eyes.

 “Yes. Call Yoongi.”

 His precious pout is wiped away, and a devious smirk takes its place.

 “Great idea!” He says as he digs around for his phone. “Be careful out there! It’s icy! Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on Namjoon’s dick.”

 Your only reply is one singular middle finger in Jimin’s direction as you exit your apartment.

  Namjoon can’t help but smile as he sips his warm coffee. The cafe is warm and bright, despite the chill outside. 

 Things feel peaceful. Tender flakes of snow trickle down outside and frost up the shop’s window. There’s something about this time of year that strikes him down to the core. Something cozy, something warm.

 It’s odd to think this will be his first year not celebrating the holiday alone.

 Even if it is... well, fake. 

 The bell over the door chimes an arrival, and Namjoon can tell by the grumbles and grunts and stomps of snowy boots that it’s you.

 “Over here!” He calls, raising a hand and turning to face you.

 Wow, he thinks. You look gorgeous, even without trying.

 You hurry your way over to the booth and plop yourself on the opposite side, immediately lunging for the obvious mug of coffee waiting for you on the table. You don’t waste a minute gulping the liquid down your throat, then spluttering when you realize it’s still hot.

 “I thought you said it was getting cold!” You cry, airing out your burnt tongue. Namjoon can’t help but imagine that tongue sliding up and down his cock.

 Not now. Wrong time and place to get a boner.

 Namjoon smiles as he sips his cappuccino. 

 “I got you a fresh one.”

 You make a face, but your features soften. As if you’re pleased with the idea that Namjoon cared to freshen up your cup.

 “Oh, well--”, you manage. “Thank you.”

 Namjoon doesn’t reply, but merely tips his head. The silence is thick enough to cut with a knife. Normally, you’re both normally so wound up in aggravating the other that a moment of calm is strange, but not unwelcome.

 “So, why the early morning wake up?” You finally ask, fiddling with the handle of the mug.

 Namjoon settles his cup down.

 “We need to get to know each other. Deep shit, you know. The shit that lovers would know about each other.”

 He notices you, watches as you nibble at your lip. You try hard to hide it behind the mug you lift to your lips, but Namjoon notices. 

 “I’m hoping maybe we could spend the day together,” he adds. “I need to get some Christmas gifts for my family and… well, it’s rather lonely doing it on my own.”

 There’s a slight smile at the ends of your lips.

 “And you needed me at seven thirty in the morning to do that?”

 He stifles a laugh.

 “Like I said, I operate at regular human hours. Even on weekends,” he replies.

 With a dramatic sigh, you agree.

 “Fine,” you say. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

 He watches as you settle into the seat of the booth, hands gripping the warm mug like it’s a personal heater. He notices you’re only wearing jeans and a sweater--no properly warm clothing for the snow storm ahead. He’ll have to fix that, and soon.  

 “What are you doing for Christmas?” He asks.

 You level a look.

 “Spending it pretending to be in love with you.”

 Namjoon can’t help but snort a laugh.

 “I meant after that.”

 You shrug as you settle back into the seat.

 “I don’t like Christmas. I don’t do much other than force Jimin to kiss me under the mistletoe and watch shitty movies with a gallon of boxed wine.”

 “Hmm,” he hums. “You’re sort of a Grinch.”

 A scowl comes over your face.

 “I am not! I just don’t buy into this whole ‘prove how much you love me by buying me things’ shit. It’s a big scheme, I tell you! Capitalist propaganda! They encourage you to spend all your money, and if you don’t, they shame and guilt you by telling you you don’t love your family enough.”

 Namjoon can’t help but laugh as you rant. It’s what makes you such a talented lawyer—your ability to feel a passion so deep within you you’re able to convince a stone-faced jury of your side.

 “Don’t laugh at me!” You cry. “I’m serious! My family doesn’t celebrate, I don’t celebrate. I’d rather just buy gifts for my loved ones when I see something they’d like. Why do we have to put a time of year on it?”

 He shrugs and scooches his mug around the carbonate table.

 “I suppose that makes sense,” he muses. “But you’re still a Grinch. And a Scrooge. You’ll definitely get visited by some Ghosts at midnight.”

 “Ha ha,” you snark sarcastically. “Hilarious, Namjoon. Don’t tell me you’re a big festive guy.”

 “Somewhat. It’s my Mom’s favorite holiday. It’s why she’s so bent out of shape about me having a girlfriend. Something about family and love and shit.”

 You nod, understanding him completely. Your own mother, despite her reservations towards the holiday, still makes a fuss over your single status. There must be some Mom code to obsess over your children’s woeful dating life.

 “Well, I say let’s get on with it then. Ready to hit the shops?” He asks.

 You’re mid-sip of your finally cooled coffee and you send a desperate look to the man in front of you.

“Already?!”

 “We’re burning daylight, baby.”

 Namjoon stands and you can’t help but feel a roar of flames in your belly at the pet-name. Your cheeks are surely flaming up and you admonish yourself for getting so peaked about such a trivial name.

 “Please don’t tell me we’re walking,” you murmur as you sneak a peek outside.

 The snow is falling down harder now, and you’re dreadfully underdressed for the weather.

 Namjoon tsks at your lack of outerwear, but then shakes his head.

 “No, we’ll take my Range Rover.”

 You roll your eyes and grimace.

 “Of course. You have a fucking Nespresso machine and a Range Rover. Asshole.”

 Namjoon doesn’t even think about it as he grabs your hand and laces his fingers in between yours. If anyone asked, he’d say it’s practice—to familiarize himself with the way your fingers slot between his own so it’s not such a foreign concept when he does it in front of his family.

 “Yeah, but I’m your asshole now, princess.”

 Christmas shopping with Namjoon is mostly painless.

 Normally, you dread the lines and the crowds and the confusion and the expense.

 But with Namjoon, you relax and banter away with the tall lawyer. You’re completely at ease as you walk through crowded aisles and sort through racks of cashmere sweaters and stacks of fuzzy blankets.

 “Mom will love this, don’t you think?” Namjoon asks, holding up a thick, exquisite looking blanket.

 You’re about to answer with an affirmative when you catch yourself. You don’t even know his mom. You’ve never met the woman. Why does it feel as if Namjoon is someone you’ve known your entire life? 

 Why do things feel so easy with him?

 “Sure, Namjoon,” you reply. “Seems like something most mother’s would be into.”

 He smiles at you. It’s a genuine smile too, one that nearly knocks you on your ass. Your body is sent into overdrive constantly. He holds your hand, he places his hand at the small of your back to guide you through a thick crowd. He calls you baby and princess and doll.

 It’s confusing.

 It’s amazing.

 You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.

 Namjoon pushes the shopping cart and walks beside you, chatting easily about his various aunts and uncles names that you likely must remember at some point but you just can’t think about anything but Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.

 You hate him. He stole that corner office from you. He’s going to take the promotion you want from right under your nose. He has a goddamn Nespresso in his office and a Range Rover. 

 And yet, you can’t help but fall in place next to him and listen to him tell stories of his childhood, weaving tales of uncles who snuck him his first sips of alcohol and aunts who spoil him rotten. He’s easy to listen to, a natural story-teller. Your body feels warm, as if you’re sitting on a large hearth by a roaring fire. He’s comforting.

 It’s infuriating and wonderful all at once. 

 “And that’s when my cousin Jungkook got caught smoking cigarettes. My grandma beat our ass so bad I couldn’t sit for a day.”

 Namjoon finishes his story and turns to look at you. You’ve been staring at the man for nearly a minute straight now.

 “Hey,” his voice is soft. “You listening?”

 You shake out of the trance Namjoon’s deep voice sends you into.

 “Yeah!” You reply with a smirk. “Sounds like this Jungkook is a guy I’d like to meet.”

 Namjoon sucks his teeth and nudges you.

 “Hey, you’re my girlfriend, remember.”

 You stick your tongue out at him playfully.

 “Fake girlfriend. I’m still a single, desirable lady at the end of the day.”

 Namjoon hesitates before answering. He wants to reply something snarky, something sarcastic and witty. But he takes a moment to pause, allows himself to fully immerse himself in you. Even hungover, in yesterday’s jeans and an old sweater, you’re still an absolute catch. You’re the definition of desirable and Namjoon can’t help but allow himself to desire.

 “Hmm, is that what you call it?” He asks, now allowing the sarcasm to permeate his words. “I was thinking you’re more of the spinster, cat-lady type.”

 “Hey!” You pout as you slap at his arm. “I’m allergic to cats!”

 “But you don’t deny being a spinster.”

 “Fuck you, Namjoon.”

 He grins and pushes the carts towards the candle aisle, a sure-fire gift for his aunties.

 “In due time, my love.”

  By the time Christmas Eve arrives, you’ve spent nearly every day with Namjoon. At work, he brings you fresh coffee from his Nespresso and buys you lunch. You’ve even landed his big case, an incredibly complex lawsuit that will showcase your skills. Namjoon gives you pointers and space to talk through the case with him.

Namjoon is, in fact, simply being kind. And it unsettles you.

 Your heart and brain are at war with each other constantly. You should hate him, loathe him. He’s going to nail that promotion regardless of what you prove to Seokjin.

 But your heart tells you he deserves it. He’s an incredible attorney and has earned every ounce of respect. You want Namjoon to get that promotion just to see that smile on his face. He’d do incredible things as Seokjin’s protege to take over the firm.

 You hate to admit it, but Namjoon has melted the ice around your heart. And you’re dreading the day after all this is over, because it will be the day Namjoon stops holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your temple. It will be the day he stops pretending this is all real.

 It’s Christmas Eve and you’re sitting in Namjoon’s expensive Range Rover, plush leather seat toasty from the built-in seat warmer. You can’t help but marvel at the way the oncoming headlights brighten up Namjoon’s features as he drives you down a snowy mountain lane. They always hold the Kim family holiday party at Namjoon’s late grandfather’s cabin in the mountains, a quiet getaway for the family to gather and spend the night together to wake up on Christmas morning and gather around for presents and food.

 Which means waking up to Kim Namjoon.

 It’s something you’ve dreamt of often, but denied yourself any actual possibility of it. Namjoon was always out of reach, and it was easier to hate him for his success he rightfully deserved than it was to admit the feelings that were always inside.

 And now, although it’s artificial, you can’t bear to think of not spending your time with Namjoon anymore.

 You steal a glance again at him, and smile as you hear his faint humming. He loves Christmas music. You learned that early in the week during another early morning coffee and ‘get to know you’ before work. Namjoon couldn’t stop singing Mariah Carey’s classic pop song under his breath as it played over the speakers in the cafe. 

 “It’s so pretty up here,” you muse as you force your vision away from Namjoon’s gorgeous face to the snowy scenery outside. 

 The snow is falling gently, not enough to cause a blizzard but enough to make it seem like you’re trapped in a picturesque snow-globe. Leaving the city and entering the magical forest stirs an emotion inside you you hadn’t felt in some time.

 It’s Christmas Eve and there’s just something magical.

 Ugh. Unbelievable.

 Namjoon has even made you actually enjoy Christmas.

 He nods. “Yeah, it’s my favorite place in the world, I think.”

 “I can see why,” you sigh. “It looks like a painting.”

 Namjoon glances over at you peering through the window. His heart hammers in his chest hard as your glittering eyes bounce around from tree to tree, a pretty smile on your face. The diamond ring in his pocket feels like it weighs a literal ton and he nibbles at his lip.

 He bought it for the showmanship of it all, initially. It was his first purchase he made when he set up this whole rouse.

 But now, it feels real. It feels like he’s really about to get on one knee and ask you, the girl he’s absolutely head over heels for, to marry him.

 And then it will be over.

 He’ll make up some story to tell his mom about how it didn’t work out and you’ll go back to being his coworker, and nothing more.

 Namjoon can’t fight the sinking feeling in his stomach.

 Nothing more.

 He pulls into the driveway before you even have time to realize you’re there. He puts the car in park and smiles over at you. 

 He looks so cute in his puffy winter coat, hair pushed to the side and a smile that’s all dimples and cheeks.

 Fuck.

 “We’re here,” he whispers. “You ready?”

 Suddenly, the nerves of meeting your fake boyfriend’s entire family slap you right in the face. You hope that you’re a good enough actress to get Namjoon through the night and into the morning.

 “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 He nods and squeezes your hand, an unspoken comforting ‘I got you’.

 Namjoon gathers his wrapped gifts and stacks them all in his arms, ignoring your pleas and giggles to help carry them in.

 “No, no,” he assures. “I have to make sure my mom sees me being manly and helpful.”

 As if on cue, the front door opens and Mrs. Kim is bursting out into the snowy night.

 “Namjoon!” She shrieks, completely overjoyed. The rest of the family is standing by the door, eyeing you carefully with smiles and whispers. You pray to whatever Christmas God that’s listening that you can do this.

 Namjoon sets the pile of gifts down just in time to wrap his delicate and tiny mother in his arms, hugging her tightly while she gleefully buries her face into her tall son’s chest.

 “Oh, my son, I’ve missed you.”

 Namjoon kisses the crown of her head and smiles.

 “Missed you too, eomma.”

 The scene has you misty-eyed and you swipe at your eyes to stop the tears. There’s no way you’re ruining the fantastic makeup you did for the occasion, but the reunion of Namjoon and his mother is heart-warming. He clearly cares for his mother more than he would outwardly admit. 

 Namjoon and his mother unwrap from each other and Namjoon turns towards you.

 “Everyone, this is ____,” he breathes. “My girlfriend.”

 His mother’s gleeful squeals now turn to you, and within an instant she’s gathering you up in just as tight of a hug as she did to her son.

 “Oh, darling, we are so happy to meet you,” she beams.

 The excitement in her voice makes you feel bad—like you’re conning an old woman out of her retirement. You’re instilling a sense of hope in the kind woman, and you can’t help but send Namjoon a look as you wrap your arms around her and return the embrace. His eyes sparkle with something you can’t read.

 “I’m happy to meet you too,” you smile as you pull apart. “Thank you for letting me come.”

 “No thanks necessary,” she admonishes with a wink. “We had to beg Namjoon to bring you. It seems he wants to keep you all to himself.”

 “Eomma!” Namjoon snaps. “Be appropriate!”

 She nudges you with her elbow knowingly, which makes your cheeks flame hot, before she leads the way back into the house.

 “Come in, come in! Let’s get out of this snow.”

 Namjoon encourages you to step inside with a gentle hand at the small of your back—a touch that makes your body light up brighter than a Christmas tree.

 “Thank you,” he whispers in your ear from behind. You can feel the warmth of his lips and your body reacts.

How is it that any simple act makes you desperately horny for the man? You pray for some respite from your sexual frustration over the next day. How are you going to last over 24 hours?

 Namjoon deposits his massive haul of gifts under the tree and returns to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you close. He introduces you to uncles and aunts and cousins. He even introduces you to his infamous cousin, Jungkook, who smirks at you in a way that makes Namjoon pull you in closer to his body.

 “Are you doing okay?” Namjoon finally asks after the rush of relatives greeting you dies down. He turns you towards him, to face him directly with his hands on either of your shoulders. “You’re killing it.”

 You can’t help but smile. Namjoon’s family is all incredibly kind and funny. They welcome you into the family with ease and it chips away a little more each time at your heart.

 Because this is all fake. 

 One day, Namjoon really will have a girlfriend to bring to Christmas and to show off to his relatives and it won’t be you. You’ll be back at your apartment, watching shitty TV re-runs and binging on Chinese takeout, as you do every year. It’s a jab at your heart each time the bitter truth rears its ugly head.

 “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m great.”

 “Look!” Jungkook shouts. “They’re standing under the mistletoe!”

 Namjoon blushes a shade of red that likely matches a blush on your own cheeks. Sure enough, the green branches of the mistletoe taunt you from above. 

 You’ve never kissed Namjoon before. In all the skinship and closeness of the last week, you’ve still yet to close the gap to kissing the man. 

 “Oh, come on Kook, that’s a stupid tradition,” Namjoon murmurs awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 Jungkook smirks as he steps up next to you.

 “Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’d be more than happy to take your place.”

 Jungkook wraps a loose arm around you and gives you a charming smile. He must be very popular with the ladies, you think. That’s a charming smile.

 “Hey!” Namjoon grabs for your hand and tugs you out of Jungkook’s predatory gaze. “She’s my girlfriend.”

 Namjoon looks at you for a moment, assessing your comfort level with everything about to take place. His lips look so inviting, so plush and warm. Now that you’re thinking about kissing him, you can’t help but focus on the way his lips pucker so gently and naturally.

 And then it happens. Namjoon lowers his face towards you and it feels as if the world is in slow-motion. It’s happening.

 The first press of his lips is soft and conservative. You take a split second to register, but instinctively you press against his lips with determination and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

 He groans softly as you trail your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opens for you without hesitation. His hands grip at your waist and bring your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitching and rising from the kiss that’s gone from innocent and playful to passionate and deep. It feels like the world around you has stopped and the only thing that matters is Namjoon, his mouth, his body against your own. He tastes like hot chocolate and peppermint, and you want more, more.

 “Oh my god, stop,” Jungkook’s voice shatters your illusion of being all alone with Namjoon. “Now you’re just showing off.”

 Namjoon pulls away from you, eyes dazed as he tries to right himself. 

 “You two are just so perfect for each other,” Namjoon’s mother says, who’s suddenly appeared in Jungkook’s place. “Let me show you your bedroom.”

 “Oh, we’re sharing?” You ask without thought. It’s a large house, with ample bedrooms surely for you to have your own space.

 Namjoon nudges you in the ribs gently, eyes widening and mouthing a ‘what the fuck do you mean?’ 

 “Of course dear, don’t be silly,” his mother replies with an eyebrow waggle and a chuckle. “I remember when your father and I were dating. He would sneak into my room after my parents went to bed and keep me up all night long. Your grandfather would ask me if I had terrible dreams that night, because I looked so tired.”

 Namjoon makes a face. “Eomma, please,” he begs. “Please don’t talk about my parents like that.”

 As his mother guides you down a long hallway, your mind is whirring with too many thoughts of Namjoon, of sharing a bedroom with Namjoon, of seeing his sleeping face and waking up next to him. It’s all too much, too overwhelming. You pray there’s a couch in the room you could sleep on, because you’re far too weak and you’d rather fight the desperation in your body than face the fact that you want nothing more than to curl right into Namjoon’s strong arms and let him hold you all night to sleep.

 Fuck.

