#I still remember when a few days ago she was grinding with Clown and there was creeper and she JUMPED on it to protect Clown and almost die

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

Man. Ros heard there was a potential trap and immediately outright begged to be the one to check and potentially set it off. There was no actual trap so she was fine but Ros 😭.....

[kpop---scenarios]

Sweet Dreams

Pairing: Baekhyun x Succubus! Reader

Genre: Demon/Succubus AU

Warning: Smut,

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Baekhyun and Elle were highschool sweethearts, always in love. Until they move into their new house where a demon apparently resides. Baekhyun starts changing when his dreams begin getting taken over. How will things turn out for the happy couple?

All Baekhyun had ever wanted was to be with Elle. He had met her in their senior year of high school. She was the quiet girl who sat in the back of the class, wrote her notes and kept to herself. Where Baekhyun was the class clown who was majorly popular and had girls pining over him and that’s the thing that attracted him to her the most, the fact that she wasn’t falling at his feet. She was a quiet girl with a beautiful smile and Baekhyun wanted to see it more and more. 

He had asked her out for coffee on the second last day of school. She looked shocked as the words came from his mouth but with a small voice she said yes and he felt his heart soar. It took him a few dates to get her to really open up, but when she finally did, he thought her voice sounded like an angel. He had never thought he would ever find a sound that he could become obsessed with, until she spoke up. 

Baekhyun and Elle were happy for years. They went to College together, and were known around campus as the favorite couple, the ones everyone wanted to be and they both loved that. People fell in love with their love, the highschool sweethearts who would be together forever. And that’s exactly what it felt like. 

Last year, they both graduated College, Elle got a job as a secretary to a big time, hot shot lawyer, while Baekhyun got one of those dreaded nine to five corporate jobs where he would end up dragging his feet and hating his life more than he already did. They didn’t have sex anymore, Baekhyun couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had to jerk himself off because Elle was working late, or was already asleep when he got home. Despite his job being done at five, he was never home at a decent time, he was always late. 

A few months ago Baekhyun and Elle sat down to have a conversation about their relationship. They both agreed that they were in a rut and things needed to change. So, they came up with a plan to move out of their apartment and buy a house. Elle was going to take some time off and so was Baekhyun. They would spend some much needed time together while they shopped for a house and moved, strengthening their relationship, they didn’t want to lose each other. 

It didn’t take them long to find a house that they both loved. A few days later they put in an offer, and it was theirs. The people who were selling it couldn’t wait to get it off their hands and wouldn’t tell Baekhyun why they were selling but he didn’t care. It was theirs and they loved it. 

**

The first night they finished moving all their stuff in, they had their friends Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, Lisa and Hwasa over to help, celebrating with some bottles of wine and pasta from Elle’s moving day box, something she came up with a few days ago. 

“So.” Chanyeol begins, taking a sip of his wine. “When I was outside grabbing some boxes earlier, I met one of your neighbors. She had mentioned that there’s a demon that lingers in the house. Apparently she enters your dreams.” He says, making some dramatic voices. 

“You are not telling me that my new house is haunted.” Elle pouts, cleaning up some of the mess. 

“Hey, I’m just relaying the message that I was told.” Chanyeol chuckles, getting up before helping up Lisa. 

“Don’t believe them. It’s all bullshit.” Kyungsoo smiles, helping up Hwasa. 

“Hey, thanks for all your help today.” Baekhyun says, giving his guests each a quick hug before they took off. They wouldn’t have been able to finish moving everything had it not been for them. 

“Any time.” They say before saying goodbye to Elle and taking off. 

**

Laying in bed that night, Baekhyun has his arm wrapped around Elle as she cuddles into him, her finger tracing the outline of his abs. 

“You don’t believe it, right?” She asks, trying to hide her shaky voice. 

“What? The ghost?” He asks. 

“Demon.” Elle interrupts. 

“Regardless, babe, it’s not true.” He laughs. “Even if anything happened, you know I’d protect you.” He says, pulling her in close before they both drift off to sleep.

** 

Baekhyun opens his eyes, he’s on the couch across from his bed. He can see Elle laying there, sleeping peacefully and from the corner of his eye, he sees a figure standing in the corner. He can see the outline of your curves as you slowly walk towards him, your short nightgown swaying as you walk. His legs are spread, boxers are gone, his cock stands straight up. 

“Baby.” You moan, climbing on the couch to straddle him. Baekhyun’s head falls back onto the couch as you slowly sink yourself down on him. Your warm, wet pussy swallowing his cock. 

“Fuck.” He breathes, as you lift yourself up, and slowly sink down on him again. His hands find their way to your hips, helping lift you up before slamming you back down on his cock. His breath is erratic, he’s never felt a pussy like this before. He can feel his orgam building quickly. His eyes fall on Elle’s sleeping body. You quickly grab his head, bringing it forward, placing his face in between your breasts. 

“Cum.” You sing, grinding on his cock. 

Just as Baekhyun begins to cum inside you, he wakes up, shooting up in bed, his alarm clock beeping loudly. 

Everything is fuzzy, he forgets where he is for a second before he stumbles out of bed, feeling weak as he walks to the bathroom. His head is pounding, as well as his cock. 

He looks in the mirror, a little startled by his appearance. Dark bags circle his eyes, his lips are chapped, skin is dry. 

“Good morning.” Elle smiles as she grabs her deodorant from the bathroom, placing a kiss on Baekhyun’s cheek. 

“Morning.” He says, his voice is hoarse. “Did we have sex last night? Or early this morning?” He asks, his cock throbbing and sore. 

“No, why?” She asks. 

“No reason.” Baekhyun says. “I’m gonna take a quick shower." 

** 

After his shower he gets dressed for the day, shuffling downstairs where he sees Elle has already left, but puts out his to go mug of coffee as well as his water bottle. She was the best, always making things a little easier for him. But he couldn’t help but to think about his dream, why was his cock sore? It was just a dream, wasn’t it?

Baekhyun couldn’t concentrate today. On his drive to work, his mind would flashback to his dream. He tried to focus on his work but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was yhr best sex he had ever had, he had never cum so hard. Sure he and Elle had good sex, but this was a whole other level. 

**

"Hi babe.” He sighed as he walked inside, sitting at the island while Elle finished cooking dinner. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, looking concerned. 

“Rough day.” He begins. “I had a very vivid.. dream last night and it took a lot out of me.” He tells her. “I could barely concentrate at work today." 

"Im sorry, love. A good dinner and back rub should help, yeah?” She smiles. 