 “Here we are!” 

 His mother opens the door with grace, and flicks on the light. The room is beautiful in its simplicity. A king sized bed, a fireplace, and a balcony with a view of the sprawling snowy scene outside. It’s cozy and warm and decorated with its own Christmas tree.

 “Wow,” is all you can muster.

 “Aish, Mom,” Namjoon sighs as he drops his bags. “You didn’t need to do all of this for us.”

 Mrs. Kim holds his hand in both of hers. “Well, I know how special this Christmas is going to be,” she winks. “I want you to enjoy your time here. Now, I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Dinner is in an hour, so ‘freshen up’!”

Another wink, and Namjoon makes another face. She definitely wants grandchildren, that much is for certain.

 She closes the door behind her and you’re left standing in the room, overnight bag in hand.

 “This is—Wow, this is amazing.”

 You’ve never experienced Christmas like this—with decorations and warmth and family. It’s as if the love of the Kim family permeates the very walls of the expansive cabin, like it’s built into the foundation itself. For a moment, you allow yourself to soak it all in. This is all yours. It’s your Christmas and you finally understand why so many make such a fuss over it. The results are nothing short of remarkable.

 “Yeah, she really does the most,” Namjoon laughs. 

 He takes the bag from your hand without your notice and you step towards the balcony to peer into the night. The landscape looks as if everything has been covered in soft marshmallow. The snow is untouched—picture perfect.

 “I’ve never had anything like this before.”

 Namjoon settles your bag and his on the bed, watching as you soak in your own wonder. The smile on your face is not one he sees often, one of pure joy. Namjoon swallows hard as he realizes he wants to be the one to always put that smile on your face.

 “Not such a Scrooge after all, eh?”

 You turn from the still-life view outside and back to Namjoon, where he stands at the foot of the bed. He looks so different outside the office. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a flannel shirt, his puffy jacket hanging by the door. No cream suit, no slicked back hair or shoes shiny enough to see your reflection. Just simply Namjoon.

 He’s no longer the man who steals the limelight in the office. He’s no longer the man you see as your adversary or your rival.

 He’s the man who’s showing you the magic of Christmas, the spirit of love and kindness that embodies the season.

 He’s the man you’ve fallen in love with.

 And yet, he’s the man who will leave once this is over and return to his proper life, and you to yours. He’ll return to sleeping with models and movie starlets, and you’ll return to binge watching Great British Bake-Off with Jimin and a carton of Chicken Tikka Masala.

 And Christmas will never feel as special as it does now. 

 So, you’re determined to soak in it for a little longer. It’s going to hurt regardless, so why not push that hurt off until tomorrow and allow yourself to pretend you live the lie you’re spinning for Namjoon’s family?

 “I think I’ll just freshen up and change into my dinner outfit, then?” You ask out loud, grabbing for your overnight bag and heading towards the ensuite.

 Namjoon, who expected a witty retort, takes a moment to reply.

 “Oh,” he coughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll err—, I’ll just get ready out here.”

 You quickly escape into the bathroom, closing the door and resting on it as you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

 The tension in the bedroom with Namjoon was too thick, too powerful, especially after the kiss you just shared. His cock had been there, straining in his jeans as you licked into his mouth. The kiss felt so natural, as if you had always kissed Namjoon like that. Your heart beats loud and hard in your chest just from the thought of it.

 You really needed to get a handle over yourself. You still have dinner to get through, and an entire night in a bedroom with Namjoon. A bed with Namjoon.

 No, you won’t allow yourself to go that far. You can pretend you’re his girlfriend, but all thoughts of his delectable body doing scintillating things to yours is strictly off-limits. You shake all thoughts of a thick, heavy cock sliding into your mouth and warm hands spreading you open, and set about fixing your makeup and changing into the gorgeous cocktail dress you purchased for the occasion. It wasn’t often you got to get dressed up. The emerald green velvet dress clings to your body and highlights your curves. It’s a sexy dress, definitely, but also appropriate for a formal evening with your boyfriend’s parents.

 Well, your fake boyfriend. Right.

 After fixing your hair and buckling your heels, you take one last glimpse in the mirror for good luck and exit the room.

 Your breath is nearly knocked out of your lungs as you see Namjoon. 

You’ve seen him dressed up for court and for TV appearances millions of times, but you’ve never seen him like this.

 He wears a blood red button up without a tie, a few buttons open to emphasize the casual look, tucked into the tightest and sexiest slacks you’ve ever seen. They hug his thighs and sit at a spot on his waist that you just know is rippling with cut lines from his work in the gym. His hair is tucked back with a bit of hairspray, and he’s fixing the sleeves of his shirt when he sees you.

 His eyes widen and his hands fall to his sides as he soaks in your appearance.

 An absolute vision.

 He can see the gentle valley between your breasts and the way your dress pushes up your cleavage and displays your collar.  The dress follows the delicate curve of your waist and hips and ends at your knee, but teases him with a glimpse of thigh that has him wiping his mouth in case he’s drooling. 

 “You look incredible,” Namjoon murmurs as you step closer.

“So do you.”

 You swallow hard as he continues closer to you, breathing harshly as he stands right in front of you. You could reach out and unbuckle his expensive slacks and fist his cock right there. You’d fall on your knees for him, if he asked.

 There’s a moment of silence as Namjoon’s face inches closer and closer to your own, each unable to verbalize just how desperate either of you feel for the other.

 “Namjoon, I—,” you start. You want to tell him. You want to tell him everything—that you don’t want this to be fake, that you want this to be real, and you want to be his and his forever.

 “Yes?”

 You swallow hard, shaken by just how close his lips are to yours. He’s inches away and all you can focus on is the way his plush lips look and how well they fit against your own under the mistletoe.

 “I just—, I really um, I’m just very…” 

 You’re not making sense. Comprehension of language is quickly soaring out the window because the only words you know are ‘Please, for the love of God, kiss me and make me yours’, but you can’t bring yourself to speak them out loud.

 Namjoon’s hand cups your cheek, as if he can tell what you’re trying to say.

 “Yeah,” he breathes. The inches between you turn to centimeters, to bare millimeters. Your eyes flutter close as you feel his breath dance over your lips and your heart beats so loud you’re sure the entire household can hear it. He’s right there and moves in to close the distance—

 “Knock Knock!!”

 The forceful, cheery voice of cousin Jungkook forces both of you to jump away from each other as if you’ve touched a burning stove. Your head feels light, like you’ve forgotten to breathe for the last ten minutes and you’ve suddenly taken in too much air.

 The wooden door squeaks open and Jungkook pokes his head in, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 “Auntie sent me to get you. It’s dinnertime!”

 Namjoon rubs his face frustratedly. “Yes, thank you, Jungkook.”

 Jungkook doesn’t leave, however. He smiles at you and winks. 

“Would you like an escort to dinner, madame? You look tastier than the roast beef downstairs.”

 A blush creeps over your cheeks as Namjoon storms to the door where his cousin laughs.

 “That’s enough, Kook. We’ll be down in a minute.”

 He sends you one more grin, then retreats from the door and closes it behind him.

 “Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for—Jungkook, or the moment before.

 “It’s alright. Let’s go?”

 Namjoon nods and holds out his hand with a smile.

 “Let’s go, girlfriend.”

  Dinner with the Kim family is as delightful as every other interaction with them has been. They’re polite and funny and ask questions about your life and your family.

 They ask how you met Namjoon (at work), what your favorite quality about him is (his smile and his ass), and what your first date together was (coffee at seven in the morning).

 You tell stories of Namjoon in the office, of your best friend Park Jimin who’s secretly trying to date the IT manager, of your parents and Christmases past.

 By the time dessert is served, Namjoon’s mother looks at you as if you’ve put the very stars in the sky.

 Namjoon doesn’t miss that look either. He can see the way his family is falling in love with you and somewhere deep in his stomach, he feels the guilt rising. All of this is a lie. Not only is he going to break his own heart, but every heart of his family member’s too. 

 “We’re all just so overjoyed that Namjoon has found someone to share his life with,” his mom speaks softly. It’s the first time she’s been thoughtful and quiet. She’s a woman who’s larger than life, you’ve found, so the softness in her tone strikes a chord. “You’re absolutely perfect for him. I’ve never seen him happier.”

 Fuck. 

 “Thank you,” you murmur sincerely to his mother. “I’ve never been happier.”

 Namjoon peers up from where he’s been pushing around his uncle’s famous chocolate cake on his plate to watch as you speak.

 “Truthfully, I never cared much for Christmas. I thought it was a rubbish holiday and spent it alone every year with a bottle of wine and some takeout. Namjoon really changed that for me,” you smile at the man and place your hand in his lap to hold his free hand. “He showed me more about Christmas in one week than I’ve felt in my entire life.”

 Namjoon’s mom wipes away an errant tear and he squeezes your hand under the table.

 “I guess the Grinch’s heart has grown 3 sizes, after all.”

 Namjoon’s joke lightens the soft mood, and suddenly there’s chatter around as the family members move about to wash dishes and clean up the mess of dinner. Everyone leaves the table except for you and Namjoon.

 “That was some good acting,” he whispers with a sad smile.

 “Right,” you whisper back, nibbling your lip anxiously. “Acting, of course.”

  You should have thought through the bedroom sharing thing more.

 Because sharing a bedroom is one thing.

 And sharing a bed is another.

 And of course, the only pajamas you thought to bring tonight is a very sexy long shirt that says “no coffee, no talking” with a bedazzled pair of shushing lips. That’s it. Just a single shirt. Not even a pair of shorts or pajama pants.

 You slip into the bed first, as far onto one side of it as possible. It’s a king sized bed, and it still feels too intimate, too close.

 Namjoon exits the bathroom after his shower, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of flannel pajamas, leaving his bare chest on display.

 Sweet lord in heaven, you nearly cry out loud. He’s absolutely ripped, pecs defined and droplets of water from his hair streaming down. You want to chase each drop with your tongue and circle back again. You shut your eyes tight and clench your teeth. Why, oh why, does he have to look so fucking sexy at a time like this?

 Namjoon sees you at the edge of the bed, shutting your eyes closed like you’re a shy schoolgirl afraid to see a naked man’s body. He feels guilty for making you be here. He knows you’ve likely got better things to do than spend time with a man you openly hate.

 “I’m sorry,” he apologizes for nothing in particular. 

 You ignore it. Instead, you’re trying to think of every un-sexy thing in the world you can possibly imagine. Taxes, a bunch of bees, old people, shark attacks.

 There’s absolutely nothing that can stop the image of Namjoon’s perfectly sculpted body from bursting into your mind. You’re nearly pleading with yourself to just go to sleep and contemplate how hard you’d need to hit your head to knock yourself out as fast as possible.

 “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says as he grabs a small throw blanket from the closet and throws it to the ground by the fire.

 It snaps you from your musings of how best to forget how badly you want to suck Namjoon’s cock through his pajama pants.

 “What?” You sit up in the posh bed and finally make eye-contact. “Why? It’s freezing. There’s a literal snowstorm outside.” You motion to the window of the balcony. What was once a gentle snowfall is now a full-on winter storm.

 “There’s a fire. I’ll be fine, I sleep hot anyway.” Namjoon’s voice is low and without energy. He almost sounds sad.

 God, is being with you that hard for him? You know you’re just the artificial replacement until he has the real thing, but you’d actually hoped Namjoon had found it as comforting and warm as you had.

 “Namjoon,” you sigh. “This is a king-sized bed. You don’t need to be waking up with back pain because you gallantly slept on the floor.”

 To emphasize your point, you tug back the blankets on the other side, beckoning him to join.

 He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s and sliding into bed next to you in his mind, then stands and pads his way on the plush carpet towards the bed and slips in.

 There’s an entire football field of distance between you two in the bed, but it feels like he’s right beside you. You imagine sliding in right next to him, wrapping your arms around his taut chest and pressing soft kisses to his stomach.

 You squeeze your eyes closed again. Stop it, you horny slut.

 “Thank you, again.” Namjoon breaks the silence. “I really appreciate you helping me out.”

 “Yeah,” you swallow hard. “Of course. What else was I going to do? Jimin’s probably sucking Yoongi’s dick right now, so I’d be watching baking shows alone.”

 Namjoon laughs for a moment, then quiets.

 “You know, I don’t even really want that promotion at work.”

 You’re surprised by the sudden change in topic, but you turn over to face Namjoon.

“What?! Really?”

 Namjoon nods and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’m that good of an attorney to get it, anyway.”

 His statement makes you sit up in bed again, staring at the man in disbelief.

 “Are you fucking kidding me, Namjoon? You’re the best lawyer in the firm.”

 Namjoon says nothing, just turns to stare at you curiously as you continue.

 “You’re like… literally better than Seokjin, too. The way you handled the Taehyung case was nothing short of historical. Like, that was an impossible case, and you nailed it. That was your ���OJ’ case, you know?”

 Namjoon barks a laugh.

 “My what?”

 “Your OJ case!” You use your hands to emphasize the importance of what you’re saying. “Like, they’ll write about you and how impossible the odds were of winning that case. And you won it! Not even Seokjin could have won that case.”

 He’s silent again, watching as you speak directly from your heart with all the fire and passion you feel about the things you care about. It’s what makes you such an incredible lawyer, too.

 “Wow,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

 You settle back down from your excitement, suddenly bashful at how fanatical you became.  

 “You’re welcome,” you murmur. “You deserve that promotion. And the office.”

 Namjoon smirks.

 “And the Nespresso?”

 Your eyes narrow and send a glare to him he can see even with the faintest of light in the room.

 “No, no one deserves the Nespresso, except for me.”

 He chuckles and settles down into his pillows.

 “Goodnight,” he whispers.

 “Goodnight, Namjoon.”

 There’s a beat of silence and your eyes flutter shut easily. It’s quiet, and all you can hear is the crackle of the log in the fireplace and the wind blowing past the balcony windows as the storm outside rages.

 “Oh,” Namjoon whispers again. “And, Merry Christmas.”

 You can’t fight the smile that creeps onto your face.

 “Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

  “Happy Christmas!” A voice bellows through your bedroom at approximately seven fifteen am.

 You groan, immediately grimacing and burying your face into your firm, warm pillow.

 “Nooooo,” you whine, trying to hide from the offending noise.

 Namjoon shakes awake, and notices Jungkook standing at the bedroom door once again.

“It’s time for presents!” He giddily explains. “And, they gave me the job of waking you two up.”

 “Of course,” Namjoon yawns.

 “You look a little wrapped up,” Jungkook smirks, eyeing your sleeping body. “I’ll give you two a minute. Don’t get distracted.”

 Namjoon rolls his eyes and watches as the door closes, before he turns his attention towards you.

 Somehow, in the middle of the night, you’ve scooched yourself to his side of the bed and draped your body around his. Your face is buried in his chest and your legs are haphazardly intertwined in his own.

 He bites his lip. His cock is rock solid, not just from his usual morning wood, but from the way he can feel your tits through your shirt, and from the sight of your pink panties. Namjoon wants to take them off with his teeth and bury his face in your delicious cunt, and his cock is nearly screaming at him to get on with it.

 “Hey,” he whispers to you, actively ignoring the demon that is his turgid length. “Wake up.”

 This causes you to cling harder to his chest, rubbing your sleepy face on him.

 “What is it with you and early mornings?” You ask, blearily raising your head to peer at him judgementally.

 Namjoon bites his lip, curious about your reaction to the tight embrace you’ve got on him. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to break the spell. Frankly, he wants to push your sleep shirt up and stuff you full of his cum.

 “Merry Christmas?” He offers shyly.

 You take a full minute to recognize what’s happening.

 You’re no longer on your edge of the bed. You’re wrapped around the man like a koala, legs strewn over him without care and clinging to him like he’s a lifeline.

 “Oh!” You gasp as you jerk out of his grasp. 

 In your movement, your leg brushes over an obvious tent in Namjoon’s pants, making him groan softly. You shut your eyes, embarrassed at how disgustingly horny you are for the man who’s not even interested in you sexually.

 “Christ, I’m so sorry,” your cheeks flame bright red and you scoot further from him.

 “No, no, don’t be,” Namjoon wheezes as he tries to fix himself. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great. It happens. Don’t worry.”

 He continues to stammer out reassurances as he leaves the bed and bolts into the bathroom to fix his unruly tented pants, leaving you sitting atop the bed washed with shame.

 “Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you rub at your cheeks. “Get a grip of yourself.”

 Inside the bathroom, it only takes Namjoon a few fisted jerks of his cock and the mental image of you beneath him, begging for him, until he’s silently cumming on an expensive towel. He bites his free hand to stifle the moans he makes as his cock pulses.

 By the time he arrives back in the bedroom, you’ve changed into a hoodie and yoga leggings that accentuate your ass so delectably that Namjoon thinks about turning right back into the bathroom for a second round.

 “I’m sorry!” You nearly shout when he walks into the room. “About the bed. You were warm and I was cold. That’s all.”

 Nmajoon simply nods, doesn’t want to have to explain how he wishes he could wake up like that every day. Doesn’t want to describe in vivid detail how he’d wake you up with his tongue buried deep in your cunt.

 “Let me grab a shirt and we’ll head out, yeah?”

 Your eyes dance over the defined ridges of his body, a little crest-fallen at the idea that this might be the last time you see him shirtless, but you nod anyway.

 “Yeah.”

The ring box sits in a deceptively large box beneath the tree. Namjoon wrapped it last night and hide it at the very back. His heartbeat hammers in his ears as his family passes around gifts and opens each with squeals of delight.

 His mother gave him new ties for the office, ones that Namjoon prefers. She’s even gifted you with jewelry, which makes your eyes water at the sentiment.

 It all begins to be too much. It’s harder and harder to hold back the tears as each of Namjoon’s family members gives you gifts. It doesn’t matter the value, not at all. The fact that they specifically set out to include you in their gift-unwrapping makes your heart snap in two.

 This is all too much, it’s too real.

 It’s everything you never dreamed you could have. A loving partner who lets you sit in the space of his legs and rubs your arms soothingly. A family who goes out of their way to include you in the abundance of love and company. A cabin so warm and cozy.

 The tears don’t stop.

 It’s at the end of the gift exchange that you finally allow yourself to breathe. 

 “There’s one more,” Namjoon whispers as he moves from behind you and fetches a large box from behind the tree. “It’s for you, princess.”

 Curiously, and suspiciously, you eye him as he sets the enormous gift in your lap. You had done nearly all his Christmas shopping with him, and can’t remember a single thing he would have gotten for you.

 “I hope it’s the Nespresso from your office,” you snark with a smile. His family members all laugh and exchange knowing looks to each other.

 Namjoon doesn’t think he can breathe. He watches as you begin to carefully unwrap the large box, which reveals another box, slightly smaller. He can’t help but grin as you continue to unwrap the nesting-doll style gift until you’re down to the smallest one, the one that holds the ring box.

 With one last tear of paper, your eyes widen as you recognize the velvet box.

 “Oh--,” you breathe as you delicately pry open the gift.

 Inside sits a dazzling and gorgeous diamond ring. It catches the light from the fire and sparkles like a firecracker.

 “Oh my god,” you whimper as the tears flow again.

 He’s proposing.

 Namjoon settles himself onto one knee and tucks an errant piece of hair behind your ears.

 “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I knew from day one that you were always the girl I wanted to marry,”

 Namjoon’s speech sends daggers to your heart. He’s so convincing for something so counterfeit. 

 “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, much longer than we’ve been together. You’re who I want to come home to every night, and who I want to wake up with every morning.”

 It hurts. It hurts so badly that you’re crying even harder as he continues to speak. His family must think you’re simply overcome with emotion and love that the crying doesn’t give it away, but inside you’re absolutely dying.

 There’s no way you can recover from this.

 Tomorrow, Namjoon will take the ring back to where he got it from and return to what he had before. He’ll leave you behind, broken and hopelessly in love with a man who faked a relationship so well that you fell for it, hard.

 “____, will you marry me?”

 You take several large, gulping gasps to reply. You can’t shatter the illusion. Namjoon’s parents are weeping with joy, while his relatives record the moment on their phones and wipe away errant tears. Even Jungkook looks soft, proud of his cousin for taking the next step in his life.

 Oh, how you wish this were all real.

 “Yes,” you lie with a smile. “Yes, Namjoon, of course!”

 Namjoon grins and pulls you to standing, gathering you in his arms as he hugs you tight. His family cheers and hollers in the background, and you sob into his shoulder as you cling to him.

 He easily slides the diamond ring out of the box and onto your finger, where it sits and taunts you. The weight is heavy, and you whimper at the realization that this will never be for you. It will sit atop a pretty model’s finger sometime soon, when Namjoon resumes his regular life.

 “Oh, my darlings, I am so happy for you!” Namjoon’s mother appears and wraps you both in a hug, weeping and kissing cheeks. “We must discuss planning!”

 It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The tears and weeping turn to wracking sobs, which quiets the family as they watch you hold your face in your hands.

 “I’m sorry,” you apologize through your grief. “I—I just need a moment.”

 Without another word, you turn from the scene and bolt back towards the bedroom.

 It’s silent and Namjoon’s heart sinks. 

 This must be too much for you, too much for you to pretend to love him. He knew it was too much and he should have discussed it with you beforehand.

 “She’s just a little err--,” Namjoon tries. “Easily emotional. I’ll go check on her.”

 His family understands as Namjoon hurries towards the bedroom and gently opens the door.

 You’re sitting over your overnight bag, trying to shove any clothing into it you can, while you sob openly.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I sort of... told my mom I’d be proposing to my girlfriend.”

 There’s pain in your eyes as you snap your head up to look at him. It nearly destroys him.

 “You should have warned me!” You gasp. “Namjoon, I can’t do this.”

 Namjoon lowers his head and shoves his hands into his pockets of his pajama pants.

 “I get it. I know you want to go back to your regular life. I can take you home now.”

 You’re silent for a moment, standing and moving towards the man.

 “Don’t you get it, Namjoon?”

 He raises his head to look at you curiously, brow knitted together with confusion.

 “I’m in love with you, you asshole!” You cry, pushing at his chest. “I can’t continue to pretend this is real anymore. I love you, I absolutely love you and I can’t go on watching you pretend you love me too. It’s too much for me to handle.”

 Namjoon’s world freezes in time as he watches you slide the ring off your finger. He grasps your hand to stop you, his eyes boring into your own.

 “I never had to pretend.”

 Before you can speak, Namjoon cups your cheek and pulls you in close, mouth sealing over your own in a desperate kiss.

 You don’t fight it, not at all. You sink into his grasp and kiss him back with fervor, with all the pent-up emotions you’ve held back all this time.

 “I’m in love with you,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. “I meant every single word I said.”

 More tears stream down your cheeks, and Namjoon is quick to wipe them away with his thumb.

 “I know it’s maybe too soon for us to really be engaged, but I—I want that, with you,” he adds. “I want you to be my girlfriend… for real.”

 “Are you being serious right now?” You ask as your hands cling to Namjoon’s waist.

 He can’t help but to laugh, nodding in reassurance as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

 “Never been more serious in my life.”

 “I can’t believe you’re mine,” Joon murmurs into the nape of your neck.

 You were supposed to be driving home to your apartment now, back to real life, but the snowstorm raged on and Namjoon decided it might be best to spend yet another night in the cabin. Together. As a couple. A real couple.

 You didn’t put up much of a fight.

 He’s pressing soft kisses into your tender skin as he closes the door to the bedroom.

  “All mine, all mine.” He chants it like a mantra. 

 You’re trying to maneuver your way into the dark bedroom, only guided by the light from the fireplace. Namjoon stops you and pulls away from your neck, eyes soaking in every inch of you.

 “You have no idea what I’ve been dying to do to you,” he speaks after a moment of appreciating your beauty.

 “Hmm, I think I have some idea,” you say, a finger at Namjoon’s chest, directing him towards the bed. “I’ve been dying to suck your cock, Joon,” you whisper in his ear as he makes his way backwards. “Will you let me?”

 Namjoon nods in a daze as he sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you kneel. Your eyes are full of hope, full of lust. It makes his cock harden further.

 “Please do,” he breathes. “I’ve wondered what you’d look like with your mouth full of my dick.”

 You smile as you tug at his flannel pajama pants, pulling them down thick thighs and calves until they’re completely off. Your mouth waters at the sight before you. Namjoon’s cock is thick, head weeping with pre-cum and straining hard against his taut chest. He’s been working out more, you can tell. His arms are full and strong, and his chest is so firm and defined. 

 He’s an entire three-course meal.

 Before you move closer to his cock, Namjoon stops you.

 “Take your shirt off.”

 You comply easily, already settling well into an obedient role. He discards the shirt to the side and marvels at your breasts. He can’t wait to mark them up, suck them until you’re crying.

 “Perfect,” he sighs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

 He allows you to resume your work, eyeing the length of his cock before wrapping a hand around it and gently pumping.

 “Shit,” he breathes as his head falls back. “I’ve dreamt about how it’d feel having my cock in your hands.”

 “What else have you dreamed about?” You ask with a teasing smile, bringing your lips to the tip to paint tiny stripes. He tastes salty, somewhat earthy, and the pre-cum that’s gathered at the top gets swept up by your tongue. 

 Namjoon can’t believe how lucky he is. Can’t believe how incredible it feels to have you here, licking at his cock like a lollipop. He’s enchanted by the way your delicate tongue swirls around his head, testing and teasing.

 “You look so good, princess,” he whispers as he tucks stray hair behind your ears. 

 You’re encouraged by his sweet-talk and soon descend to take his cock fully in as far as you can go. You’re definitely out of practice, but you steel yourself up to take him completely to the back of your throat. Namjoon’s desperate moans and cursing only encourages you further.

 Soon enough, you’ve started a rhythm of bobbing your head and swirling your tongue and pumping your hand down his thick length. The noises leaving your mouth are sinful—slurping and sucking and whining around him. Namjoon’s got a hand on the back of your head, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and coaxing your bouncing head further down his cock.

 “Oh, shit, baby,” he grits through a tight jaw. “I’m gonna cum baby girl, fuuuuckkk—oh god, yes baby, just like that.”

 You slurp and swallow around his cock as much as you can, head bobbing at a frantic pace while you cast your eyes upwards to the man to watch him come apart. He meets your eye contact and loses it at the fire burning in your beautiful eyes.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps as his cock pulses. “Cumming, baby—ohhhh, shit, take it all, baby.”

 After slowing your pace completely, you sweetly moan around his length as his salty cum splatters on your tongue. Bringing Namjoon to climax with your mouth is already one of your favorite hobbies, and you’re desperate to do it again.

 When he’s completely spent in your mouth, you pop off carefully and present your tongue to your boyfriend, who smiles.

 “You gonna swallow my cum, baby girl?” He asks, cupping your cheek sweetly.

 You nod in reply, and he groans as he watches you close your mouth and visibly swallow his load.

 “Fuck, that was so hot. Fucking kiss me already,” he demands, pulling you up gently by the hand and pressing his mouth to yours. He doesn’t care if he can taste himself still lingering in your mouth. In fact, he thinks your mouth should always taste like him.

 Namjoon holds you close as he kisses you, tongue diving around and seeking purchase in your mouth. His hands are roaming your body, cupping your breasts and caressing your curves. He can’t get enough. He doesn’t think there will come a time in his life when he won’t love touching you.

 His hand smoothes over the satin of your panties and he smirks into the kiss as he feels how wet they are.

 “Oh my,” he tuts as he rubs at your clothed slit. “All this from sucking my cock, princess?”

 It’s too late to be ashamed of it. You simply nod and whimper as his thick fingers rub at your core. You’re dying to feel those fingers inside you, scissoring you open to prepare you for his massive cock.

 “P-please,” you gasp, needing more of him. “Please, Joon.”

 He lets out a breath of contentment, loving the way his name sounds in your breathy moans. In one quick swoop, he flings your panties off and onto the floor and slides down to his knees where you knelt moments before.

 “I want to see this pretty pussy up close,” he murmurs as he lays you out at the edge and spreads open your thighs as wide as he can. 

 You’re gorgeous, absolutely mouth-watering. He licks his lips as he watches your folds drip with arousal and takes a delicate finger to trace the slit gently.

 “Fuck,” you gasp as he swirls his finger around your sensitive clit. It’s been so long since someone else has made you orgasm, you’re sure you won’t last a second with the man of your sexual dreams face-first in your cunt.

 “This is my pussy now,” he states as he leans in close and licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. “I’m going to make you cum every fucking night, baby. Gonna claim this cunt as my own.”

 You’re trembling from his words and his actions as he soon buries his face into your pussy and eats as if he’s a man starved. His tongue swirls around your hole before swiping up to your clit, making your back arch and keen off the bed. His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and sucks gently, lewd noises echoing off the walls of the bedroom.

 “Namjoon!” You squeal as he slides two of his fingers inside you and slowly pumps. They’re thick and perfect, and they’re better than you could have ever dreamed.

 “Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes as he licks at your clit. “I know you want to.”

 He’s right. You’re desperate for it and the string inside your belly that tightens with each thrust of his solid fingers has it nearing a snapping point.

 Namjoon speeds up, adds a third finger and fucks into you like a man on a mission. He watches your face pinch in agonized delight and is hypnotized by the way your tits bounce with each thrust up. His cock is rock solid again, aching to bury itself deep inside your womb and coat you with his cum.

 “That’s it, baby girl,” he breathes as he watches your body quiver. “Cum on my fingers, let daddy see you fall apart.”

 He presses his lips to your clit one last time and sucks, and it sends you reeling over the edge into bliss. Namjoon moans as he feels your cunt convulse and squeeze his fingers as if they’re his cock, and he nearly whines at how good it’s going to feel when he’s balls deep inside of you.

 “Fuck!” You cry as your back lifts off the bed and your legs shake. “Oh, my god!”

 Namjoon kitten licks at your pussy as you come down, cleaning up the juices that coat his fingers. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does it, sucking up your essence like it’s an expensive wine he won’t waste a drop of.

 “You’re so fucking sexy,” he says as you try to catch your breath. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my office.”

 The smile on your face turns lustful as you spread your legs open once again and present yourself to him.

 “Why don’t we practice right now?”

 Namjoon grips the base of his cock and gives himself a few pumps as he stares at your gorgeous body—laid out and ready for him.

 “Merry Christmas to me,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your lips and lines himself up.

 In one swift motion, he slips inside your juicy channel and buries himself to the hilt. You’re so wet and warm and tight that Namjoon falters and groans out loud.

 “Holy shit,” he cries. “Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt in my life.”

 Namjoon filling you up to the brim is something you’ve only ever dreamt of, and now that it’s happening you feel intoxicated. He’s so thick inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could handle, and the burn is so sweet.

 “Fuck me, Joon,” you beg as he continues to still inside you. “Please, fuck me, daddy.”

 It’s the magic word for Namjoon and instantly he’s snapped back to feral, ready to claim you as his own. He grips your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, delighted by the squelching juicy sounds of your cunt as he takes you.

 “That’s right, baby girl, I’m your fucking daddy,” he grunts. “Take this fat cock for daddy.”

 Your legs quiver with each thrust and Namjoon sucks a nipple into his mouth, nibbling gently on the bud which makes your body thrum with electricity. He’s marking you, claiming you inside and out, you realize. You whine and keen for him to continue, and Namjoon growls as he doubles his pace. 

 He thrusts into you without abandon, desperately seeking his release that will have him spilling his cum anywhere he possibly can.

 “Mmm, look at my pretty princess,” he groans as he stares at your blissed-out face. “Taking daddy’s cock so good, being a perfect little slut.”

 His words make your eyes roll back into your head. You’d never had someone speak so nasty to you while being so kind and praise-worthy that you don’t think you can now ever live without it.

 “G-gonna cum, daddy!” you cry as you feel your body nearing the edge. “Please let me cum!”

 Namjoon gasps for air and drops a thumb to your clit to rub circles on the sensitive bundle.

 “Yes, baby girl, cum for daddy. Cum on my cock, princess.”

 Namjoon’s unrelenting pace and thumb handily stroking your clit brings you to the end, sending you screaming into orgasmic delight.

 Namjoon nearly weeps at how good your cunt feels convulsing around his cock, walls coaxing him and gripping him tight as if your pussy is begging for his own release. 

 “Cum inside me daddy, please,” you beg as you try to catch your breath. 

 Namjoon needs no more permission. He gasps as your channel tightens around him impossibly and sends him into his own release. He whimpers as his cock pulses with ferocity, loads of cum splattering your walls.

 He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he rests his sweaty forehead on yours as you both try to catch your breath.

 “Holy shit,” you gasp as you feel yourself returning to Earth.

 Namjoon laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, before nodding.

 “Yeah,” is all he can manage.

 After a few shuddering breaths, you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s naked body and hold him close, as close as you can.

 “If this is what Christmas is all about, sign me up.”

 Namjoon buries his face into your neck and kisses you sweetly, before lifting and giving you a playful smile.

 “I guess all Scrooge needed was a good fuck. Dickens got that part all wrong.”

Returning to work after the New Year was easier this year than it had ever been in your career.

 Namjoon was given the promotion. He told Seokjin he wanted to keep his corner office near you because he “likes the view”, and that he would give all his top cases to the best lawyer in the office—you.

 Jimin won’t stop screaming when he sees the diamond ring on your finger. You haven’t wanted to take it off since the moment you put it on. Maybe it’s not an engagement ring quite yet, maybe it’s just more of a promise. Either way, Jimin is ecstatic and confused as he shakes you down for answers.

 He walks with you to your desk, chattering away about his week with Yoongi, while you sip your convenience store coffee.

 “What the fuck?” Jimin asks as he notices something on your desk. “What is that?”

 As you round the corner, your eyes catch sight of a gleaming silver contraption on your desk, right next to your brand new computer.

 A Nespresso.

 A smile crosses your lips as you approach the expensive machine and notice a folded up card on top.

 Inside, the card is simple.

 “To the only girl in the world who deserves a Nespresso. Love, Namjoon.”

taglist - @ardoren​ @devilion14​ @bykookie​ @rageyoudamnednerd​ @holynamtiddies​ @thejooncrew​ @dee-ehn​ @yrc1963 @fireheart2003​

[nobody-wants-ice-cream]

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 4, Man on the Moon.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add, that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. To be honest, I am seeing a lot of the things I’m pointing out for the first time because I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. 