She was the best. 

After the two of them finished eating, Elle asked Baekhyun to run a few boxes out into the back alleys recycling bin. After a kiss on the cheek he grabbed the pile and headed out the back door. The second he stepped out that door he felt something wasn’t right. As he walked to the alley, fog crept into the yard out of nowhere. Baekhyun found himself breathing a little heavier, feeling something behind him. 

“Elle?” He asks, weakly. 

“Try again.” You whisper, your hands running down his arms, your mouth gently tracing along his neck. “You by far are my favorite.” You whisper, placing small kisses on his neck. “You feed me so well. It’s been so long since I’ve felt so strong." 

You slip your hand inside his sweatpants, grabbing onto his cock, stroking him from base to tip. "So delicious.” You purr, moving in front of him, pulling his pants down yo allow his cock yo spring free. You kneel down, engulfing his cock in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you hum, the vibration sending chills down his spine. Your hand pumps his base as your mouth takes on the rest of him, your tongue swirling around, the continued humming, Baekhyun can’t control his orgasm. Within seconds he shoots his load into your mouth, moaning loudly, gasping for air. 

Baekhyun wakes up, he’s leaning against the fence, boxes still in his hand. How is he so tired? Fuck is he ever thirsty.  He throws the boxes down, making his way back to the house. His cock is sore again, his body is drained and shaky. He just needs a really good sleep. 

Walking back inside he tells Elle he’s just going to take a showet and go to bed. “I’m just off.” He smiles, grabbing a couple bottles of water before heading up to the bathroom. He looks in the mirror, the bags under his eyes bigger than earlier. 

He slips off his clothes, getting into the shower, the hot water feels nice. Relaxing his muscles, he chugs the two bottles of water but still feels like he needs more. He finishes his shower, walking into his room with his towel wrapped around his waist, he puts on a pair of boxers before just climbing into bed. He was desperate for a good sleep, but also found himself craving another dream. 

Baekhyun slept peacefully that night. When he woke up in the morning, he was slightly disappointed that his night was dreamers. His cock was hard, and ready to be ridden but was left alone. 

“Morning.” Elle yawns, stretching out before wrapping her hand around his covered cock, stroking it a little.

“Morning.” He says, rolling over to get out of bed. “I’m going to be late.” He says, walking to the bathroom. He could hear Elle’s sigh of disappointment, and he felt bad but that wasn’t what he wanted. 

When he went downstairs, he found Elle was gone already but had still left out his mug of coffee, along with some water like she did before he went to work.

He couldn’t concentrate at work again. His mind wandered to the best sex he had had the last couple days and wondered why it didn’t happen last night. His body felt like it was craving it, he yearned for the feeling of that wet pussy sliding onto his cock. 

As his coworkers left the office for lunch, he remained in his small office, leaning his head back on the chair, resting his eyes. 

Knock 

Knock

Baekhyun opens his eyes, looking at the door, he sees a figure he recognizes. “Did you miss me?” You ask, your voice soft and seductive. 

“Mhmm.” Baekhyun groans, sitting up in his chair. You walk around his desk before moving in between his legs, settling yourself on his desk. 

“Come.” You whisper, motioning hkm yo come to you with one finger. Baekhyun instantly stands up, taking a few steps forward until he’s in between your legs. “Good boy." 

You grab his tie, pulling him forward, his face close to yours. You move forward just an inch, gently pressing your lips to his, before letting go on hks tie, moving your hands down his stomach to his belt, unbluckling it. 

You pull his pants down just slightly before scooting yourself to the edge of his desk. Your hand is wrapped around his already hard cock, lining him up with your entrance, he moves closer, pushing himself inside of you. 

"That’s right baby.” You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slides in and out of you. Baekhyun can feel you tighten yourself around his cock, making him moan loudly. 

He didn’t know how but you made him cum so much faster and better than anyone. It was an orgasm he craved. 

“So tight.” He moans, burying his face in your neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. He picks you up, pressing you against the wall, his hips thrusting inside you. “Fuck.” He cries, as you tighten yourself one more time, making him cum, fueling your energy with every load he gives you. 

Baekhyun wakes up on the floor of his office, his body shaking and weak. His skin is dry again, he looks in the mirror, his eyes are bloodshot. 

Looking at the clock, he sees it’s only been 15 minutes into his hour-long lunch, only half the day is done but he can’t be here any longer. He heads home, telling his boss he just wasn’t feeling well. 

**

The minute he arrives home he heads upstairs, falling down onto his bed, sleep coming easily. What felt like ten minutes later, he was woken up by a concerned looking Elle. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, feeling his forehead. 

“Im fine.” He snaps, slapping her hand away and standing up to walk away. 

“Hey, why are you snapping at me?” Elle yells, only to be ignored by Baekhyun. He slams the door to the bathroom, resting his hands on the counter. 

This wasn’t like him. He never snapped at her, or walked away from her but why would she wake him up? He just wanted to sleep. Baekhyun took a few deep breaths before opening the door, and walked towards a sad looking Elle. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, pulling her ij for a hug. “I’m just tired.” He finishes. 

“Go back to sleep. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She whispers, letting him go and heading downstairs. 

Baekhyun happily crawls back into bed, falling asleep quickly as you enter the room. You crawl onto his bed, pulling the covers off of him, his cock already standing tall. Baekhyun doesn’t even hesitate to pull it out, waiting for you to crawl over him, sinking down on his cock. 

“So needy for me.” You moan, rocking back and forth. 

“It feels so good.” He groans, placing his hands on your hips. You lift yourself up slowly before slamming back down on him, making him cry out in pleasure. “Oh god yes.” He yells. 

“You like my pussy better don’t you baby?” You ask. 

“Yes, fuck yes, so much better.” He moans, his toes curling as you squeeze yourself on him again and again, making him cum. You continue rocking yourself on him, milking Jim for everything he has, not wanting to waste one last drop. 

“Good boy.” He hears faintly before his eyes open, he feels the bed dip on Elle’s side. He quickly closes them, not wanting her to know he’s awake but it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep again

Over the next few weeks Baekhyun found hjms craving sleep more and more, desperately seeking your touch, your pussy, your scent, your everything and he could tell his attitude was taking a toll on Elle. 

But he found it hard to care. 

**

“Baek?” Elle yells a few weeks later. “Can we talk?" 

Baekhyun comes downstairs into the kitchen, sitting at the island while Elle looks a little uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers.

"Whats up?” He asks, intertwining his fingers. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. 

“Im great. Why?” He answers, confused. 