Man on the Moon

Tom Hopper’s workout routine. -1

What was Luther holding in his hand? A lighter? A toy? I can’t tell. It’s weird that they put something there at all. +1

Klaus knocked down the wall between his and Vanya’s rooms. That was the one thing in the house that said Vanya ever lived there and he destroyed it. +2

However, Klaus’s room looks really, really cool. Set designers, you win this one. -1

The bike. I have questions about that bike. When did Luther get it? Or did it belong to all the children? Sinning because no way Reggie would buy Luther a bike. Or give one to the children. +1

The shot following Luther directly gave me a bit of motion sickness. +1

Netflix subtitles have Reginald saying “Attention, Master Luther” when it is clearly Pogo. +1

“Mission alert” +1

Everyone else is gone! Luther has no backup. Reggie is a dick to Luther. +1

I know I should have mentioned this in the last episode, but Reggie put five young children in leather catsuits. Potentially six, but we never see Five in one. And he still makes Luther wear it as an adult! +6

Luther never leaves the house and keeps going on missions for Reggie because of a sense of responsibility. I can understand that. -1

However, Reggie was the one who fostered that in Luther. He made Luther think that he was responsible for saving the city, when in reality that’s up to law enforcement officers. +3

Why didn’t Luther go to a real hospital? Did Reggie take him home? How did Luther end up back in the Academy after that mission? +1

Was Luther dead? Reggie feels for his pulse and says “dammit”. Did the ape serum bring him back to life? +1

How long was Luther on that table? We see him with a beard in episode one, but it isn’t as crazy as this one. Also, does Luther bleach his hair now, or what? I am confused by Luther now being a brunette with impressive facial hair. +1

Tom Hopper nails ‘dawning horror and shock at now being an ape’. -1

Pop goes the weasel. +1

Who wound that box and placed it there? And why? The only other people there are Reggie, Grace, and Pogo. No way they did something so cruel and juvenile after permanently disfiguring him. +1

The umbrella the monkey-in-the-box suddenly has the title when it didn’t earlier. +1

“There’s something you have to see”. Yes Allison, continue to be vague. I’m sure Luther will appreciate it. Why not “I think the assassins killed Mom. Come take a look.” Is it because that would have been too logical? +1

Luther is still calling her “Grace”. +1

“Poor Diego. I mean this is gonna be so hard on him”. Choke on that irony, everyone. +1

 “I don’t wanna discuss it”. This family. Allison said the same thing about Claire moments before telling Luther everything. Parallels. +1

Vanya spent the night at Leonard’s house. Sigh. +1

“For one day I’ll think you’ll be fine”. What makes you think that, Leonard? +1

Vanya takes one sip of her coffee and never touches it again. Leonard doesn’t even drink his. What is the point of the damn coffee? +1

“When I was a kid I felt like I had to apologize for even breathing.” Reggie is a dick. +7

“I don’t think my Dad ever forgave me for being born” foreshadowing patricide. +1

Vanya and Leonard talk in front of the Icarus Theatre. Comics fans, you know why that’s significant. +1

Helen doesn’t acknowledge Vanya’s greeting like a normal human being. +1

People are already tuning, Vanya! Get your ass in the theatre so you can do the same! +1

Leonard is stupidly charming. I hate that he’s sort of likable, but it makes sense for what they’re using him for. +1

The kidnapping of Klaus Hargreeves. +4

Klaus is too kinky to tourture. -1

Where is that blood on his chest coming from? +1

Ten hours of tourture! Fuck you show for making Klaus go though that. +10

 “He’s a freak like his brother”. Which one? You met Luther and Diego. And they presumably know Five through the Commission. But which one is the freak into kinky shit? Diego? +1

“Remember Trinidad”. Noodle incident. (if you don’t know what that is google Noodle incident TV Tropes)+1

This motel has a surprising amount of towels in the bathroom. Some of the nicer places I’ve stayed don’t have that many. +1

Patch lives in house 204. “2” and “4”. Hmmm. +1

Does Diego show up on Patch’s doorstep being emo often? +1

Why is she still thinking about the 1938 fingerprint? We know that it’s plausible because of Five, but the police department should have thrown that out. It doesn’t make any sense and fingerprints can be alike. +1

She mentions the 30s cold case and Diego starts to look up in recognition. Even if he doesn’t know about the Commission or the Apocalypse, he does know about Five’s ability to time travel. He even mentions “The Boy”. Diego thinks that it was Five based on the fingerprint and his examination of the two crime scenes. -1

“For once, just try things my way”. Foreshadowing. +1

Diego hasn’t bothered to clean up the blood on his face from last night. Weirdo. +1

Allison is already forming a plan to kick Leonard’s ass the moment she sees his silhouette. Good. -1

Also, not the first time the audience has seen Leonard creeping around. Remember when he stole the journal? +1

Allison takes him down easy. Character moment showing that her superhero training hasn’t left her. Also, Allison is a badass. -1

Allison sees right through Leonard. This scene is excellent. -1

Lance has a really cute dog. -1

After seeing the shady deal while tailing Meritech, Five decides to tail Lance instead of just watching the building. Good job, Five. -1

How do you bill insurance companies for fake things? You need an insurance ID or SSN to have a patient. Where does Lance get these fake numbers from? +1

Why are eyeballs such a hot commodity? +1

“Names and numbers and I need it NOW” Five is scary. -1

Five jumped into the seatbelt. Did his powers secure it for him? +1

Five has a really organized desk. I wish I could read what he labeled the binders. +1

Luther decided to search Five’s room for clues. Pogo would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

For all we make fun of Diego’s stupid outfit, just remember, comics Diego has an even stupider one. This is the stupidity turned down. +1

The labels are now upside down on the binders when they were right side up in the last shot. +1

Either Five was a really good artist, or Reggie let Five have a poster above his bed that didn’t feature the academy. No explanation is given. +1

Five’s wallpaper depicts a boy pulling a mannequin in a wagon. -1

Luther punches a hole in Five’s wardrobe. This is never mentioned again. +1 

“When you watch those nature shows does it turn you on?” Diego is a dick. +1

If you look really closely, you can see something that looks suspiciously like the ending to Apocalypse suite in Five’s room as a piece of art taped to the wall. I checked with the comics. It looks very, very similar. -1

There are two cylindrical things on the wall. One on Five’s wall and one we can see through the doorway on the wall across from Five’s room. What is it? Nightlight? Loudspeaker? Alarm? +1

Ben Hargreeves enters the chat. -1

“Stay calm, Klaus” stay calm. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha spent over 10 hours beating the crap out of Klaus but they didn’t think of the training manual, something Cha Cha clearly has memorized, until now. +1

When did they grab his coat? Klaus was wearing nothing but a towel. Did Hazel decide to grab it on a whim? +1

“Asthma medication”. Klaus is still coherent enough to come up with an okay lie after 10 hours of tourture. +1

“Amputee hookers”. Nice call back to the comics. -1

Hazel and Cha Cha don’t hear Klaus say “not until they're high as kites” when responding to Ben. +1

“Klaus, be strong”. Ben’s facial expression was really weird with this line. +1

Klaus cracks after 10 hours of tourture while going through withdrawal. Impressive. -1

The multi-screen effects look really cool. -1

Watching Hazel and Cha Cha burn down Meritech while high as kites amuses me. -1

Watching this later while knowing that Meritech doesn’t really matter means that I don’t really care about this building. I wish there was something to make this more interesting instead of just making the eye a red herring. Leonard hasn’t lost an eye yet, so it doesn’t matter. +1

What were Hazel and Cha Cha dancing to in universe? Was this song playing on the radio or something?? +1

Luther goes through the door that’s too small for him because he’s Number One and Diego goes through the door that would actually accommodate Luther’s size. +1

Vanya’s book should be way more beat up than that if it survived the literal apocalypse with Five for 45 years. The ink looks too fresh, too. Unless this is another, newer copy of Extra Ordinary? Sin for confusion. +1

Five got way too close to that explosion. Five survives this without injury. +1

We see him lying amongst the shrapnel for crying out loud! +1

Gossip magazines. “We’re doing fine!” +1

Tween Hit is still a popular magazine seventeen years later. -1

“Vanya, she’s gone” is the vaguest wording ever. +1

However, Vanya understands this. Sin on the writers. +1

“It was those psychopaths last night” weird delivery. Allison’s tone is off. +1

Does Vanya not have any students other than Leonard? She’s perfectly free on some random afternoon so she can have a drink with Allison. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha coming down from their high. -1

Cha Cha hates doughnuts. +1

Reginald Hargreeves put his eight year old son in what amounted to a tourture chamber so he would stop being afraid. Reggie is a dick. +8

Why is Ben stuck in the closet with Klaus? +1

The cleaning lady (her name is Claudia, according to a card she leaves) has one of her ears uncovered. She totally would have been able to hear him. +1

Callback to the screw Hazel threw away to remind the audience that it’s important. -1

Ben’s whiny bullshit. Now is not the time, asshole. +2

We know why the dog ear is important, but why would Patch? At this point it’s a random piece of fabric that might look like something she saw on surveillance footage (Cha Cha’s mask). Point is, that could be something from Meritech and not necessarily urgent. +1

Patch gets the message intended for Five about Klaus. When Diego thinks that the missing brother is Five and that’s who he meant when he was talking to her. Choke on that irony and miscommunication. +1

This show is shot like a comic book and I love it. -1

“That’s what you do when you’re 17” in this specific circumstance, yes. In others, not so much. You don’t have to leave when you’re 17. +1

Luther calls out Diego for not being a real grown up while also not being a real grown up himself. +1

Diego asks “You ever even been with a girl”. Diego is a dick. +1

“We’re orphans again, dude”. When were you ever orphans? Sin for the writers for writing this or to Reggie for making them believe that they were regular orphans he adopted legitimately instead of buying. +1

“Do you ever stop talking. Wow that was easy.” I wheezed.-1

Five is drunk in the library with Dolores with equations scribbled all over the place. No one stopped him when he started writing on the walls in sharpie. +1

Five has two bottles of hard liquor with him. +2

 “Drunk as a skunk” +1

The comedic timing of Five’s hand letting go of the bottle. -1

“Jerk off on your Mr. Snuggles teddy bear”. First of all, eww. Second of all, yeah, Vanya these are all valid points she’s making. You just met this dude! +1

“But sometimes men are unredeemable shits” yeah. Sin for men and for the fact that Vanya doesn’t know this. +1

“Yay sisters” -1

What are Allison and Vanya drinking? Seriously, what are their drinks of choice? It looks like Vanya has something like a gin and tonic or a vodka soda and Allison has a rum and coke, but I can’t really tell. This is a sin until I know for sure. +1

That is a lot of extra blood on Klaus with no explanation. +1

Draw Ben like one of your French girls, Klaus. -1

“Is your brother here now.” “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific on that” -1

Ben’s wink. -1

Reggie is a dick to his adopted children. +7

Torturing a literal child and calling it training. +4

Reggie, you dramatic bitch. +1

Warrants exist for a reason, Patch. +1

Also, Patch decides to follow Diego’s shitty advice without any backup. +1

Drunk Five being carried bridal style by Luther. Aidan Gallagher being carried bridal style by Tom Hopper. -1

“I’m going through puberty. Twice.” Sucks to be you. +2

You had two bottles, Five. And you somehow didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. +2

Diego’s face. -1

Aidan Gallagher doesn’t play drunk very well. To be fair, he’s never been drunk (or at least I hope he hasn’t), but it’s still a sin. +1

“You know I hate code names”, okay Spaceboy. +1

“I’m the four frickin horsemen” or Gabriel’s horn. -1

“You haven’t been this sober since you were a teenager, since you decided to keep the ghosts at bay”. I hate the delivery on this last line, but to be fair to Justin Min, it was a shitty line in the first place. Sin for delivery and for the writers. Also, gee Ben, I thought he was just doing drugs to be contrary. +2

Zoya Popova is so underrated. I love her. -1

Ben’s lil smile. -1

Vanya’s apartment is so warm and nice with all the lights on, but this is the only time we get to see it that way. When she is on good terms with Allison. Lighting cues. -1

Allison, you’re too tall to fit in Vanya’s sweatpants. They’d be sweat capris. +1

Have I mentioned how much I love Allison’s jacket in this episode yet? Because I really like it. -1

Creepy flowers are creepy. +1

“She knows it was a misunderstanding”  Allison’s face all but says. “Do I?”. Emmy Raver-Lampman rules. -1

Also, Vanya speaks for Allison. +1

This is where they decide to show just how much of a creep Leonard is. Well done, show. -1

Leonard is a creepy, manipulative little bastard. +1

Sin off for the gory sfx makeup in this episode. The ghosts look brutal! -1

Syd the tow truck driver is back. Too bad he’s dead. +1

The dead cheerleader is disturbing. +1

This episode sort of confirms the headcanon that Klaus can speak/understand many languages. -1

The gore on Klaus keeps changing. +1

The switch in camera angles shows the shift in point of views, hence why the ghosts disappear. Clever. -1

Ben voice: Nicely done. -1

Patch waited a pretty long time. How long was the walk from the library to thy gym? +1

Chair scoot. Klaus is smart. -1

Klaus gives himself a concussion. Sinning because he had to give himself more trauma to escape from touture. +1

Claudia gives Patch the key to the room without question and then runs.+1

Klaus is coherent enough to think to hide in the vent. Klaus is a smart cookie. -1

The death of Detective Eudora Patch. +1

The Klaus theme -1

Kenny’s mom appearance! Her hat and jacket have matching flowers that also match her pants. Cute. -1

Klaus’s wink. -1

Kenny’s mom definitely saw a lot more of Klaus than what was already on display. +1

Time traveling briefcase! -1

Kenny’s mom looks for Klaus under the seat. What??? +1

Diego gives Dolores a chair. How nice of him. -1

Diego’s Prime 8s poster. If you know, you know. -1

Aidan Gallager sucks at pretending to sleep. +1

“You throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I’m pressing charges”. I love Al. -1

It was a half hour walk from the library to the gym. Patch waited a really long time. +1

Now you remember Klaus after you found Five, who wasn’t really in any danger. +1

The little pat Luther gives Dolores. -1

Diego takes his gloves off. It’s like he wants to get framed. +1

This scene is really emotional and made me cry the first time I saw it. +1

David Castaneda is a really good actor. -1

The fridging of Detective Eudora Patch. +100

Overall Review:

This episode starts off on a really high note. I follow Tom Hopper on Instagram. He’s really fit. There is no denying that. I also appreciated the way he played Luther this episode. The scene where Luther realizes what his body looks like was heartbreaking to watch and really well acted. 

Speaking of heartbreaking to watch, the fridging of Detective Patch pisses me off. For those who don’t know, “Fridging” is when a female character is hurt or killed in some way in order to move a man’s story/emotional development forward. Considering that Patch’s death is what starts Diego’s character development, I would say that this applies. I am genuinely disappointed in the writers for doing this to Patch. I think it’s been established that I respect Patch. She doesn’t take any shit and she follows her moral compass. That is her real character. She only screws up when it comes to Diego and this is no different. She decided to be reckless like him and paid the ultimate price. However, this is completely out of character. Based on what we’re shown, Patch should have brought up her suspicions to Beeman (the other detective) and went from there. But instead, she had to die. That injustice done to her character is what deserves 100 sins. The show really dropped the ball with this one. 

Moving on, Vanya and Allison have some really good interaction in this episode. I think it’s a little weird how quickly Vanya forgave Allison after the shit she said last episode. Diego and Allison treated Vanya like a fragile object, which is what led her to Leonard. To be fair, Vanya was pretty stupid that last episode when she didn’t run away, but that doesn’t excuse what Diego said and Allison agreed with. Overall, the yay sisters thing was a good, but sus moment. 

Next, Klaus and Ben. Almost everything Ben said in this episode pissed me off. The “that’s the real tourture” speech was awful. For all the fandom loves him, Ben is a prick. However, Ben was also able to keep Klaus calm and encouraged him to control his power over the many, many ghosts in the room. So it’s kind of a wash for me this episode. I hope season 2 explores more of his character and why he would choose to say something so awful while his brother is being literally tortured. 

As for the main plot, Five’s only lead, not that it really matters yet, has been destroyed. Hazel and Cha Cha realize that they’re going to end the world if they complete their mission. And Leonard has finally been revealed to be a creep who wants something to do with Vanya’s pills. On a rewatch, we know why that’s significant, but a first time viewer would be confused in a good way. The show wants the audience to ask: Why? Vanya’s pills have been there for important moments up until this point. And now there are being forcibly taken out of the equation. Why?

Total: 193

Sentence: Getting drunk in the library with your mannequin wife while trying to do math. 

[writing-royza]

Aware

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Just gonna leave this here and then get to bed. It’s been a busy weekend. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

Aware

She didn't know exactly when she'd started being able to predict his almost every move. Now, she knew his every little quirk and habit: she knew how he took his coffee, when he was more likely to do his work without complaint, or when he was likely to fall asleep face-down on top of it. She could tell at a glance if he'd been spending late nights going over his research notes, or if something was bothering him. She knew how to coax — occasionally con — him into talking about things he would otherwise keep bottled up, and she knew the fastest ways to calm him down when his hot-headed streak kicked in.

Yes, Riza was very aware of just how well she knew Roy Mustang.

Briggs would see a heat wave before she would admit it, but deep inside, Riza took great pride in her title. Not the title of First Lieutenant, the other one: bodyguard-slash-adjutant. It meant that she was the one person Roy trusted to be closer than all the others. Precious few could legitimately say they were close to him, and out of those, she was the only one he had tasked with watching his back.

Over the years, she had developed an unconscious habit of consistently checking where he was relative to her own position. Wherever he was, as long as she was in the same room, she knew exactly where to look for him. She knew his walk, the sound of his footsteps; if he came up behind her, she could always tell it was him without turning around.

And in cases such as this, squeezed into an elevator with the rest of 'the team' with Fuery pushed back-to-back against her and Roy's face no more than six inches from hers, she was all too aware of him.

He had told her once, in a fit of slightly drunken honesty, that she had a scent about her that drove him crazy. Coffee, vanilla, and brown sugar, he'd said, with that mischievous smirk on his face. What Riza hadn't told him was that every time she walked across the office to his desk, either waking him up or to get his signature on a piece of paperwork, his scent — that mix of soap, ink-covered paper, clean linen, and something unidentifiable that made her heart speed up and it was all him — was the first thing she noticed.

Standing this close, she was concentrating on keeping her heart rate steady. She stared at one of the stars on his epaulets, focussing on that and not the leg pressed against hers, not the accidental brush of his foot, not the mouth that was practically at eye level and if she reached just a little —

No. Mentally shaking herself, Riza brought her thoughts back from their tangent. This was not the time nor the place to be having such thoughts; by military regulations, he wasn't even a person she should be having those thoughts about. Besides, such fantasies were a waste on someone like her; she didn't have time for such sentimental nonsense. Taking a surreptitious deep breath, just as the elevator slowed to a halt, Riza buried her tiny moment of weakness in the darkest recesses of her mind.

The doors opened, and the six of them filtered out into the hallway. Havoc grimaced, rubbing at a sore shoulder. "The next time we have to travel somewhere, let's pick a hotel with bigger elevators," he grumbled. "Breda had me shoved against the wall the entire time."

"Says the guy who had his bony elbow jabbing me in the back," the red-haired man returned with a glare.

"Take it easy." Roy interrupted the impending argument, though not sharply. "The two of you still have to be roommates for the night. Don't start off trying to kill each other."

Galvanizing her thoughts into motion, Riza spoke up, taking care that her voice wouldn't betray any eyebrow-raising emotions. "Speaking of tonight, I'd suggest that everyone try and get a decent amount of sleep. Our train leaves at nine tomorrow morning, meaning we need to be packed and out of the hotel by eight."

Fuery stifled a yawn. "You don't have to tell me twice. Good night, everyone." With a chorus of murmured good nights, the six of them filtered off to their rooms. Fuery and Falman shared one, and Breda and Havoc had another, leaving their two superiors to their separate single rooms.

Standing in front of her door, just lifting the key to the lock, Riza heard that oh-so-familiar footstep behind her. Not bothering to keep his voice quiet, Roy said, "If you don't mind, I'd like a look at the itinerary for tomorrow."

"Of course." Turning the key, she pushed the door open, and held it for him. He passed her without a word, hands casually in his pockets. She let the door close, following him across to the room's desk. Brown eyes watched as he turned on the desk lamp, and picked up the file lying there, studying the contents. "What exactly are you looking for, sir?"

"Nothing, really." Dark eyes never left the page. "I'm just wondering what had you so uptight in the elevator, and if you're all right."

. . . He noticed that? Folding her hands behind her back, Riza kept her usual impassive mask in place. "It's nothing I can't handle, sir. I'm fine."

"I see." He flipped the file closed, dropping it casually back to the polished desk; his eyes slid sideways to look at her. "I thought it might have something to do with six people stuck in one elevator. A little bit of claustrophobia." He turned, taking a step in her direction; he was too close now. Riza automatically took a step away, her back fetching up against the wall.

"But then again," Roy said quietly, with just the hint of a smirk, "you've never really had that problem, have you."

She almost expected to feel light-headed; to her mild surprise, she was as calm as ever. "No, I haven't." Riza held his gaze, neither speaking for a long moment. He was watching her closely, no doubt trying to figure out what it was he'd picked up on that she was so determined not to tell him.

Maybe she should say it. If there was one thing Roy took as a challenge, it was information being dangled in front of his nose, then being told he couldn't have it. It had been that way with her father's research, with finding Hughes' murderer . . . . With his track record, she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to —

"If I noticed it at all, it has to be something pretty significant," he said, voice still soft. The smirk had faded into a calm smile. "Come on, you've shared darker secrets than this before, right? What's one more, between you and me? You know you can trust me."

— persuade her . . . . No, she was stronger than this. In this battle of wills, she would win.

"I'm sure I can, sir," she said matter-of-factly. "But as I said, it's nothing I can't handle. If you've finished with the itinerary, I think I'd like to turn in for the night."

His eyes narrowed, not out of spite, but curiosity at her consistent dodging of his subtle interrogation. As she moved to step around him, he caught her lightly by the hand. "Hold it, soldier. I didn't say anything about you being dismissed." He was completely serious as he added, "I don't want to pull rank on you, Riza. But I will if I have to."

And she knew he would. They worked closely enough together that Roy seldom had to give her a direct order, unless it was for the sake of appearances, around other high-ranking officers; most of the time, Riza was able to anticipate what had to be done, and acted on it. For him to make the suggestion, he was very serious indeed.

At the same time, he'd used her first name, which meant he was confident they were completely alone. The way he said it set it bouncing around her mind, the sound repeating itself over and over. Something that felt like a static charge buzzed at the back of her neck, a shiver waiting to go down her spine if he said it again.

She took a step back to where she had been before, though it put her back against the wall again. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize we weren't finished with our discussion," she said. "If you want to give me that order, you're welcome to do so, but I'm afraid it would be a waste of your time."

Roy stared at her for a moment, confusion taking the place of everything else. ". . . What the hell has gotten into you?"

Taken aback by the undertone of hurt in his voice, Riza didn't reply, though her surprise registered on her face. Unconsciously drawing her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to think of what to say next. Her eyes left Roy's, travelling down to glance briefly at his lips before she turned her head to the side, looking away. Maybe winning this battle wasn't that important . . . .

He went very still, then. "Riza . . . ." The electrical charge at the base of her neck went racing down her back; she tensed. "It's about me, isn't it." His hands went to her shoulders, the worry evident in his voice now. "What did I do? Just talk to me; we'll sort it out."

"It's not the sort of thing that just talking means the end of it," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. She watched as he frowned briefly in puzzlement . . . and then the metaphorical lightbulb came on.

"Oh . . . ." Roy smiled. "That's what this is about? I have to basically interrogate you to figure out that you noticed me? Why didn't you just say so?"

Riza folded her arms, waiting for the inevitable bout of laughter that was no doubt on its way. "Some of us have a harder time expressing our feelings," she said dryly. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm one of them."

"You're right; I'm sorry." He kept a lid on the snicker that obviously wanted to escape, but the smile remained on his face. His hands dropped to his sides. "So. What do you suggest I do with this newfound knowledge? We've obviously done the talking part, but as you said, just talking won't be the end of it."

Riza's eyes went to his lips again, set in that trickster's grin. "I did say that, didn't I . . . ."

He was closer now, and as always, her heart began to beat just a little faster at the scent of him. "Yes, you did."

Her back pressed against the wall as he kissed her, his touch returning, this time at her sides. Unbidden, Riza's hands rose to his shoulders. The feel of his lips on hers was cautious, almost tentative; he was testing the waters, so to speak, testing her responses before he —

In the next instant, Roy had closed the gap still remaining between them. Riza's eyes snapped open as he broke for breath; he was already watching her to gauge her reaction. This was worse than in the elevator; practically every inch of his body was aligned tightly against hers, and this time, there was no trying to ignore it. That moment of weakness she had ruthlessly buried just five minutes earlier came screaming back to life.

". . . Oh, what the hell," she murmured, only half to herself.

There was nothing cautious or careful about the kiss now; only desperation to reach a high that was just around the corner. Riza's fingers sought out and undid the closures on his uniform jacket, pushing it down off his shoulders even as he worked his arms out of the sleeves. The stiff blue material dropped to the carpet, and hers followed suit shortly after.

Riza inhaled sharply at the feel of his fingertips on her back, slipping under the soft fabric of her customary black shirt. Roy jumped at the sound, pulling back to look at her in mild alarm. "What—" He was only slightly out of breath.

She shook her head. "It startled me a little . . . it's okay." One corner of her mouth curled in a tiny, sly smile. "It's nothing you haven't seen before, anyway."

"Hmm. That was a long time ago." Roy grinned, one finger stroking along the ridge of her spine; that sent her pushing closer against him in a reflex to escape the tickle. "Maybe I've forgotten what it looks like."

"It's on your gloves, Roy."

". . . That was a perfectly good line until you wrecked it." His eyes narrowed in mock severity. "You're going to pay for that . . . ." He renewed his 'attack' on her lips, his free hand going to the back of her head. He undid the clip holding her hair twisted up in its usual style; the blonde strands dropped to her shoulders as he tossed the clip to the floor with their jackets. His fingers threaded their way through the soft tresses.

One by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt; one hand pressed itself to his chest over his heart. Pushing gently, Riza followed him back toward the bed.

"Gotta wonder where a nice girl like you learned how to act like this," Roy murmured, sinking down to sit on the edge of the mattress. "They give you extra classes at the Academy for this sort of thing?"

"You would be the first to volunteer as a test subject if they did, wouldn't you." Settling herself across his lap, she slid her arms up over his shoulders as his did the same around her waist.

"Can you blame me? Especially if any of the students are half as pretty as you?" He grinned, kissing her lightly. "Come on, where's that smile from before? At least let yourself have a little fun with this; you're too serious."

"Maybe I'm out of practice; this hasn't happened for a long time," she reminded him. "Not since that time we visited Maes and Gracia in Central, right after Elicia was born. That was just over three years ago —" She froze, her gaze drifting to one side. "Oh no . . . ."

Roy watched her eyes widen, his arms tightening protectively around her in reflex. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Central," she breathed. "We have to be on the train to Central tomorrow morning."

"Okay . . . ." Wary, and still concerned, he forced his embrace to relax. "And how does that have a bearing on what we were just doing? That's not until tomorrow; we can still —"

Her voice was low as she cut him off. "If we do this now, it's going to be very obvious tomorrow morning how tired we are. All four of the men know neither of us brought work with us that would keep us up, and last they knew, you were just coming in here to 'look at the itinerary.' They'll know something happened."

"How can you be sure?"

". . . Do I need to remind you how uncannily observant Falman is? If he notices, he's going to share."

Roy stared at her for a moment, before letting go and dropping flat onto his back. "You and your damn logic," he groaned, one palm reaching up to smack against his own forehead. "I would have been perfectly happy not thinking about that. Ignorance is bliss, Riza!"

"I know; I'm sorry." She leaned forward, ducking past his arm to give him one last apologetic kiss. "You can still stay here tonight if you want. But sleeping will be a priority."

He lifted the hand from his eyes, smiling ruefully. "I guess, either way, I'll still have the knowledge that I slept with you, just not in the usual sense. You've got a deal."

"Thank you." Her sly smile from a moment earlier returned. "And don't steal the covers like last time."

The phone on the bedside table rang, jolting her out of what was the most peaceful rest she'd had in a long time. Riza lifted her head sharply, sleep-tousled hair falling into her eyes as she frowned in sleep-fogged confusion at the noisy device. Who was calling her this early in the morning? The arm around her waist tightened as Roy snuggled closer.

"If you don't shoot it," he growled, "I will."

It all came rushing back in a flood of memory. The elevator, the 'interrogation,' the realization that they couldn't go through with it, at least not then . . . and the feeling of security as she drifted off, held close to Roy's chest with his quiet breathing in her ear and his heartbeat against her back.

"Sshh, just stay quiet." Reaching forward, she caught hold of the receiver, bringing it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Morning, Lieutenant." A tired-sounding Havoc seemed to be fighting back a yawn. "Just got the wake-up call from the front desk; they asked me to pass it on to you."

Right. Morning. The train to Central . . . . Almost on cue, Roy's arm tugged her back; she let herself be pulled back down, phone still in hand. "All right; thank you." She suppressed a reflexive 'hunh' as her bed partner's weight pressed down on her hip.

"Oh - you might want to go over and check on the Colonel. I tried calling him first, but he didn't pick up." A grin crept into his tone. "No offense, but you're the only one brave enough to go in there and turf him out of bed."

Roy was nose-to-nose with her now; dark eyes narrowed as they darted meaningfully toward the phone. "Understood. You and the others focus on getting ready; I'll deal with him." She waited until she heard the click before shifting her hand to cover the speaking end of the receiver, lowering her voice to just one shade higher than a whisper. "Good morning, sir."

"Wait a sec." He kissed her, like the night before, long and almost desperate. When he at last broke for air, he grinned. "Now it's a good morning."

[timetravelingheart]

My Side of the Fence Part One: A.M. Imagine

So this is my first post on here, even though I’ve had this blog for years! I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and decided to finally put it out there. I already have a few parts outlined, but I’m not sure how long this one will be just yet. Savannah Lane is my own creation; Auston Matthews and friends are obviously not. Feedback is absolutely welcome!

__

It was a beautiful summer day in August when they met. 

Savannah Lane, Olympic gold medal figure skater, was enjoying an equally relaxing and fun beach day with a group of her friends from Toronto. After living in Edmonton to train for the past eight years, Savannah’s coaches opened their own training facility in Toronto, causing Savannah to relocate. She just finished moving into her apartment with a spectacular view of the lake, but still hasn’t had enough time to really decorate or make the place her own. But, it’s summer, and she has some time off before starting the skating season, so she figured why not reunite with some of her old friends and get a tan in the process?

“Hey Sav! We’re up!” Brian called, referring to the beach volleyball game that was currently in play. Wearing her favourite purple bikini, Sav pulled her long dirty blonde hair up into a high ponytail and ran over to take her position. 

Ten minutes into the game and Sav and Brian were winning easily. Sav took a water break and decided to check her phone to see if Steph had messaged her yet. Stephanie was one of Savannah’s best friends since they were little tykes attending the same summer camp. Steph was so excited to introduce her to all of the friends she’s made with the Leafs and their significant others. Sav had already met Steph’s boyfriend Mitch multiple times over the years and he was always such a good friend to her. When Savannah decided on a beach day, she invited Steph, Mitch, and whomever else they wanted to bring along. Seeing that Steph texted that they were about ten minutes out, Sav smiled to herself, excited to finally see her best friend after a few months apart. 

“You ready, babe?” Brian called. Sav rolled her eyes at the term of endearment, knowing that Brian was always a harmless, but absolutely shameless, flirt. “We’ve got them right where we want them!”

“Bri, we’re winning 12-2,” Sav laughed. “I think we can dial down the competitiveness a bit.”

“Says Canada’s reigning gold medalist in figure skating!”

Sav took a little curtsy, complete with a royal wave, before standing up straight and punching Brian on the shoulder. Kaitlyn Osmond and her partner Stephen started to shout obscenities at them, eager to finish this game and be done with the embarrassment. 

Ten minutes later, Brian set Sav up for the perfect spike. Sav’s sculpted legs and insane core strength allowed her to gain height with the jump and spike the ball as hard as she could. Kaitlyn and Stephen both scrambled for the ball, ending up in the sand in a heap as the ball landed in front of them. 

“Yeah!” Brian screamed, pulling Savannah into a big hug and swinging her around. “We’re number one! We’re number one!”

Savannah laughed loudly, a little embarrassed by his dramatics over a friendly game, but having fun nonetheless. Behind her, she heard unfamiliar voices hollering and cheering for her as well. Confused, Savannah turned around and spotted a group of very attractive, and very fit, men shouting, but her eyes searched for the one face she was dying to see. Green eyes scanning the group quickly, she spotted the beautiful blonde. Letting out a high-pitched squeal, Savannah and Stephanie both took off in a run until they had their arms wrapped around one another in a tight embrace. 

“You’re here! You’re real!” Steph cried into Savannah’s neck. 

“I am here! I am real!” Savannah laughed, squeezing her person back as tightly as she could without crushing the petite blonde. 

“Hey Steph! Let the girl breathe and hug the rest of us, eh?” Mitch laughed as he reached over and pulled Savannah out of his girlfriend’s arms into his open ones. “How ya doing, little one?”

“I’m good, Mitchy! Looking a little bigger, I see,” Savannah remarked as she gripped his biceps jokingly. 

“Oh, you know, I’ve been lifting a lot of weights this off-season,” Mitch tried to act tough as he flexed his arms for her. Steph rolled her eyes at her two favourite people and grabbed Sav’s hand in her own to pull her over to the group of hockey players who were setting up beach blankets and chairs on the sand. 

“Everyone, this is Savannah! Sav, these are the people who are going to become your Toronto family while you get acquainted!”

Mitch quickly started naming the group of very large and very attractive young men who were seated on the sand, and some of whom Savannah recognized from the photos she had seen on Steph and Mitch’s social media accounts. Morgan, Zach, William, Kasperi, and Auston all stood up and shook her hand in polite greeting. Auston’s hand, the last of the bunch, lingered a little longer than the others, and Savannah had to shake her head a little to escape the allure of his attractive gaze. Careful, she thought.

The boys tried to make room for Steph and Savannah to have a seat on their big blankets, but with their long and muscular legs, it was a tight fit and Savannah found herself consciously trying not to bump knees with Auston, who was sitting to her left. She also found herself trying not to stare at his sculpted chest as he sat shirtless in just his grey leopard print swim trunks. Distracted, it took Savannah a second to realize that someone was asking her a question. She turned away from Auston and looked across from her to find the voice, and saw William looking at her expectantly. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Steph said that you just moved back to Toronto for training. Are you originally from here?” William repeated. 

Savannah took a second to stretch out her tanned, lean legs in front of her and rest back on the palms of her hands, not noticing that Auston was returning her once-over and trying to force himself to look at her face, not at her insane athletic body. His eyes went to her soft pink lips as she answered. “I’m from Kingston, so not too far from here. I used to come here all of the time though to visit this one,” she stated, nodding affectionately at her best friend. 

“And now she lives here!” Steph squealed, moving quickly to wrap her arms around Savannah’s shoulders. 

“Yeah babe, we get it, you’re excited,” Mitch laughed at his girlfriend’s antics, and swiftly ducked her swat, pulling her into his side lovingly. 

“Well since you live here now, you’ll have to join Steph and the other partners at our games,” Morgan spoke up. “We might actually have a shot at winning this year with these young punks and John Tavares.”

“My dad is a huge Leafs fan, so believe me when I say that I have heard ALL about John Tavares,” Savannah laughed. 

“And you’re not one?” Auston finally spoke up. He was happy his voice didn’t shake when he asked, because he could already feel himself starting to like this girl and suddenly felt a little nervous. 

When Savannah hesitated, Steph laughed loudly. “Go on, tell them,” she said conspiratorially. 

With all eyes trained on her, Savannah cleared her throat and looked down bashfully at her lap. “Well, I’m actually really good friends with Connor McDavid, so...” she cringed at the loud groans the men emitted and ducked at the sand that was thrown at her. 

“Seriously? You’re an Oilers fan?” Kasperi half-shouted, as if she had betrayed him personally. 

“Technically I’m a McDavid fan, but I also lived in Edmonton for eight years, so yes.” The men all groaned again loudly and shook their heads like parents disappointed in their child. 

“I guess we’ll have to bring you to our games and change your mind,” Auston spoke with a determined air, eyes trained intensely on hers. 

Sav inhaled, uncertain of what she was feeling with his eyes on her. “I guess so,” she almost whispered. 

Steph, quickly taking notice of Auston’s sudden attraction to her best friend, had wheels turning and knew she had to act fast to ensure that Savannah didn’t run from his advances. Auston was a good guy, her boyfriend’s best friend, and even though he had a reputation for being a fuckboy (one he definitely earned in his first few years with the team), she could see the changes in him recently. He started to ask Mitch more questions about their relationship and how they make it work with their grueling schedule during the season, he stopped hooking up with random girls months ago, and started to really think seriously about finding someone right for him. 

Savannah, usually a relationship girl, had recently sworn off long-term relationships so she could focus on this quad and gear up for the Olympics and defend her title. Her last boyfriend, who originally said he respected and admired her dedication to her sport, grew tired of the lack of attention and wanted Savannah to prioritize their relationship. When he brought this to her attention, Savannah told him that if he was asking her to put him before skating, he might as well pack up his things and go. So, he did. And ever since then, Savannah hasn’t even considered dating anyone else. Steph knows that part of that is because Savannah has been hurt and doesn’t want that to happen again, but she also sees the way her best friend is affected by Auston’s lingering gazes and subtle knee touches as they sit side by side on the blanket. 

“Sav, you have to stay for the bonfire tonight!” Steph grabbed her hand, pulling Savannah’s attention away from Auston, her face flush. 

“Yeah, definitely! You can hear Kappy’s awful country singing,” Morgan joined in. 

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Kasperi shouted angrily, throwing a beach ball at Morgan’s head, as everyone else laughed. 

“You really can’t miss it,” Auston turned to her, his knee brushing hers slightly. Sav shifted to pull her legs to her chest, starting to feel herself being reeled in and needing to separate herself from him. Auston wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden movement, worried he might be coming on too strong, even though he hadn’t really done anything yet. He made a mental note to take it slowly with this girl, not wanting to scare her off. 

Sav laughed lightly, trying to remain engaged in the conversation with everyone and not just with Auston. “You had me at country singing!”