“Well.. you don’t want to spend time with me. I try to initiate sex and you refuse me. I just don’t understand.” She whispers. 

Baekhyun scoffs. “I work hard everyday, I’m exhausted from work. I have a hard job.” He snaps. 

“I get that but we used to have sex all the time.” She says, her voice getting a little more frustrated. 

“Shit happens, things change. Look, I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.” Baekhyun says, waving her off. 

“It’s 7pm!” She yells. “All you ever do is sleep!” She spits. 

“I’m too tired for this.” He scoffs, walking up the stairs. 

“Christ, you’re too tired for everything.” She yells. 

“Maybe I’m just fucking tired of you.” He snaps, walking up the stairs and slamming the door to his room. 

He can hear her crying on the phone to whoever, asking if she can go over there. He hears the front door slam shut before her car starts. 

Baekhyun can’t help but laugh at how much he doesn’t care about her anymore. It was always you. 

He falls asleep as soon as his eyes close. He rolls over and sees you laying there, naked. 

“I wish you were real.” He whispers, rolling his body on top of you, he’s ready naked. 

“I am real.” You whisper, stroking his face. 

Baekhyun buries his face in your neck as he inserts his cock into you, letting out a moan. 

“I mean not in my dreams.” He says, thrusting his hips. 

“I can be real outside of dreams. You can be like me, I can make you like me.” You whisper. Baekhyun groans, his thrusts becoming faster. 

“Do it. Make me like you.” He grunts. 

You smile as you bite your wrist, the cut leaking black blood. 

“Drink.” You whisper. 

Baekhyun latches his lips to your wrist without a question. He sucks for a few seconds, and then he hears you moan. He lets go of your wrist as he cums, spilling inside you, breathlessly. 

“I’ll see you soon.” You whisper, making him wake up. He’s alone in a dark room, his bed feeling empty. 

Second later, he’s asleep again, but this time you don’t come back. His body feels like it’s burning as he tosses and turns through the night, his throat is dry, his eyes burn but still he cannot wake up. 

Until his eyes shoot open. Birds are chirping, the sun is up and you are laying in his bed next to him. 

“Good morning.” He croaks, taking a minute to realize it’s really you. 

“Morning.” You whisper. 

“Wait. Am I dreaming?” He asks. 

“No.” You smile. 

“So it worked? I’m like you?” He asks, his voice is different. It’s deeper, calmer, more terrifying. 

“You are now an Incubus, Baekhyun.” You whisper.  “And I am the Succubus, Ayn." 

"Now we can be together.” He growls, rolling over on top of you again, leaning in for a kiss. You pull his face in closer to deepen the kiss. You were now all he wanted and he had you, forever.

“Baek..” you both hear after the door opens. “What the fuck.” You hear Elle yell. 

Baekhyun looks up with a smile on his face, as you sit up in bed behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“So you’ve been cheating on me?” Elle scoffs. 

“I guess.” Baekhyun laughs. 

“How could you do this to me?” She cries, tears falling from her eyes. 

You can’t contain your laughter from behind Baekhyun, making him laugh as well. 

“Do this to you? I didn’t do anything to you, love. Not lately, anyways.” Baekhyun laughs. 

“Maybe had your pussy been better, he wouldn’t have needed to find better.” You suggest with a smile. You slide around the front of Baekhyun, straddling him right in front of Elle, who gives a look of disgust before she drops to the floor. 

“Sweet dreams.” You sing, as you and Baekhyun disappear into her dreams, the first of many bad dreams to come. 

[faby-montana]

me & u

“i’ve been waiting. think i’m gonna make that move, now.”

paring: haechan x reader

summary: a collection of memories that happened between us.

warnings: 18+ for smut— (they only go to 3rd base tbh) handjobs, cumming, awkward kids (that are of legal age!)

a/n: this was supposed to be part of a series, not sure yet if I’ll make it one. let me know how you guys enjoy! (i also don’t really write smut so uh let’s see how this goes—)

recommended song: me & u

You bit your lip, your phone clasped in your hand beside you. You haven’t spoken to Donghyuck in almost a week. It was only about noon, maybe it’s too early to text him. Rolling to your side, you turn on your phone and go on snapchat, seeing if he had even been active recently. Not much to your surprise he was.

Your computer sat at the foot of your bed, a classroom tab open as you sat on your phone to pass the time. Your mother walks in, telling you that your principal was on the phone.

Shifting to sit up, you could only wonder what he wanted. After all, you haven’t been in school since the 15th and your athletic season is long over.

“Happy birthday!”

Wow. Even he remembered. You have yet to receive a happy birthday from him just yet. Once another hour passed, you wondered if now was the perfect time to send a text.

hey, are we still on for today?

Shutting off your phone instantly, you place it down as you pick up your laptop. You were scared to know the response, if he would even respond. You weren’t in the mood to get rejected on your birthday. You glance over your assignments, slowly starting to work on one to distract your hyperactive mind. Has he seen it yet? Did he ignore it? Maybe he’s busy.

The buzz of your phone makes your heart smile, focusing on your assignment you try to finish the sentence before going to see his response.

where are we going again

this ice cream place, it’s only like 10 minutes away i can meet you at your house if it’s easier

Smiling extra hard you hop out of your bed and walk over to your closet, trying to figure out the perfect outfit to wear. The two of you had confirmed plans to go after his mom goes to work around six, so you two had settled for seven. You showered, spent hours on your hair, deciding against makeup so your mom wouldn’t be too suspicious.

After eating dinner with her, you told her you’d be visiting two of your friends. You left out the part of going to see him too, but he lived down the street so if she tracked you she wouldn’t know the difference.

You hopped in your car, nervous about what might happen. You knew something might happen tonight, how far would the two of you go? You hadn’t necessarily shaved off your entire bush, god you flushed hard wondering if he’d mind. Your thoughts had you so distracted, you hadn’t even noticed you’ve been sitting outside his house for three minutes. Taking a deep breath you grabbed your purse, spraying yourself in the perfume he had bought you months ago and took a step out the car. You locked the door and took notice to the sun starting the set. You knocked on the front door, stunned to see his mom standing in front of you. She was very fond of you, so she greeted you kindly as she always did and told you she was on her way out. She wishes you a happy birthday and apologized for not getting you anything.

He jogs down the steps in a sweatshirt and his grey joggers, slipping on his black sneakers. You stood quietly by the door as he asked his mom for the keys, her telling him to be careful as he only nods in compliance. You knew he wasn’t really listening, probably already hearing that from her more than once. She says goodbye to the two of you as you walk out the door, him unlocking the door to take a seat.