A few hours and several beach volleyball games later, the guys started the bonfire and brought out their beach chairs to make a circle. Savannah had pulled on her denim shorts and loose striped tank, and had said goodbye to the friends she originally came to the beach with, promising several coffee meet-ups and city hang-outs. Walking back over to the group of hockey players, she sat down on a chair next to the fire and pulled her legs up to her chest again, rubbing her arms softly, hoping to warm herself up quickly. The sun had begun to set and there was a nice breeze in the air, and while Sav was enjoying the reprieve from the beating sun, she could feel goosebumps forming on her arms and legs. 

Auston, who had been watching Sav from the moment she left her friends, quickly took notice of her actions and ran off to his car in the parking lot. Minutes later, he came back with two hoodies, one for himself and one for her. Wordlessly, he held both hands out to her and smiled widely. Savannah looked up at his smiling face, confused as to what was happening. When he started moving his hands with the hoodies, taunting her to pick one, she understood what he was offering, and while she loved the gesture, she still felt herself hesitating. Careful, she reminded herself. 

Auston sighed. “They’re hoodies, Sav, not wedding rings,” he stated bluntly, causing the heat to rise to Savannah’s cheeks. Auston had essentially acknowledged the connection (and the tension) between them with one statement. Sav refused to acknowledge the actual statement and instead reached out for the grey hoodie and quickly pulled it on, laughing slightly as it swarmed her petite frame. It felt soft and warm; a well-loved sweater. She looked at the logo - NDTP - and cringed. 

“I can’t believe you just gave a Canadian Olympian a team USA sweater!” she laughed, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Auston’s insides melt and core tighten. He was definitely a goner for this girl. 

Mitch whipped his head from holding a marshmallow over the fire to look at the small commotion to his left and laughed at the sight. Auston’s face was pink with laughter as he sat in the beach chair next to a very cozy, and very conflicted, Savannah. 

“You picked that one!” Auston argued, as he pulled the other blue Toronto Maple Leafs hoodie over his own head. 

“So my options were a Leafs hoodie or a USA hoodie - both make me a traitor, Auston!” Savannah laughed, pretending to be angry at the 6′3 brunette who was quickly, and sneakily making his way into her heart. Auston reached over and pulled on the strings on the neck of the hoodie. Softly, he whispered so only she could hear, “You might not like this, but you look really good in my hoodie, even with that cute little crinkle in your brow as you pretend not to be grateful for the warmth.”

Savannah swatted his hand away jokingly, and pulled the hoodie over her legs as she curled up on the chair. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you for the hoodie, Auston.” Auston smiled broadly, feeling proud of himself that she finally seemed to be letting herself relax around him after her initial hesitation. 

“You’re welcome, Savannah.” 

Mitch stood by the fire, still watching the exchange between the two. He didn’t know Savannah as well as Steph did, but he knew Auston, and right now his best friend was showing more affection towards Savannah than he had to any other girl Mitch has seen him with in the entirety of their friendship. He looked over at Steph, catching her watching the two closely as well, with a knowing smile on her face. Mitch caught Steph’s eye and winked. 

This was going to be fun. 

[jin0uga]

If she likes it she should

Me, an intellectual: I want to put a meme as the chapter title

I miss Glynda. Here’s a rairpair ship fic of Ruby/Glynda, featuring Older!Ruby. 

Part of my A Rose in Bloom series, standalone stories of Ruby/Any character in RWBY. 

Glynda woke at the gentle touch. Calloused fingertips danced across her forehead, accompanied by the familiar, off-key hum of her significant other. The tuneless hymn trailed off when Ruby realized she was awake, the feather light caress halting near the curve of her jaw. 

"Sleep well?" Glynda could almost hear the smile in Ruby's voice. Her lips lifted in response, color flooding her cheeks.

"Better, now that you're here," Glynda answered. Happiness bloomed in her chest as Ruby blushed, a pretty flush that made her twice as adorable.

"Smooth," Ruby teased, "I forgot how affectionate you can be in the morning." Ruby kissed her forehead, restless fingers reaching up to twirl errant strands of blonde hair around them. "Shower, then breakfast? I think we have some flaky bread things left, I'll even throw in scrambled eggs to sweeten the deal."

Glynda tangled their hands together, a small sigh escaping her. "A full-fledged adult, yet still refusing to call croissants by their given name. I should be perturbed."

"There's no harm in calling them out for what they really are," Ruby joked, "I'd call them crescent bread, but it kind of ruins my appetite when I imagine killing Grimm with that instead of Crescent Rose." She trailed off with a sigh. "Speaking of. My poor darling is in shambles after the previous mission, I'll have to do repairs when I get the chance."

Glynda made a noise of indignation. "Aren't I your darling?"

"I'm allowed to have more than one."

"Says who?"

"Says the most renowned Huntress in all of Remnant, Slayer of Cinder Fall and her giant Dragon," Ruby said, patting Glynda's cheek. "Give it up, Professor. You can't win when you're up against this magnificent beast." She pretended to flex. It drew a loud groan from her girlfriend, and Ruby let out a bark of laughter. "You're pouting."

"I am most certainly not pouting. I'm an adult." Glynda emphasized the last word, making Ruby laugh even harder.

"Don't worry, you'll always be my favourite!" Ruby cooed, "Now give me a kiss!"

Glynda snorted and playfully avoided the hands reaching for her. "Kiss my ass, Rose." She said, diving under the blankets. She pulled the fluffy duvet to her nose and hunkered down, waiting for the inevitable tickle war. But it never came.

Ruby's answering laugh was hesitant. "Just Rose? Or Rose-Goodwitch?"

Glynda swore the dust particles illuminated by shafts of sunlight spilling from the gap between the curtains had gone still. Her heart certainly had. She threw off the covers and stared blankly at Ruby, her gaze falling on the ring clasped firmly between trembling fingers.

Ruby cleared her throat, smiling nervously. "Marry me?"

Yang nudged Blake, not dragging her gaze away from their Professor stalking back and forth in front of the board. "Blake, correct me if I'm wrong, but… do your faunus eyes see what I see?" Yang felt the other girl stiffen at their proximity. "Check out that bling on her finger." Biting down the complaint of being bothered during lessons, sharp amber eyes focused in the direction Yang pointed at.

Blake's surprised huff told Yang all she needed. A devilish smile tugged at her lips and before she knew it, she was on her feet, hollering, "CONGRATS ON YOUR ENGAGEMENT, PROFESSOR!" Her enthusiastic declaration halted every sound in the classroom for a brief moment. Pencils stopped scratching, scrolls were left unfingered as every person in the room turned to look at her – varying expressions of disbelief plain on their faces.

The very same students then whipped their heads in the direction of said Professor, who looked utterly stunned by the turn of events and Yang's audacity.

Glynda worked her jaw and tried to speak, but she couldn't muster anything coherent in the face of Yang's bold words. The bell rang. The sound was muffled, she felt completely detached as if she were buried up to her ears in sand, but it jarred her enough to go from catatonic to vaguely aware.

The normally stern and taciturn professor swallowed, a vibrant blush spreading across her cheeks to the tip of her ears. "Thank you, Miss Xiao Long." Her voice was feather light and it wavered on the last syllable. "That's all for today. Class dismissed."

As the scariest professor to ever walk the halls of Beacon darted out of the room like she was on fire, Weiss slowly turned to look at Yang. "You couldn't wait until she gave out our tests?" Weiss' expression was sour. "I've been waiting to know my marks for three weeks."

Yang gave her a look that read 'Don't you have anything better to say?' before sitting back down. Blake felt a spark of sympathy for their Professor as she took in Yang's shit eating grin, smug satisfaction rolling off the blonde in waves.

The classroom exploded with excited chatter, like hot air rushing out of a pricked balloon. Blake had no doubt the news of Professor Goodwitch's engagement would be spread to every single student in Beacon by the end of their next lesson. The school's gossip network could put White Fang communications to shame, but whether the news would remain intact and truthful once it was spread, she had no idea.

"Yang, as much fun as it was to make Goodwitch flail like that, she's going to remember you the next times she sees you. I guarantee it." Blake looked at Yang, whose expression had morphed into a grimace. It was obvious the decision to yell such private information was done on a mere whim. "All I can say is, it was nice knowing you."

Yang scoffed. "What's she gonna do? Keep me in detention till I graduate?" It wasn't a pleasant idea, but she hoped there were rules that kept teachers from abusing their influence. Pyrrha, who had been seated in the row below theirs, stood up to face them. She offered Yang a worried smile. "I overheard Professor Port asking around for someone to transcribe his stories. Perhaps…?"

Yang choked, suddenly looking horrified. "…You think she'll give me a slap on the wrist if I apologized?"

Her friends exchanged looks and shot her an expression of sympathy. Yang hung her head, feeling nauseous at the prospect of listening to Port blab on about his highly exaggerated, macho escapades. "Ah crap."

In retrospect, Glynda should have thought twice about parading her ring in front of the students. As Miss Xiao Long had demonstrated, teenagers had uncanny observation skills when it came to romance, sex, and food.

She looked down, silently chastising herself and mentally conjuring up ways to have Yang strung up by her ankles. The gemstone on the ring Ruby had given her was enormous. Glynda was mildly surprised it'd only been spotted during third period, and not the moment she stepped onto Beacon's premises.

The stone was a deep, beautiful color, and where light normally refracted off a normal gem, light was sucked inside this one instead, dark green becoming an even darker hue.

It reminded me of your eyes, Ruby had said. She felt warm as she recalled what she'd done after Ruby had said that. Croissants aside, her morning had been most delicious. Smiling, Glynda finished up the last of her lunch and tossed the plate into the bin. She poured herself another cup of coffee, the metal of the coffeemaker winking at her, before settling back in her seat.

If this were any other day she'd be getting ready to leave the teacher's lounge, finishing the cup in two gulps and swiftly leaving for the next class.

Instead, Glynda drained it in short, minute sips. For the first time since she'd begun teaching she dreaded entering a classroom. Perhaps if she put on the fiercest scowl she could muster, finished it off with a set of heavily slanted eyebrows, she wouldn't be bombarded by relentlessly curious students and could finish her lesson without answering any private questions.

She nodded to herself. Yes, that sounded perfect.

Glynda strode into the next lesson – once, she'd found it a struggle to teach both Practical Dust Usage and Dust Theory, but she now hardly batted an eye – with a severe expression that would send even Grimm back into their nests. She'd expected eager students bursting with nonsensical questions. What greeted her instead, was the faces of star struck girls and boys who'd just met someone they idolized and pined after.

Ruby swooped in, greeting Glynda with a long and torrid kiss. When she finally drew back, to say Glynda was shocked would've been a massive understatement, a lie of epic proportions. The professor wished she could speak, possibly even yell incoherently, but there were no words to describe her feelings in this moment.

Ruby beamed, the mere action making students squeal in delight, or fall into their seats in a state of unconsciousness. "I was bored, so I thought why not pay my future wife a visit?" The woman finished by giving the room a mischievous once over. "You kids are fine with me being here, right?"

As the room erupted in screams – Miss Schnee had a heel on the table, the notebook around her mouth curled into a makeshift megaphone – Glynda could only groan.

This was going to be a long day.

[lfthinkerwrites]

A Riddle for a Bat

Remember that Riddlebat AU I mentioned I was working on? Well, here it is. It’s a mash-up of the comics and the Animated series mostly. Enjoy!

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T

Summary: It's been ten years since Bruce put on the cape and cowl. He thought he had brought some sense of order to Gotham City and he had. He had, until Edward Nigma, Private Investigator arrived and changed the game completely.

Chapter 1/?

AO3 Link

The entrance to the Batcave opened wide to accommodate the return of the Batmobile from, by Bruce's standards at least, an uneventful night on patrol with Dick. Bruce drove the Batmobile along the narrow stone track down into the Batcave. Alfred was waiting for them as Bruce parked the car. Dick had unbuckled himself and hopped out of the car as soon as the engine had cooled.

"I must say, Sir, I'm a bit surprised to see you two back so early," Alfred said.

"You and me both Alfred," Dick answered, removing his mask. "Three hours on patrol and all we encountered were two muggings, a guy breaking into a Deli and some drunks in Gotham Central Park." He leaned down to remove his boots. "If I knew it was gonna be this slow, I would have brought over my Civics homework from the dorm!" Dick turned to look at Bruce as he exited the Batmobile. "It's been slow the last few nights too. Maybe crime's finally starting to go down."

Bruce said nothing as he removed his cape and cowl. He'd been at this long enough to know that when he ran into slow periods like this, that what was really happening was a calm before the storm. A pull back on street crime meant that something major was in the works. Bruce narrowed his eyes as he mentally reviewed the list of the players in the Gotham Underworld. Joker, Ivy, Harvey, and Crane were still locked up in Arkham. Cobblepot was still on trial. That left the heads of Organized crime in Gotham. Stromwell was out of the game as of last year and Falcone and Maroni had been engaged in an on and off turf war that had seen both sides lose significant amounts of territory and influence. A leadership void was beginning to form. A void that Rupert Thorne would no doubt take advantage of.  

"Bruce?"

Bruce folded his cape and looked at Dick. "It might be a lull, but it might not be. For now, we should keep an eye on any street chatter. If something's going to happen, we need to be in front of it."

Alfred stepped forward and dutifully took Bruce's folded cape. "In the meantime, it appears you'll actually be able to put in an appearance at Ms. Vreeland's party tonight. She was quite insistent."

Given the choice, Bruce would rather face off against the mob. He needed to keep up appearances though. "I can hardly wait."

Half an hour later, Bruce had showered and changed into a tuxedo. He walked into the expansive living room of Wayne Manor, adjusting his cufflinks. Dick had changed into his casual clothes and was sprawled on the plush leather sofa, flipping through channels on the TV. He finally settled on the news when he saw an image of Oswald Cobblepot's mugshot. "Wonder if the verdict's in yet."

"...The Jury is still out on the trial of Oswald Cobblepot on charges of racketeering and bribery. Despite the amount of evidence presented by the prosecutor at trial, Cobblepot's lawyer claimed that since much of the evidence was obtained by Batman and not through the GCPD, it's veracity was in doubt.  It seems likely that Cobblepot's case will end in a mistrial. In other news tonight, yet another high profile case involving the Gotham elite has been cracked by Gotham's newest private detective, Edward Nigma-"

Bruce looked up from his sleeves and began to watch the newscast with a new interest. "Dick, turn up the volume."

Dick picked up the remote from the coffee table and raised the volume. Summer Gleeson's broadcast continued, "Since he set up shop in Gotham six months ago, Nigma's made a name for himself solving peculiar cases that as he puts it, baffle the GCPD." A previous clip of Nigma was shown on the TV, taken from his last television appearance. He was a young man, younger than Bruce at least, with auburn hair and bright green eyes. His business suit was green too, with a purple tie. He wore a green bowler hat as well, probably to set himself apart from others in Gotham. The most striking thing about the man was the smug smirk on his face. It was ever present in the various appearances the man had made on Gotham TV in the past six months. Bruce had yet to meet the man but just seeing that smirk grated. "In this case, Nigma successfully recovered jewels stolen from the penthouse of noted socialite Veronica Vreeland. When asked about just how he cracked the case, Nigma was quoted as saying that 'a genius such as himself never gives away his secrets.'"

"Oh brother," Dick scoffed. "He's never going to win an award for modesty. Still," Dick leaned back, stretching his arms out. "It might not be so bad having another crime fighter out there. Maybe he's part of the reason why it's been so quiet."

"From everything I've seen, Nigma's more interested in getting his face on TV than actually stopping crime," Bruce said shortly. "That's not someone we can rely on as an ally."

Dick shrugged and went back to watching the TV. "If you say so."

Behind Bruce, Alfred cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon sir, but we really should be going."

Bruce tore his eyes away from the screen and walked towards the foyer. "I'll be back in a few hours. Call me if anything comes up."

Dick gave him a little wave as he settled back against the sofa. "Have fun. Or at least try."

"Bruce! Darling!"

Bruce stood patiently and plastered a smile to his face as Veronica stepped forward, kissing him on the cheek. "Hi, Ronnie." She took his arm and guided him into her opulent penthouse. The living room was filled to the brim with the creme de la creme of Gotham's high society, most of whom Bruce knew from his large social circle. None of them were dressed quite as ostentatiously as Veronica though. Bruce took note of her large diamond necklace and bracelet, as well as the sapphire ring on her right ring finger. "I take it you're happy to have your jewels back."

Veronica flaunted her hand. "I feel complete again! Actually, that's why I'm glad you could make it tonight. There's someone you just have to meet."

Bruce smiled indulgently at his red-haired friend. "You're not going to try to set me up with another one of your friends, are you Ronnie?"

Veronica threw her head back and laughed. "Bruce, you've gone through just about everyone I know. No, he's more someone I have my eye on." He? She gestured toward a large gathering of people in the center of the room. They seemed to Bruce to be gathered around something. Or someone. He raised an eyebrow. Veronica made her way through the crowd, almost dragging Bruce along. In the center, regaling Wallace Thornberg with some story, was a man dressed in a green suit. "Eddie dear, this is the friend I told you about, Bruce Wayne. Bruce this is-"

"Edward Nigma," Bruce said. Perhaps tonight would be more interesting than he thought. Nigma turned at the sound of his name and Bruce's eyes widened slightly. The green color of his suit was more vibrant in person than his television screen could ever quite convey and it accentuated the bright green of his eyes. It was striking, Bruce had to admit. He was striking. The corners of Nigma's mouth widened into that smug grin Bruce had come to loathe the sight of over the past six months and the spell was broken.

He gave Thornberg a pat on the shoulder and made his way past him towards Bruce and Veronica. He held out a purple-gloved hand. "Indeed I am. And you are?"

Bruce slowly took Nigma's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Bruce Wayne. A pleasure, I'm sure." Nigma seemed a bit surprised by the force of Bruce's grip, but he didn't make any attempt to pull away. Bruce took the opportunity to size him up. He was taller than one might expect, being about six feet tall. He was lanky as well, compared to Bruce's broader frame. He seemed to show no signs of being intimidated by either Bruce himself or the crowd he was in. On the contrary, he seemed to take being introduced to one of the wealthiest men in Gotham as being his proper due. Bruce pulled his hand away. "So," he said finally. "What brings a private detective to a Veronica Vreeland party?"

Before Nigma could answer, Veronica inserted herself back into the conversation. "I invited him of course," she said. "What better way to thank him for recovering my family jewels?"

Edward nodded. "It's true, I don't normally frequent social events like this, but when Ronnie begged me to come, I couldn't resist."