You’ve never actually been inside of it before, it was a bit surreal considering you’ve stood outside of it for a very long time. You run your hand over the passenger seat that you sit on, putting on your seatbelt and laying back. It smelled good, just like him.

He tells you his mom had actually been off that day, him not knowing about it to which you only shrug. You reach for his phone, asking him if you could play a song. He unlocks his phone for you, and you clown him for using Spotify. It’s a routine almost, the two of have to tease each other.

Me & U by Cassie begins to play, him asking what was playing as you loudly sing along. The rest of the songs are ones you both enjoyed, but the first one was just to indulge you.

Once you get there, you both go inside to order and the biggest smile graces your face. You’ve been meaning to come here since October when it opened, and you finally got the chance. You already knew what you were ordering, and funny enough he orders the same. The two of you go back inside the car once the order is prepared, both of you sitting while soft music is playing. There’s not much talking, just the two of you being in each other’s presence as you watch the end of the sunset. He’s playing a game on his phone, and from time to time you glance over to annoy him.

“Hey so,” placing down the spoon in the jar, you look at him. It was now or never you figured, if you didn’t make this move now it just might never happen. “You actually like me?”

His head immediately looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “what kind of question is that?”

You giggle, “a valid one.” You tear your gaze away, “I’m really sorry about not sending you anything..” You slightly shift towards him, “but I thought yours were cute.”

“uh huh.” He was embarrassed, you could tell that much. He also didn’t take you seriously, so you placed a hand on his knee to grab his attention. His gaze focused on it for a split second before looking at you once you started talking.

“I’ll let you take pictures of me if you want.”

He scoffs, “your lying.” Why is he acting so awkward? Was he just as scared as you were?

You leaned in a bit closer, telling him you were wearing that black bralette he liked. You could see him swallow, and before he could open his mouth again you opened the car door and went into the back seat. Taking off your top you told him to come join you.

Still flustered, he does as told and gets into the backseat. Sitting beside you, your knees touching he seems a bit clueless. You slid back a bit, “do you really want this?” You were giving him a chance to back out now. If he really wanted this he would have to make the first move.

“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Part of the insecurity you had of him not wanting to be with you left instantly. “Do you?”

You let out a huff, “I literally have my shirt off.” His eyes cascaded downwards briefly, not wanting to stare too hard. You sat back, wanting for him to make the first move, it was silent between the two of you before he slid closer, gaining the courage to finally kiss you.

It was short, as if he was testing the waters with you. His lips were soft and sweet, damn near addictive. You were glad he was at least a good kisser, knowing his experiences probably haven’t gotten him farther than that.

Climbing onto his lap you wanted nothing more than to continue, you even wrapped your arms around the back of his neck to bring him closer. Noticing his hands hadn’t really moved, you reached down and placed one on your waist. His other hand followed suit as you put your hands back on his neck.

This. This is everything you dreamed of. You’ve never felt closer to him, happier to be with him. You hoped you conveyed that when you grinded down against his lap.

You heard him moan lowly, which only made you smile. Gliding your hand down his front, you felt him shiver under your touch and shift a bit under you. Did he expect for you to grind down again?

Giving into him immediately, he whined against your mouth. Did he have any idea of what he was doing to you?

His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, pulling his lips from yours. “S-stop.” You immediately halted your actions, leaning away from him as you watched him catch his breath.

Was he about to bust in his joggers? You couldn’t help but feel a little proud as you saw just how hard he was.

You were going to get up to sit back next to him, in case you were heavy on his legs but his arms wrapped around you. He stared into your eyes a bit, causing you to mutter a small “what..” to cover up how nervous you felt. He kissed down your neck, making you blush darkly as a moan escaped your lips. Your straps, which had been previously falling, had been tugged on. You pull them down, his warm hand cupping your breast. It was different to feel someone else’s hand groupe you, you glanced down to see how it filled his huge hand. He massaged it slowly between his fingers, you leaning back to give him more access. Another moan left you as you felt his warm mouth on your left. You couldn’t help but rub against him again, wondering what he was thinking of.

Pushing him back a bit you run your hand down his front, a soft groan leaving him. You untie the top of his joggers, sticking your hand down his pants as he gasped. He shifts a bit again, tugging down part of his pants to make it easier. You go back to kissing him, wanting to feel him moan against your mouth as you brought him closer to his edge.

“Baby..” He moaned, a small whine towards the end of his words. He was close and you had no intent on stopping. You only hummed, kissing down his neck as he got even louder after cummming. You didn’t stop, right away wanting to see his face. Taking your hand away you felt proud, and you knew you’d remember this for a long time. He looked at you while you glanced at your cum covered hand, deciding that you wanted to try it. You sucked on your fingers and glanced up to still see him staring. You blushed, turning away as he only chuckled. He asked you how it tasted, to which you could only shrug.

You got off his lap so you could turn, sticking your ass in the air as you reached for the napkins. You wiped off your hand first, grabbing a few more before turning back around. He took them from you cleaning himself off and pulling up his pants as you pulled back on your straps. He grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him as you leaned on his chest. The two of you stayed like that for a while, sitting in each other’s presence. You heard the sound of his heart beat, closing your eyes to the rhythmic sound. “We should get going soon.” As much as you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you knew you shouldn’t. You couldn’t spend all night out here, and you shouldn’t give yourself the chance to get attached.

He sighs, saying okay as you separate to move into the front seats. He turns the car back on as you grabbed his phone, going back to being dj. You smiled to yourself, singing along as he drove through the night.

When he parks back in front of his house, you lean over and kiss his cheek, thanking him for such a great night. You would leave right after, going back into your own car and about the rest of your day.

You wondered, if you had sent that text- would that have happened?

i’ve always wanted to play this song on what would’ve been our first date. or hang out. or whatever it was gonna be. i had so many hopes for us back then. so many hypotheticals about what we could’ve been.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Incubus”

Incubus is a special type of metahuman that can enter people’s mind and the only one known to possess such abilities is Y/N. Captured by an underground agency and forced to obey orders, she has a new task today: to get inside The Joker’s head and find out where he stashed half a billion dollars after he pulled what everybody calls “the heist of the century”.

“Regression will begin shortly,” one of the doctors announces on the intercom. “Prepare for countdown.”

You lay on the cold metal table next to the Joker’s body: he’s medicated into a dreamless sleep, ready to have you purge his mind for the answer to the burning question: where did he stash half a billion dollars?

After being arrested two weeks ago, The King of Gotham refused to speak and disclose any information to the authorities; they tried everything: drugs, blackmail, best intimidation tactics and psychologists without success.

J didn’t crack.

Fed up with the puzzling mystery, CIA decided to use the top secret research facility operating under the grid where the infamous Incubus is held prisoner.

“A few reminders,” the flat voice echoes in the sealed laboratory. “Do not attempt to elude us, we have your little girl! If you aim to play us we’ll revoke visiting time.”

You blankly stare at the ceiling, upset they repeat the same rules when you’re forced to use your powers; the 15 minutes you’re allowed to spend with Mia on Saturdays is all you live for since they incarcerated both of you six months ago.

How you wish you could kill them but they found a solution to prevent you from rebelling.

“Please note that in case you plan to get inside our brains and compel us to stop breathing, your daughter will die. Confirm acknowledgement.”

“Confirm,” you bitterly reply because it hurts to have your child endangered; you could end them right this moment if it wasn’t for her.

Unfortunately, they found a way to subdue your terrific ability: the crew assigned to project Incubus carries portable heart monitoring devices 24/7; they resemble wrist watches and if just one individual’s pulse deactivates, it will set of the explosive in Mia’s collar. The 5 years old has no clue that what she believes to be a cute necklace is actually a device meant to eradicate her.

“Countdown to regression,” the clinician reports and the speakers carry his words around the room. “Five, four, three, two, one. Initiate!”

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

You walk in the darkness, surprised you didn’t bump into memories yet: usually that’s the first thing you stumble upon when invading a person’s subconscious. He’s been under your spell for 10 minutes now and the void proves his twisted mind is probably worse than anyone thinks: The Clown is lost in the maze of his own insanity.

A couple more steps and you finally distinguish four doors ahead which means you’ll be able to analyze The Joker’s recollections.  

First Door

The little boy cries in the middle of the room and you slowly approach, wondering if you should interfere or just observe. But tears fall from those innocent blue eyes and the fact that he’s maybe your daughter’s age makes you decide.

“Why are you crying?” you kneel by the young Joker and he wipes his face with the sleeves of his raggedy shirt:

“My mommy died.”

“Did she? I’m sorry… Do you miss her?” you manipulate the conversation since warping his thoughts might lead to your quest: discovering where the money is.

“U-hum,” he nods and asks. “I don’t like it at the orphanage, I want to go home…”

“Perhaps I can help,” you pull him in your arms and he whispers:

“Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” Y/N sadly concludes because it doesn’t bring her joy to distort an already broken mind, nevertheless she‘s here bearing a clear purpose. “It’s ok,” you hold the child and soothe him. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The little boy whimpers, clinging to the stranger showing him kindness then vanishes in thin air: you got rid of a painful memory and replaced it with a nicer one.

Now The Joker will remember that someone comforted him when in reality it never happened.

Second Door

The young man is standing in front of the burning cottage while the firefighters are struggling to put out the blaze. He’s covered in ashes and his lips are barely moving; you can hardly discern what he keeps on repeating:

“They’re still inside… they’re still inside…”

The 24 years old Joker is numb and all you can conclude he seemed so different back in the day.

“Who’s inside?” you inquire and he glimpses your way without realizes he’s in shock.

“My wife and son. I couldn’t save them… I didn’t make it to the second level, the flames were too strong…”

You bend over and grab the blanket resting at his feet, placing it around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry they’re gone, you did everything you could.”

He glares at the Incubus for a split moment before disappearing: you just lift the burden of a horrifying experience and now The Joker will remember that someone offered consolation when in reality it never happened.

Third Door

The man is sitting on the floor with his back against the padded wall, tightly confined inside his straight jacket. He keeps screaming, then maniacally laughing and sobbing in the same time while straining to escape the garment.

“Calm down,” you slide near him. “You’ll hurt yourself if you continue.”

The 27 years old tries to articulate a couple of coherent sounds before reprising his yelling.

“Stop squirming,” you cup his face and make him pay attention. “Look at me. Relax,” you caress his cheeks. “Deep breaths, ok?” you plead with the madman. “Sssttt, it’s fine…” Y/N stares in his eyes and the shouting gradually dies out. “There you go,” you brush your forehead on J’s prior to him fading away: you switched a terrible incident into better conclusion by mimicking sympathy when in reality it never happened.  

Fourth Door

You’re surprised to notice The Joker talking to shadows: a woman and a little girl judging by their silhouettes; he resembles the most wanted criminal lying 10 inches apart from you in the secured establishment pushing you to accomplish their instructions.

A recent memory? Does it mean he has another family?...

You want to come closer and the sight of the contours disappearing is intriguing; The Clown rubs his temples and you can tell he’s distressed.

“What’s going on?” you dig in his brain for responses.

“They took my Queen and my Princess!” he grinds his teeth with resentment.

“Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” J grumbles and evaporates saying a baffling phrase: ”I have to find the perfect plan in order to reclaim what’s mine!”

So weird the memory dispersed before you misled the truth in your favor … What the heck is going on?!...

The Cell

No rooms left and you stroll in the murkiness again, angry your scheme didn’t lead towards a better result: oddly enough The King of Gotham failed to unveil extra hints that could have aid you in discovering where the fortune he snatched is.

“Hello sugar,” the raspy intonation halts you in your tracks.

Y/N detects the heavy bars forming this square shaped cell containing what she suspects to be a version of The Joker; it’s difficult to restrain her astonishment since she’s witnessing a rare phenomenon: nothing less than a mind prison.

Jackpot! If he buried something deep inside and locked it even from himself it could mean you reached your destination.

“It’s nice to have visitors,” the eerie apparition chuckles. “It gets lonely.”

“I bet,” you pout. “Why don’t you break free?”

He kicks the bars, enraged he has to explain:

“I’m sure a superior creature such as the lady joining me knows a mind prison can only be opened from the outside!”

He’s self-aware! This is absolutely unbelievable: humans are never conscious within the deepest layers of their psyche.

“You are correct: you can only open it from the outside,” you agree. “What’s your name?”

“Joker. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Duh, I know,” he snickers and lets his tattooed arms hang loose outside the bars. “You have a kid, right?”

He sees your doubt and his gratification builds up to new highs.

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“How do you know it’s a she?!” you counterattack with a quiz.

Damn, this whole charade is getting more and more fascinating by the second!

“I know soooooo many things,” the entity yawns. “For example I’m sure you wonder how I ended up in here.”