Veronica laughed, then snaked her arm around his elbow. "Come on Eddie, I have a few other people I'd like you to meet. See you in a bit, Bruce." She dragged Nigma off with her, the man's slightly stiff posture the only clue to how uncomfortable he was about the situation. As soon as Veronica stopped in front of some old socialite friends of hers he quickly recovered, delivering his pitch in an almost theatrical tone. He used his hands to gesture for emphasis. Even from across the room, Bruce could make out his words. He spoke with a loud cadence, similar to that of the hosts on those old time game shows he remembered watching when he was a child. Given his outfit, he honestly wouldn't be too out of place on those, Bruce thought. He also thought he could pick up a touch of a New England accent when Nigma spoke. So he wasn't from Gotham originally. Bruce walked towards the refreshment table and picked up a flute of champagne. He continued to watch as Veronica took Nigma on a tour of the room. He tried not to cringe as Veronica lay her head on Nigma's shoulder. This was a change from the usual European boy toy that usually caught her eye and hopefully, this infatuation would be just as brief. Nigma happened to look back towards him and caught his gaze. He smirked and gave him a wink before diving back into conversation with Veronica and her friends from college. Bruce narrowed his eyes. There was something he found unsettling about Nigma.

Bruce watched as Nigma extricated himself from Veronica's grasp and make his way towards the refreshment table. He grabbed a flute of champagne himself before he looked up at Bruce. He scooted over so that he was standing right next to him. "Is this spot taken?"

There were three feet of empty space between Bruce's spot and where Nigma had picked up the glass. Clearly, he wanted to speak to him. "It is now," Bruce joked.

Nigma smirked again and Bruce tried to ignore how smarmy it made the other man look. "I can't help but notice," he said, "That you've had your eye on me."

Bruce shrugged and took a sip from his glass. "No offense, but you're not exactly the kind of guy Ronnie usually brings to these parties."

"So I've heard," Nigma said before taking a sip. "To tell you the truth, I usually wouldn't be caught dead at one of these things, but Ms. Vreeland did pay my fee. And hor 'd oeuvres here beat take out any day of the week."

"Not to mention the networking opportunity I imagine."

Nigma raised his glass in Bruce's direction. "That too. I'll have to print off a new set of business cards." He took a sip and looked back at Bruce. "I imagine that you must have a number of questions for me."

Bruce did, actually. Who was he? Where had he come from? What was his game? "As a matter of fact, yes."

Nigma chuckled. "Ask away. Mind you, I may not answer them all."

"Well for starters, what's your real name?"

Nigma paused while he was lifting his glass up to his lips. "Come again?"

Bruce had scored a direct hit. "I mean, Edward Nigma? E. Nigma? That can't be your real name."

Nigma slowly lowered his glass and looked at Bruce with something that was almost respect. "Well done Mr. Wayne," he said. "You're the first person at this little soiree who's called me out on that." He gave a small bow. "Yes, I admit it. Nigma is something of a stage name if you will. My first name really is Edward though."

"Why?" Bruce asked.

Nigma shrugged. "Everyone in this town needs a gimmick. Besides, I've always been fascinated by puzzles, conundrums and the like. In fact, I like to think of life as one great big riddle. One that I know all the answers to, of course."

"Of course," Bruce said, trying not to roll his eyes. "Is that why you wear green too? To stand out from the crowd?"

Nigma held a hand up to his chest in mock offense. "Green happens to be my favorite color. It stimulates inventiveness, don't you know." He lowered his voice and leaned in closer to Bruce. "I've also been told it brings out my eyes."

Was Nigma trying to get in his head or was he trying to flirt with him? Bruce pulled away, unsure what to think. "Anyway," he said after clearing his throat. 'What got you into being a private detective?"

Nigma frowned a bit, then settled back against the table. "Well, like I said, I enjoy solving puzzles. Investigative work is the natural career path for me."

"Why a private detective though? Wouldn't you get more interesting 'puzzles' if you worked for the GCPD?"

Nigma's face darkened and Bruce knew what he said had struck a nerve with the other man. "Let's just say I don't work well with authority," he muttered. Then his face resumed its almost jovial expression. "At any rate, I don't have trouble finding interesting cases. And to tell the truth," his face took on an almost dreamy expression. "Solving the puzzles is only half the reason I do what I do. What I really want, more than anything, is to meet him."

Bruce had a sinking feeling he knew who Nigma was talking about. "Who?"

"Who? Batman of course!" Nigma rubbed his chin. "I know for a fact that I'm one of, if not the cleverest men in Gotham. But this Batman, he's done more to clean up this city in a decade than the GCPD or the politicians have managed in over thirty years!" Nigma sighed. "How could I not want to test my intellectual mettle against a man like that?"

"Most people would be afraid to meet Batman."

Nigma scoffed. "Clearly Mr. Wayne, I'm not most people." A ringing sound came from the pocket of Nigma's suit coat. He pulled out a cellular phone and took a quick look at the number on the screen. "Ah. If you'll excuse me, I need to take this." Nigma walked off, disappearing into the hallway that led to the interior of the penthouse. Bruce waited a minute, then followed Nigma. He heard his voice coming out of the locked bathroom. "I told you I'm at...what? When? Where?" There was a pause before Bruce heard him say "Alright. I'll be there in about half an hour." Bruce heard the lock of the bathroom door click open and quickly hid in the doorway of the adjacent guest room. Nigma walked right by him on his way back out into the living room. Bruce followed him out in time to see him apologetically bowing to Veronica. "My apologies my dear, but something's come up. Thank you again for inviting him." Nigma straightened up and turned to see Bruce. He tipped his hat. "Mr. Wayne. A pleasure." Nigma left a disappointed Veronica behind. She huffed as Bruce approached her.

"Why do all the men in my life always have to say 'sorry, but something more important's come up?"

"I'm sure you'll see him again Veronica," Bruce said. He knew he himself would see Nigma again. "I'm sorry, but I still don't quite get the attraction."

Veronica twirled a lock of her red hair. "I know he seems like a bit much, but he does have a certain, cerebral charm about him. It's a nice change from the swine I've dated in the past. And he does have such pretty green eyes." She elbowed him a bit. "You seemed to be getting along with him pretty well at the refreshment table earlier."

Bruce wasn't sure he could call it that. What he'd determined was that Edward Nigma was hiding something. He wanted to know just what that something was.

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce and Veronica looked up to see Alfred standing at the door. "Pardon the interruption, but you have an urgent call from Wayne Manor."

Bruce looked apologetically at Veronica. "Sorry, Ronnie-"

Veronica waved him off. "Don't. Frankly, I'm amazed you stayed as long as you did. See you later, Bruce." She walked off to rejoin the party and Bruce walked out the door with Alfred.

"I saw that private investigator that the news shows were talking about was here. Did you meet him, Sir?"

"I did," Bruce answered.

"And?"

When the two got to the parked limousine, Bruce opened the rear passenger door and clambered in. "He's even more aggravating in person than he is on TV, but that's not important right now." He pressed the button on the car phone. "What's happening Dick?"

"I just heard something on the police scanner a few minutes ago. There was an explosion at Maroni's old Italian restaurant in the Bowery. According to the scanner, most of Maroni's remaining lieutenants are dead."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "I'm on my way. Stay on the scanner and keep me updated." Bruce pulled out a bag from under his seat and removed an extra costume of his. As he pulled off his shirt, he paused. Nigma had received a call at the party and then left. Did he know about this? And if he did, how? Was he connected, somehow? He pulled off his shirt and put on his costume with heightened urgency. He knew there was something unsettling about Nigma. Time to find out what.

[totalrockfiend]

5 Rock Albums I Can Get Behind Released in 2020...

Have I reached that “Get off my lawn!” stage of life?

At 46, I’m certainly no spring chicken. But I’m still a looooooong ways from retirement age. 

Which is significant, because that’s the era in you life when you’ve got too little to do, and too much time to do it with. And thus banal trivialities, like errant lawn treading, reach DefCon 5 status and require an aggressive rebuke.

So, I guess I can assuage my fears on that front. Except, perhaps, went it comes to music. Because I’ve DEFINIATLEY lived long enough to reach the “I don’t really like any ‘new’ music” stage of life. 

In other words, I’m continuedly amazed how much new music appears every year, and how little of it I actually appreciate.

This year, however, I’m please to report that five albums made the cut. That said, don’t get your hopes up...

Four the bands/artists have been in the game for 25 years or more (in some cases, MUCH more).  Actually, only one entrant qualifies as “new.” And this outfit is punk rock “supergroup” of sorts. With a record that’s likely a one-off outing. 

Thus, my 2020 of “best of” rundown (yes, I realize I’m running behind on this. The procrastination struggle is REAL!) includes very little of what could be legitimately be called “new music.”

Anyway, enough with the blather, let’s dive in...

Fake Names, Fake Names

Other than the fact that famed punk-hardcore-and-early-emo guitarist Brian Baker (one-time Minor Threat bassist, Dag Nasty founder and guitarist, and current Bad Religion lead guitarist) is member, I didn’t know much about this band. But as a uuuuuuuge Baker fan, I couldn’t resist and bought the record strictly based on the strength of his punk “street cred.”

The purchase, however, proved a winning gambit as the album TOTALLY RAWKS. Moreover, it turns out Dennis Lyxzén, best known as the scorched earth lead singer of Swedish punk legends, the Refused, also contributes his vocal stylings to the record.

And the result is a glorious album filled with amped up guitar rock boasting classic DC Hardcore overtones and a tasteful dash of ‘90s alt-rock that reminds of just how musically amazing both eras were in their respective primes.

Sugaregg, Bully

Really only a “band” in name, Bully is actually a vehicle for singer-guitarist-song writer, Alicia Bognanno. Feeling called to a life in music, native Minnesotan Bognanno convinced her less than enthused parents to underwrite her enrollment in a recording engineering program. Meanwhile, Bognanno parlayed her schooling into an excuse to start a band, relocate to Nashville, and live out her rock ‘n roll dreams. Which, after a couple of albums, a good amount of buzz, and loads of pear respect, appear to be coming true.

Supported by a revolving cast of musicians, Bognanno has released three albums, including her latest, Sugaregg, since launching the project in 2011. And at the risk of sounding cliched, Bully’s grungy, ragged tones sound very much at home on the outfits current label, one time grunge hit-makers and Seattle institution, Subpop. 

Case in point, Sugaregg, like it’s two predecessors, is filled with noisy guitars and squalling vocals, delivered in Bognanno’s sandpaper growl, and tortured songs that detail no small measure of soul grinding pain.

Albeit rendered with irrepressibly catch hooks, like the ear worm I Don’t Know Where to Start. Meanwhile, I’ve been loving the record since it’s midyear release. And take a certain satisfaction knowing it could reasonably classified in the “newish music” category.

Father of All... Green Day

After nearly thirty years in the game, pop punk stalwarts Green Day are still at it. That said, they haven’t rested on their laurels, as their music has taken a few twists and turns of late. Shifts that have proven hit or miss for the band, especially of late.

Their three album compilation of a few years back -- Uno, Dose + Tres -- (which, personally, I loved) -- featured a decidedly power pop sound. Many fans, however, weren’t thrilled. And 2016′s Revolution Radio, with it’s more later Clash era,  straight ahead rock sound, didn’t energize their core fan-base, either.

Well, Father of All... is likely to continue aggravating the Green Day faithful. To my ears, however, its sounds are heavenly.

With a kitchen sink of influences, Billy and the boys toss in a bunch more power pop; ‘70s Bowie-esque glam rock (even going so far as to lift some “vocal inspiration” from the Gary Glitter hit, Doctor Who, on the track Oh Yeah); a Chuck Berry guitar rave up on Stab You in The Heart; and the album’s. centerpiece, I Was a Teenage Teenager, which positively oozes classic New Wave vibes.

Ultimately, what makes the album such a delight (to me anyway) is Green Day’s irrepressible charm. It’s there in every groove. And if you drop the disc in the tray and hit play with an open mind, you’ll find it impossible to wipe the grin off your satisfied mug.

Blue Hearts, Bob Mould

Having attained Punk Godfather status, as the co-founder of Husker Du, and the man that brought melody to punk rock, Bob Mould could have coasted on his well-deserved reputation.

Meanwhile, having released 22 albums (including his work with Husker Du + Sugar) Mr. Mould’s relentless work ethic could rival James Brown for the title, the Hardest Working Man in Show Business. 

Continuing down the hardworking path, Mould, and his Bob Mould Band eschewed their typical 2-3 year album cycle, releasing Blue Hearts barely a year after 2019′s Sunshine Rock.

No doubt a pandemic-influenced decision, with band’s normally relentless touring schedule toss out the window. But the results of this accelerate recording timetable are stunning, as Mould turns in perhaps his best album of the New Millennium.

With a bevy or roaring rockers and few choice ballads, Mould and band sound as vital and vivacious and driven as any Bob Mould back effort since his mid ‘90s outfit, Sugar.

Stand out track include American Crisis, a jittery rocker that speaks directly to the worldwide riots that erupted in wake of George Floyd’s death at the hands of Minneapolis police. And the ballads Forecast Rain, Mould’s plea to reverse humanity’s planet destroying ways, and the album’s opener, the delightfully moody, Heart on My Sleeve. 

Power Up, AC/DC

Given AC/DC is accused of “making the same album every time,” are there any surprises on the band’s 19th studio release?

You betcha! Chiefly that the band pulled together it’s (mostly) original lineup* and turned in their best album since 1990′s Razor’s Edge. 

Positively dripping with that “classic” AC/DC sound, Power Up has all the hallmarks fans have come to know and love: 

Drummer Phil Rudd’s uber-heavy behind the beat time-

Singer Brain Johnson’s nails on chalkboard wail

And of course, Angus Young’s comfortingly familiar guitar heroics

The ingredients are all there, and they sound as fresh, current, and powerful as when the group burst on the scene with their roaring 1975 debut, High Voltage. All of which makes Power Up a must-listen hard rock devotees!

*AC/DC has struggled through series of trying challenges over the past decade...

Co-founder, co-songwriter, and rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young left the band in 2014 overwhelmed by complications related to Alzheimer's and sadly died in 2017 at the age of 64. 

Singer Brian Johnson and drummer Phil Rudd sat out the band’s last tour -- Johnson sidelined by a debilitating hearing issue, while Rudd was ensnared in a bizarre attempted murder for hire plot (which I still don’t fully grasp). 

But rather than hang it up, which I advocated for at the time, the group soldiered on, and managed to put out yet another outstanding record. In other words, these old dogs might not have new tricks, but they can still impress with their classic moves.

Honorable Mention: Gigatron, Pearl Jam

Not sure if tacking on an “honorable mention” is cheating, but this is my blog, so I'll what I want, bub! Anyhoo, I haven’t actually heard all of Gigatron, the 11th studio album from Seattle Grunge stalwarts, Pearl Jam. Which is why I didn’t included it as a full fledged pick.

Dance of the Clairvoyants, the album’s lead single, however, piqued my interest when it dropped last spring. Stacked with sequenced synth lines and drum loops, the band is clearly still reaching for a new approach to augment the classicist rock sound the band has adopted over the past couple of decades.

Other stand out tunes, among the few I’ve heard, include Superblood Wolfmoon, (the album’s second sinlgle) and Take The Long Way, which both showcase Pearl Jam’s uncanny knack for merging a driving, ‘70s hard rock guitar dominant sound with a snarling punk attitude. Retrograde is another tasty ballad, in the now well-established vein of tasty Pearl Jam ballads.

Again, Gigatron only gets an honorable mentioned because I was neither motivated to buy nor listen to the whole thing. But it could be worthy of both. So maybe check it out?

What About You?

No doubt, you’re reading this list and saying to yourself: “what the fork is this guy’s problem? He totally l missed awesome record xyz!?”

And you’d be right. I did miss it. So enlighten me!

I’ll always in the mood to hear great rock + roll. Which perhaps proves I’ve yet to reach full-on “get off my lawn” status.

[bioticsandheadshots]

Hilarious prompts: I think 34 & 36 sound fun. Think you can work with either of those (separate or together)? There are so many good ones on that list, but my brain shut down half way through. MShenko is my favorite, but I'm totally not picky!

Thank you for the prompt! I’ve never written mShenko before, but ask and ye shall receive! Hopefully I did alright. Sorry for the length, it kind of got away from me.

Also available on AO3 and FF.

The Man Behind the Legend

“Don’t stress so much, Alenko.” Witha smirk, Tela slapped Kaidan’s hands as he adjusted the knot of his tie for thefifth time since hailing their skycar.

Kaidangrumbled under his breath and tried to still his fidgeting fingers. The skycarwhirred as they flew past the neon lights of Tayseri Ward, but Kaidan paid nomind to the dazzling sights of the Citadel. His stomach twisted too much toappreciate the view.

Aftermonths of being shadowed by Tela Vasir, his mentor for the Spectres, thegalactic Council had approved her recommendation that Kaidan be inducted intothe organization. Even though he’d expected it, had been training to prove his ability, nowthat the time for his initiation had come, Kaidan questioned whether he wastruly ready. Becoming the second human Spectre was a big honor and an evenbigger responsibility. There was a long line of dedicated and phenomenalSpectres that had come before him, none quite so famous as humanity’s first.

Lt.Commander John Shepard was the Lion of Elysium, the man who had single-handedlyheld back enemy forces until reinforcements arrived to secure the colony. He’d come from nothing as an orphan onEarth and rose quickly through the Alliance ranks to become one of the youngestpeople to receive the Star of Terra, then gone on to achieve the coveted andrare N7 designation.

Aftermaking N7, Shepard disappeared, surfacing later with a human-centric shadoworganization called Cerberus. Later, Shepard’s involvement was revealed to be that of a deep undercoveragent. The organization fell, unable to deny the proof Shepard brought forth.From detonating starships over human colonies to ensure the birth of bioticchildren to conducting torturous research in an attempt to create supersoldiers, the group had conducted a multitude of abhorrent experiments. JackHarper, leader of Cerberus, now awaited trial in a high security prison cellfrom which he insisted that he’d only done what was needed to help humanityachieve its rightful place in the galaxy.

Theremnants of Cerberus hadn’ttaken their defeat lightly and, intent on inciting galactic war so humanitycould claim the bones of what was left, they’d put a twofold plan into place.Using synthetic mind control they’d developed from an ancient alien life form,Cerberus directed a high profile turian agent to attack a human colony. Thenthey’d sent a secondary group of operatives to assassinate the galacticCouncil. Shepard’s choice to save the Council at the expense of a human colonyhad earned him the title as humanity’s first Spectre and taken him fromAlliance poster boy to galactic household name.