No sign you would deny his rambling thus he enlightens the riddle:

“Some are born with certain “gifts”, some develop them after a traumatic experience. I’m the lucky recipient of the latest, although I was locked in here from day one. If I had someone shatter the seal and by someone I mean you,” he points his finger at the smirking Y/N, “I could help you run from the place you hate. Tell me I’m wrong, but aren’t you trapped also?”

“You’re sneaky, I’ll give you that,” you laugh at his attempts to influence your actions.

“And you’re too powerful not to realize what’s going on! Snap out of it!!!” he hisses. “Are you single sugar?” the anger building up makes Y/N frown.

“None of your business!”

“Humor me, I beg,” he emphasizes the words.

“Yes,” you scoff and his demeanor doesn’t lower your guard.

“Are you 100% certain you’re not married?”

“What’s this nonsense?!” you sneer at the stupid conversation.

“Maybe you don’t remember because you created your own mind prison where you chained crucial data in order to protect the ones you love after you were captured. What’s your daughter’s name?” he sulks and you grumble.

“Mia.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am; do you think I don’t know my child’s name?”

“And you think I don’t recognize my own wife standing in front of me??!!!!” he snaps at your hesitation. “Set me free! Set me free and I’ll show you! I can get inside your mind and unlock your cage: you’ll remember everything!”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?!” you growl at the absurd sentences: like his devious tactic would work on you!

“I’m talking to the Incubus, am I not?”

Your mouth opens in amazement since there is no way in hell he could know that.

“Do I have your attention now?” the beast reprimands. “Good! Here’s what you deliberately forgot: nobody knows that we’re married, it’s better that way; yet a woman with your capabilities is bound to attract unwanted attention anyway. When we got together, we had a deal: you’ll never get inside my head and you consented. No? Doesn’t ring a bell?...” he cracks his joints. “After they took you and Emma from me…”

“Who’s Emma?” you interrupt, more and more convinced there’s something fishy happening inside The Joker’s subconscious.

“Our daughter, her name is not Mia, you just replaced it after you were both kidnapped in order to sever all connections with the past. Can’t blame you: it’s a great strategy given the circumstances: create a mind prison, hide everything connected to protect me and her. Last thing you needed was for them to find out we are actually acquainted in the most intimate way. That would have been a disaster! Do you know why I stole half a billion dollars and let them catch me? I knew that if I do that they’ll use everything possible under the sun to make me spill the beans. When all fails, won’t they flaunt the last ace in their sleeve? That’s how I got here sugar, it was the ultimate goal. I can’t function without my girls so I came to get them!”

“Listen here,” your menacing attitude takes over. “Who do you take me for?! Your fictional tale is starting to piss me off so I advise you to quit before I make your neurons crumble to pieces!”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it,” the feral beast sniffs the air. “You always kept your end of the bargain and never got in here before to poke the past. I respect that, sugar. Now I had no choice besides letting you in.”

“Stop it! Stop your lies!! You’re nothing more than a projection of The Joker’s mind!”

“Ahhhh,” the evil grin flourishes behind the silver teeth. “I am so much more than that. Do you want to get out of this facility? I suggest you set me free and I will prove I’m telling the truth!”

“Bullshit! What can you do anyway?! I can kill everyone and run, but my daughter will die!”

“Not if I help: you can make them stop breathing and I could keep the hearts beating until we get the key that unlocks Emma’s collar! It’s a dual team mission.”

“Her name is Mia! How do you know about the collar?!” the dumbfounded Y/N mumbles.

“Weren’t you listening? I know a lot of things!”

“Even if we assume you aren’t lying, how will you keep their hearts beating?!”

“Set me free and I’ll show you! SET. ME. FREE!!!!!! Or we are fucking doomed! Set me free!” he punches the bars. “Set me free and I’ll open your mind prison! You’ll realize each word I uttered is genuine! You’ll remember all of it! SET! ME! FREE!!! What do you have to lose, huh? Nothing! Do it!! Do it!!!!”

“How could you get inside my mind?! I’m a metahuman!”

“Goddamnit! SET ME FREE AND I’ll SHOW YOU!!!!! Do you want your daughter to perish in this place?! Do you???!!!”

You definitely are beyond skeptical; still… at least he’s correct about this: you have nothing to lose; you approach with caution and part the bars enough for the trapped entity to squeeze outside.

“Thank you honey,” he clumsily bows and before you can react he snatches in his arms and kisses you.

Y/N feels this electrifying sensation taking over, stupefied to understand what it means: she just unleashed another Incubus. And she always thought she was the only one!

You gasp for air and open your eyes, processing all the recovered memories rushing through your brain: your own mind prison was opened as promised.

You tilt your head to look at The Clown and he grabs your hand, panting:

“Are you ready sugar?”

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

People keep falling to the ground, each step bringing you closer to your freedom. Emma’s face is buried in your neck as you jump over corpses on the way out of the underground laboratory:

“No peeking!” The Joker scolds and her little hands hold you tighter while obeying.

“Ok daddy.”

“Don’t be scared,” you kiss her cheek and continue the rampage towards the exit.

Screams intensify around the three detainees escaping their faith: the adults can’t afford any weakness or grant mercy to the ones that showed them none.

In the end, what is more terrifying than one Incubus that could plunge the world into complete darkness?

The answer is simple: two of them.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[yoon-kooks]

With Love and No Regrets💋 2

Pairing: ??? x Reader, Taehyung x Reader (this chapter)

Genre: Angst, Handwritten!AU, inspired by TATBILB

Summary: Seven stories, seven regrets, seven letters… to all the boys you may or may not still think about…

Word Count: 2.8k

Parts: Prologue // 1 // 1.5 // 2 // 2.5 // 3 // 

Warnings: none

A/N: hands up if you remember your first crush ever 😔✊

Fifth grade might’ve been your prime. You were a whopping ten years old, all the kindergarteners looked up to you as their senior, multiple boys in your class had their eye on you, and you developed your first crush. His name was Kim Taehyung.

Unlike Jungkook who you had met in kindergarten, the existence of Kim Taehyung was unknown to you until fifth grade came around. And boy did he hit you like a truck.

Taehyung was cute. Perhaps one of the cutest boys in your class, up there with Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok. And sure, you would’ve loved for fate aka your teacher to seat you right next to him for the entire school year. But the truth is, fate wasn’t always so kind. Because Taehyung always somehow ended up on the opposite side of the room from you.

But why leave everything up to fate? You weren’t that passive when it came to love—at least not at age ten. So you found another way to connect with the boy.

One stormy October morning, you discovered a common interest between Taehyung and yourself. Rainy days were always your favorite because your class was blessed with some free time in the school’s computer lab during recess. After all, you were the type that opted to stay behind a screen instead of facing things head on.

“Ahin, how are you level 77 already?” you asked your best friend as you glanced back and forth between her level 77 mage and your level 32 bandit on the computer screen. Her character had a lot more swag with the sunglasses and shit compared to your basic ass character with the default clothes.

“That’s because my screen time isn’t limited to one hour a day like you,” Ahin shrugged. “At this rate, you’ll be a noob forever, Y/N. Taehyung’s gonna over-level you soon.”

“Taehyung plays StapleMory, too?” You were intrigued because StapleMory was already your favorite MMORPG, but with the addition of a cute boy thrown into the mix, you’d have to beg your mother for an extra hour of play time.

“Yeah, he started playing a few weeks ago and he’s only a few levels behind you.”

“What’s his username? I wanna add him to my friend list.”

“Why? Are you in love with him or something?”

“What? No, of course not.” You didn’t have a crush on him just yet. You didn’t even know what a crush felt like.

“Well I don’t know his username either,” Ahin said. “I just heard him talking about it with Hoseok. Try asking them instead.”

You’d only made the smallest of small talk with Taehyung in the first month back from summer break, so you didn’t know him well enough to casually start a conversation with him at recess without it feeling a little forced. On the other hand, you did have an already established acquaintance with Hoseok thanks to summer school a few years back.

You peered down at the pair of boys several computers down from where you sat, locked onto your target, and rolled your chair over in that direction. When you caught a glimpse of familiar character sprites on their screens, you knew what to do.

“You play StapleMory, too, Hoseok?” The character on his screen was a heavily armored warrior holding a long blue spear.

“Y-you play too, Y/N?” He looked shocked. Shocked but not upset. Though maybe if you both had put two and two together sooner, you could’ve advanced your acquaintanceship with him beyond summer school.

“Yeah, and Ahin plays too.”

“I play too,” Taehyung jumped in. Contrary to his natural handsomeness, his character was on the ugly side equipped with a bow and arrows. “Well I just started, so I’m only level 30.”

“Oh, so you’re still just a noob,” you laughed as if being two levels higher than him was anything to boast about.

“Well what level are you then?”

“Higher than you.” You really should not have had that smug look on your face, but you did.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you. It was a challenge. “What’s your username? I’ll add you.”

“YoungHinata.”

“Is that some kind of Naruto reference or something?”

“Yeah, duh.” You didn’t know. It wasn’t your username.

After typing the username in, Taehyung’s jaw dropped. “Level 77? That’s… impressive. You already have your third job advancement?”

You wanted to psych him out a little, not impress him. Clearly that didn’t work out, so you abort. “Nah, I’m just kidding. That’s Ahin’s character.”

“Haha very funny. I guess I’ll add her then, not you.” Taehyung sent Ahin a virtual friend request right in front of your eyes. “Unless you wanna tell me your username.”

Were you feeling threatened? No. But did you want Taehyung to be your friend? Yes.

“It’s… TacoCat98.” You admit you were self-conscious about the name, and you would’ve picked something a little wittier like TacoBelle if you’d known you’d be playing with a cute boy. But nobody could’ve predicted that.

“Seriously?” Taehyung laughed at your username as he typed it in. He had no right to clown you when his own username was something as simple Vante, and you totally did not get the reference if there was one. And he only stopped laughing once he saw your character. “You called me a noob when you’re only like two levels above me? Noob.”

“It doesn’t matter! I’m still higher than you, so ha!” You got the last laugh, but not the last say.

“Not for long, Y/N… Not for long.” The confidence in Taehyung’s voice was admirable with a hint of flirtiness, but you wouldn’t let him get the best of you. Or so you thought.

-

It had quickly become a regular thing for you to hop online after school with either Ahin, Hoseok and Taehyung, or just Taehyung. Your mother was pleasantly surprised to see you zipping through your homework with newfound motivation, and she even granted you an extra hour of screen time to reward your excelling academics. Little did she know that your motivation had everything to do with a boy.

With that valuable extra hour of play time, you did everything in your power to stay ahead of Taehyung. You grinded, took on quests, asked Ahin for advice on the best equips and places to train, and you did so without a minute to waste. The only time you took a break from leveling up your character was when a certain notification popped up on your screen.

[Vante has logged in!]

[Vante sent you a message!]

Vante: hi Y/N >:)

TacoCat98: why r u sending me a mean face? :P

Vante: freedom of speech?

TacoCat98: ok?

Vante: come train with me :(

TacoCat98: where r u now?

Vante: where the fire boars are

TacoCat98: kk

You might’ve been in the middle of a jump quest that you’d have to restart later, but you were willing to forfeit some good EXP in exchange for time with Taehyung. The two of you were close enough in level where it’d be mutually beneficial to train together on the same map anyway. So you hustled over to the fire boars.

As soon as you walked through the portal to where Taehyung said he was, you witnessed a hoard of flaming pigs chasing an ugly green-haired archer. Rather than extending a hand to help the boy out of danger, you take pleasure in watching him struggle to find safety on a nearby platform.

“why didnt u help me????” A speech bubble appeared over Taehyung’s character. “i almost died!!”

“i didnt wanna kiss you,” you typed, with a very embarrassing typo. “i meant KS you… not kiss you lol”

“r u sure that was a typo?” Taehyung changed his character’s facial expression to a hmm face.

“KISS wouldnt have made sense in that context!!” K.S. was the abbreviation of kill steal, which was when someone (often a noob like Taehyung) is trying to kill a monster but then a higher level player passes by and instantly kills the monster as a form of mockery. Kiss, on the other hand, meant something very different.

“right…”

“RIGHT.” You made your character flail around in the air like a kid having a tantrum before jumping down to release all your awkward energy out on the fire boars. “can we just train now??”

You sent Taehyung a request to join your party, and he accepted it, but he remained right where he was instead of joining you on the battle grounds.

“or we could just talk,” he typed. That not only surprised you, but also meant something to you. It meant he’d rather spend time chatting with you over leveling up his character. You were more important to him than the game itself.

You jumped back up to the safe platform and faced Taehyung’s character. “we could.”

You didn't know if he was just luring you away from training so he could sneak past you in levels as soon as you logged off, but maybe it didn’t matter. You only had two hours a day to do whatever you wanted on the computer, and Taehyung was what made your time feel well-spent.