Kaidanswallowed at the thought, reaching again to tug at his tie. The decision tomake him a Spectre was humbling but, compared to Shepard, he was a no one. Asimple Alliance man who trained biotics for spec ops missions. Sure, he had afew wins under his belt. He’dprevented the assassination of an Alliance chairman, subsequently talking downa group of biotic extremists and convincing them to surrender peacefully. Mostrecently, a spec ops drill had uncovered a plot by the Batarian Hegemony tolaunch an asteroid into a human colony. What started as a routine trainingexercise had turned into a harrowing mission, but they’d succeeded in savingthe colony. Still, those were a blip on the radar compared to Shepard’s servicehistory.

Inshort, Shepard was a legend no one could hope to live up to. And was rumored tobe attending the ceremony that night.

Theskycar touched down in front of the Dilinaga Concert Hall, cutting Kaidan’s musings short. Tela squeezed hisshoulder with a grin, admonishing him not to embarrass her, before the dooropened and they set off toward the entrance amid the bright flashes of cameradrones and omni-tools.

Insidethe ballroom, asari matriarchs mingled with turian generals. The gleaming rankof Alliance admirals sparkled under the lights and The Enkindler Anointed (ahanar bioluminescence entertainment group) set up on stage for theirperformance after the ceremony. Despite being the guest of honor, Kaidan’s entrance went unnoticed and heand Tela made their way to front row unimpeded.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the newestwhelp.” A tall turian, none other than Spectre Kryik, came to a stop besidethem.

“Nihlus.” Tela glared up at theother Spectre. “Where’s Shepard? Getting shit faced as usual?”

Thelong-standing competition between Tela and Nihlus ran deep. Kaidan didn’t know all the ins and outs of therivalry, only that Tela had two failed nominees under her belt: one dead, theother preferring an easier, less complicated life thus turning down theapprenticeship. Nihlus, on the other hand, mentored Shepard, for which he stillreceived a certain amount of praise that he often rubbed in Tela’s face.

“Drunk andblindfolded, Shepard’sstill more than a match for this one.” Nihlus twitched his mandibles inamusement, not bothering to glance at Kaidan.

Kaidanchose not to be insulted. Nihlus probably had a point.

Instead,he excused himself and headed for the bar. One whiskey before the ceremonymight help settle his nerves. The bartender poured a finger of golden liquorinto a clear tumbler, then slid it down the bar. A hand, decidedly human,plucked it up before it could reach Kaidan. His eyes traveled over the fingersclasping his glass, up an arm coveredin an expensively tailored suit, and landed on the face of the first humanSpectre.

Asmirk dangled on the man’slips and blue eyes sparkled as John Shepard downed the whiskey in a singlegulp. He slammed the glass back on the counter and extended his hand.

“John Shepard, but you probablyalready knew that.”

Pushinghis irritation aside, Kaidan smiled warmly and accepted Shepard’s hand. He’d prepared for thismoment after all. So he was horrified when he seemed to trip over hisintroduction. “Alenko. Kaidan, I mean. Major Kaidan,” Kaidan’s eyes widened asthe more he spoke, the worse he stuttered over his own name. “Major KaidanAlenko. I’m the—”

Shepardbarked with a hearty laugh. “You’readorable all tongue-tied. Don’t tell me you have my poster on your wall orsomething?”

Ashe tried, and failed, to come up with an appropriate response (because, no, he didn’t havea poster - did they make posters), Kaidan’s mouth dropped open and closed like a fish out of water.Almost of their own accord, his fingers reached up and ran through his hair. Atwhich point, Kaidan realized that Shepard still hadn’t let go of his otherhand.

And,as if the situation couldn’tget any more awkward, Tela chose that moment to retrieve Kaidan to take hisplace on stage. When her eyes dropped to their clasped fingers, she pressed herlips together in amusement but, thankfully, didn’t say anything other than thatthe Councilors were ready to begin.

“Well, this social situation isn’tgoing the way I acted it out in the shower,” Kaidan mumbled under his breathonce they’d gone far enough to be out of Shepard’s range of hearing.

Telatilted her head in his direction, her smug look pulling up the corners of herblue lips. “Which partwere you acting out in the shower? The ceremony? Or meeting Commander Shepard?”

Heatflushed over his cheeks and Kaidan increased his stride, leaving the laughingSpectre behind.

Asthe ceremony started, Kaidan tucked the botched introduction to the back of hismind and focused on the significance of the oath he was about to take. When thetime came, he swore to be a protector of peace and defend the safety of thegalaxy from any threat it might face. And, just like that, the ceremony wasover.

Thelights dimmed as The Enkindler Anointed began their set and music filled theroom, low enough that the guests could still carry on conversations. Cocktailhour had begun and, if Kaidan had to guess, it was likely why most people had shown up. No one threw aparty quite like the Council.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

“Dad!” Kaidan pivoted with a grin athis father’s voice, surprised to see both his parents. “I didn’t know you werecoming.”

Hismother reached out and clasped his elbow with a warm smile. “Of course we’re here. You didn’treally think we’d miss it!”

“I know you’ve got a lot of peopleto talk to.” Kaidan’s father, a retired Alliance captain, had been to more thanhis fair share of events during the course of his career. “We’ll be on theCitadel a few days. Go, celebrate. You deserve this. We’ll get breakfasttomorrow morning.”

Departingafter they’d squeezedin a few more hugs (mostly his mother), Kaidan’s parents disappeared in thecrowd. Tela was off arguing with Nihlus in the corner, leaving Kaidan to hisown devices. So, alone, he made the rounds, meeting and greeting all theofficials that the councilors had deemed important enough to invite. Shepard’sdislike for formal functions was well documented by the press so it was asurprise when Kaidan ended up face to face with him again.

“Well, hello again, Major Kaidan,”Shepard said with a wink. “Or should I say Spectre Kaidan?”

Theman just wasn’t going tolet it go. That old saying ‘never meet your heroes’ seemed tailored to thisspecific situation.

Closinghis eyes for a second, Kaidan took a breath and smiled, refusing to beflustered. “Kaidan isfine.”

“Kaidan it is. Well, Kaidan,” Shepard’s voice dropped a littlelow as he enunciated his name, “you ready to take on this responsibility?”

“You set the bar pretty high, but I’lldo my best. It was nice to see you again, Commander, but if you’ll excuse me…”

Kaidanstepped to the side, intending to go around Shepard and find someone—anyone—elseto mingle with. In his rush to escape the awkward conversation, he jostled intoa waiter with a tray full of drinks. Kaidan could only watch in horror as thewaiter stumbled, spilling the contents down the front of Shepard’s immaculate suit.

Shepardglanced down, his chiseled jaw tightening as the champagne soaked through hisclothes. Steady hands loosened the buttons and he shrugged the jacket from hisshoulders. The white dress shirt underneath hadn’t been spared and the fabric clung to his torso, nearlytransparent from the moisture. Kaidan’s throat went dry as embarrassment andallure commingled at the sight.

Eyesfinding Kaidan’s fromunder his brows, one corner of Shepard’s mouth rose with a smirk. “If youwanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

That’s it!Kaidan had had enough. Humanity’sfirst Spectre was an arrogant ass and gave no thought to embarrassing Kaidan infront of the councilors or any of the other dignitaries he may need to workwith in the future. It was time for the man to get a small taste of his ownmedicine.

“Are you flirting with me,Commander? Because if that’s what you’ve been doing all night, you really needto work on your technique. I’ve seen elcor flirt better than this.”

“Amused. We are much better atflirting than the Commander,” Calyn, the elcor ambassador interjected.

Redraced up Shepard’sface, visible through the faint 5 o’clock shadow that perpetually covered hisjaw. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rocked back on one leg and opened hismouth to reply but seemed at just a loss for words as Kaidan had been earlier.Councilor Sparatus rumbled with laughter. In all their meetings and debriefs,Kaidan had never heard the turian councilor sound anything other thanindifferent. Shepard jerked to glare at both Sparatus and Calyn and Kaidanchose that moment to slip away so he could nurse his humiliation alone at thebar.

He’d just finished his second drinkwhen a presence settled itself onto the barstool at his side. Without lookingup, Kaidan instinctively knew it was Shepard.

Theman’s voice confirmed his suspicions. “Kaidan…”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Kaidanspared a glance out of the corner of his eye, finding that Shepard had coveredhis wet clothes with (or was maybe shirtless beneath) an N7 sweatshirt.Somehow, the combination of sweatshirt and tuxedo pants worked for him.

Shepardpropped himself up at the bar on an elbow and dropped the back of his head intohis hand. “I’mactually pretty cool if you give me, like, 5 tries to get it right.”

Kaidanraised his eyebrows and frowned with disbelief into his empty glass but didn’t bother arguing.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Shepardcontinued, sounding sincere. “It’s one thing being Commander Shepard, hero,lion, blah blah. I’ve gotten so used to him that sometimes it’s hard just beingJohn, meeting someone he admires.”

Atthat, Kaidan did look up. “Me?”

“Who’d you think submitted your nameto the Council?” Shepard’s sly grin was back though, now that he was lookingfor it, Kaidan saw a tiny smidge of vulnerability. “Now, how about you let mebuy you a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”

SoKaidan let him. And Shepard did. And when he received a message from hisparents about missing breakfast the next morning, Kaidan couldn’t quite find it in him to beremorseful.

[jinyingkellyli]

The Truth

History will remember me as the man that assassinated Honest Abe. History will record me as a cruel and raging murderer. History will hold witness of an actor who turned into an assassin. History will make me a figure that students are taught to despise and my name will be tarnished and slung throughout the ages. I will be remembered as madman John Wilkes Booth or something, anything besides what I really am. My children will suffer the repercussions, and my children’s children, and their children. I still could not fathom why Robert E. Lee made me his puppet in his political and sinful schemes. I remember everything so clearly and vividly.

I was eagerly waiting in line, holding my necessary forms, to become a Confederate soldier. This was my opportunity to fight for the South. This was where I would make my legacy- out on the battlefield, not on a stage. I would be receiving medals of honor and legends of my heroism would be told by soldiers as they huddled at their campsites. I was brought out of my reverie when the soldier in the front indicated that it was my turn. I walked to the table where Lee was sitting and handed him my forms. Even when he was sitting down, I could clearly see his well-built, strong muscles outlined under his uniform. I immediately had this instinctive respect for him; I would be just like him when I was enrolled as a Confederate. When I presented my forms to Lee however, he looked at me for a long time. His expression seemed almost skeptical or even questioning. I didn’t move a muscle. I figured this was procedure and that I was being observed for any flaws. I dared not look him in the eye. I shifted from one leg to the next

as his stare dug into my flesh. Eventually, after quite some time, he stood up from his chair and led me by the elbow into a separate room.

“Good news. You’re in,” he said nonchalantly. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “It’s a pleasure, really sir, I...“

“You won’t be working out on the field though,” he said scanning through the books stacked on his bookshelf.

“Well, what else could I possibly...“

“You’ll have a special task set aside just for you. Its significance and influence in this war is crucial for the South. Do you understand?” I nodded, not comprehending. I was befuddled. He picked up a book and fingered through its pages.

“I shall inform you of the details of this particular plan in a week’s time. For now, you may go.”

Thus, I left and came back a week later at his request. Firstly, he made me take an oath, stating that I would keep these matters confidential and that I would not stray from the plan and that I would take any necessary actions to complete it. Then he thoroughly spouted out his plan to me. We were going to kidnap President Lincoln. He said that he knew it had a tremendous risk factor involved, but that it just might turn this war around for us. I was to be at this location on the assigned day and I had to follow the plan very precisely, otherwise it might not work. I thought his plan to be outrageous. We were going to kidnap the President! I didn’t know what to think of it. It was certainly unheard of, but I felt that the plan had enough substance to it that it could be undertaken. I left his office, feeling a bit unsure, despite his persistent remarks and encouragement.

I remember I had performed for President Lincoln before. I also met him after the performance. I also had dinner with him and the cast after we met. He was good-humored and agreeable and a great story-teller. I was even present at his second inauguration. We did not remain in touch, but nevertheless, to kidnap this man still felt wrong in the back of my mind. Staying faithful to my oath, I never spoke of the plan to anyone except Lee and my colleagues. The reason for this is not that I feared any punishments from Lee, but that I feared the criticism and disapproval from others. My thoughts strayed to Lucy, my fiancée. My fists clenched as I thought of what would happen to her. She would be condemned as well. I knew better than to drag her down with me; guilt clawed at my chest. I thought back to the argument that we had when I spotted her dancing with Robert Todd Lincoln, her earnest admirer and the eldest son of the President. I couldn’t leave her. No, if I leave her, Robert Todd would have her. Being President Lincoln’s son, he could easily turn her against me after I kidnap the President. Her father, an outspoken abolitionist of slavery, would forbid her from ever talking to me. I lock my jaws and bite down on my lower lip. No, I won’t leave her.

On the day we were supposed to kidnap the President, he didn’t show up as planned. Lee almost hurled himself at me when he found out. Those six months of planning had gone to waste. Once again, he would have to think of an opportune time and place to execute the plan. He secluded himself in his office for a week. When he finally came out, he was unshaven and red- eyed. The new plan he developed was even more outrageous than the last one: assassination. And I was to be the assassin. He then proceeded to tell me the plan in excruciating detail. He and Richmond would first surrender to the North. This would prevent any speculation that he was behind the assassination. The President was going to be present at Ford’s theater, attending a play. I had to slip into his balcony and shoot him in the back of the head as everyone would be

too busy watching the play. It wasn’t just the President that we would assassinate though. We had to cripple the North’s entire leadership system. Powell, a colleague, would kill Secretary Seward. Atzerodt would kill Vice President Johnson. It would be a triple murder. Thus, no one could immediately take up the leader’s post and continue the North’s pursuit to abolish slavery.

I argued with him for days over this new plan of his.

“You can’t do this. I won’t go through with it.” I said firmly.

“Remember your oath. You stated that you would take any necessary action to complete the plan.”

“The initial plan was to kidnap him, not murder!” I yelled.

“The initial plan was to win this war! And this is how we will do it. How do you think Brutus stopped Caesar from continuing his tyrannical rule? He killed him! That is what we must do!”

“I won’t. I quit. I’m not killing the President.” I turned and began to walk out of the room, but not before I heard him say three words that reeled me back in despite how much I wanted to leave.

“What about Lucy?”

“What about her?” I said, my back still facing him.

“You two are engaged to be married, are you not?” I slightly nodded in response, not knowing what was going to happen.

“Well? What is it?” I demanded.

“I was just thinking that it would be in your best interest and particularly hers as well, if you follow my instructions to the best of your ability. Otherwise, I think this could end rather tragically.”

I turned to face him and asked, “How?”

He smirked, “Oh, some freak accident. Railroad or horse or something could just run out of control and hurt someone out of nowhere. It’s quite common these days. In fact, it seems to increase in occurrence as some of my fellow soldiers disobey my orders.”

I gulped. My lips went dry. I felt the perspiration running down the back of my neck. The room faded away and all I saw was Lucy. Her fair smooth skin, her long brown hair and her crystal blue eyes were all etched in exactly and precisely. She was looking back at me. I ran my calloused hand over her soft skin. Then thoughts began to swarm my mind. A train came chugging at the image of Lucy and hit her chest-first. A group of horses galloped over her. A murderous gang slashed at her until she became a mangled heap of flesh and bones. I shook the thoughts away and looked back at Lee. I couldn’t let anything happen to Lucy. I couldn’t let anything happen to her when I could’ve done something to stop it.

“Okay...I’ll do it.”

The day of the assassination was a blur. We got all the preparatory work done, had everything set in place, and recounted the plan millions of times. I had dinner with Lucy and her mother. I was fidgeting in my seat, murmuring to myself, and hardly spoke a word throughout the dinner. Lucy asked what was wrong, and I simply shook my head. I looked at her straight in the eye and patted her hand, like nothing was wrong. I left at that moment, without turning back. I didn’t know what would happen after I pulled the trigger nor did I want to know. All I knew

was that Lucy would be safe. She would be safe. Safe. I kept repeating it to myself in order to keep myself relaxed and somehow justify my actions. When the time came, I walked down the hallway like I had done millions of times before when I performed in Ford’s theater. I would be putting on a show for the audience once again. The only exception was that this time, after the curtain drops and the lights go down, the audience won’t be cheering. I won’t get roses thrown at me. I won’t be dining with my cast members in a five star hotel. I will have the President’s blood on my hands. I will be fleeing into the depths off the night on the back of a horse. The only thing that will remain the same is my name. It will still be known; it won’t be extinguished in the minds of the people. My fame will only be replaced by infamy.

I took a deep breath when I reached the door of the President’s balcony. With my head down, I twisted the knob silently and opened the door about two inches. I lifted my head up and saw the backs of President Lincoln and his wife. They were laughing and smiling at the play below them. I reflected on the consequences of my next actions. Yes, I was taking the President’s life and crippling the North’s leadership, but without regarding titles and politics, I was taking a man’s life. I was taking the life of a loving father, a good husband, a generous friend, and a humble soul. I felt an aching in the pit of my stomach. I looked down once again. I stared at my hand on the doorknob for a few seconds, contemplating my choices. I could either lift the gun out of pocket or I could walk away right now. If I worked quickly, I could run, get Lucy, and hide away somewhere in Europe. I began heaving deep breaths in and out. I shut my eyes tightly and backed away from the balcony, closing the door.

Just as the door closed, I felt something digging into my back. It was a pistol. My heart began palpitating harder and harder. My breaths became short and staccato. I turned around and became face to face with Lee. He looked at me with an icy stare before smirking.

‘Think you were going to get away, did you?” he asked and pressed the trigger down. I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent. “Now I know you don’t value your own life very much at this point, but I do very much advise you to enter that balcony if you value your dear Lucy’s life.”

Lucy .Her name echoed through my mind, and like a train that has been well oiled and ignited, I began to walk towards the balcony’s door once again. I walked with long strides and without hesitation. I twisted the doorknob forcefully and lifted my .44 Caliber Derringer out of my coat pocket. The cold metal burned into my skin. I gazed ahead at President Lincoln’s thin strands of neatly combed hair. I aimed and fired.

‘History will only know a fraction of the truth,’ I thought.