And if he ended up surpassing you in levels as a result of that, you’d lose bragging rights and that hold over him, but something in you wanted to believe he wouldn’t leave your noob ass behind.

-

For a solid year, you never grew bored of Taehyung and his antics. Even in the classroom, it became apparent that you two were no strangers. You teased him about his new haircuts, he teased you by shouting “TacoCat98” across the school yard, and you both exchanged ugly faces as you passed by each others’ desks. All of that was innocent and cute, though the more intimate stuff remained online.

You can’t remember the exact moment you first acknowledged your feelings for Taehyung because it was your very first crush and you had no way of recognizing the signs. For a while, you assumed your first crush would be Namjoon because he had all the stunning physical qualities you thought you wanted in a boyfriend. But with Taehyung, it was something else that you couldn’t quite comprehend. All you knew was that he made your day a little brighter. And you found yourself thinking about him. A lot.

But nothing could’ve made you realize your crush more than when he asked you about it right after graduation.

Vante: hey

TacoCat98: hey

Vante: do you like anyone?

It was your chance—the golden opportunity. You wanted to scream “YES, IT’S YOU” through your computer. But on the off chance that he didn’t feel the same way, you wanted to save yourself from a potential rejection. You told yourself you’d only confess to him if you felt 100% confident that he felt the same way. Despite having a gut feeling that that might’ve been the case, you needed more answers.

TacoCat98: lol why r u asking?

Vante: bc u know how my group of guys had a talk after the grad ceremony?

TacoCat98: umm no? and yall arent “guys” yet btw. youre still boys lolol

Vante: whatever -_-

Vante: anyway

Vante: the BOYS had a talk about who we liked in our class

Vante: so i know who likes u

Someone liked you? That was definitely news to you. No one (to your knowledge) ever had a crush on you in your ten years of life. Naturally, you were curious as a kitten as to who it was, and if it was in fact Taehyung himself. Or maybe he was just bluffing. If that were the case, you were going to bluff back.

TacoCat98: well i know who likes u too :P

Vante: who?

For some reason, your dumbass didn’t anticipate him asking you to spill the tea. Especially not when you were alluding to your own crush on him.

TacoCat98: u tell me first and then ill tell u

Because how romantic would that be if the feeling was mutual and realized on the online platform where it had all begun to bloom?

Vante: hoseok

TacoCat98: wat

Vante: hoseok said he likes u

Vante: ok next

You needed a long minute to comprehend what had happened. Hoseok liked you? Hoseok? Hoseok didn’t even know you the way Taehyung did. You rarely even spoke to him outside of when he’d play StapleMory with you and Taehyung. So how was it possible for Jung Hoseok to develop a crush on you out of nothing? Spoiler alert: It wasn’t possible. But you didn’t know that at the time.

Vante: so… who likes me?

An idiot liked Taehyung. And that idiot was you. But after he didn’t confess to you like you had hoped, there was no way you’d confess either.

TacoCat98: actually i promised to keep that a secret

Vante: but u said u would tell me >:(

TacoCat98: well im srry!!

TacoCat98: it’s not like you were sharing your OWN crush, so why r u so mad lol

TacoCat98: hoseok probably wanted to keep that a secret but u told me anyway

Vante: true

Vante: dont tell him i told u >.<

TacoCat98: ok i wont

Vante: good

Vante: now back to the original question… tell me who u like

TacoCat98: i dont like anyone lol

Vante: seriously…

TacoCat98: really i dont lol

Vante: everyone has a crush

TacoCat98: and your crush is…?

Vante: ahin

He typed it without hesitation, not a sliver of doubt. He confidently told you about his crush on your best friend as if that information wasn’t going to get back to her. Maybe he intended for you to tell Ahin so he wouldn’t have to confess himself. Or maybe he just wanted to make you jealous. The latter was what he accomplished.

As a friend, you loved Ahin and envied her for how easily she got along with the boys in your class. Just as her StapleMory character outshined yours, she had the same effect at school. It honestly didn’t surprise you that Taehyung chose her over you. You had just hoped and envisioned that this time it was you.

TacoCat98: AHIN!!! can i tell u something?

YoungHinata: sure lol

TacoCat98: i like tae

YoungHinata: omg

YoungHinata: really????

YoungHinata: u should tell him!!

YoungHinata: he always acts like he likes u too

TacoCat98: i dont think he likes me like that

YoungHinata: y tho???

TacoCat98: i just have a feeling :(

YoungHinata: well youll never know for sure unless u confess to him

TacoCat98: nah im fine with him never knowing

TacoCat98: i just wanted to get it off my chest so i told u instead of him lol

-

After elementary school ended and middle school started, you were more thankful than ever that you and Taehyung had established an online friendship. You wouldn’t have otherwise known he attended the same middle school because you had zero classes with him in sixth grade and literally never saw him on campus. You owed a lot to the online platform for all the opportunities it provided you with in chatting with your crush. At the same time, a relationship built upon online engagements had its limits.

[Vante has logged in!]

TacoCat98: hihihi

Vante: i havent seen your face around these parts in a while

TacoCat98: blame my teachers >:(

TacoCat98: more hw = less staplemory

Vante: same

Vante: dont u think it’s weird tho

TacoCat98: whats weird?

Vante: how we talk on here but not irl

TacoCat98: i guess we never see each other at school anymore

There were a million better ways to respond to Taehyung’s comment, but that’s how you chose to respond. You had every opportunity to say, “hey let’s meet up at lunch tomorrow” or “wanna get milk tea after school?” But you were too dense to realize what he wanted out of that conversation. You took it more as a subtle breakup like “we can’t be friends anymore because things are awkward now irl.” After all, you were on the wrong side of an unrequited love, and it was almost inevitable that he’d develop other crushes on his new classmates who outclassed you.

It was only after you both quit StapleMory later that year and left your friendship to die in cyberspace that you heard a rumor floating around regarding you and Taehyung. One of your new middle school friends said Taehyung had asked her if it was true that you had a crush on him.

How did Taehyung know about that? And why did he even care? He was supposed to like Ahin. He told you himself that he liked Ahin. If you were his crush, he would’ve told you. He should’ve told you. Because you were fully convinced he no longer cared about his little gamer friend when there were plenty of prettier kids to pursue. And whether or not it was the truth, you took it to heart, despite all the other signs that had said otherwise.

So, no. The rumor wasn't true. You didn’t have a crush on him. Not anymore.

[negans-network]

Pull My Hair Part 1 - The Wanderer

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the hair-pulling kink prompt introducing OFC Susan.

Word Count: 5421 (Sorry, I got carried away)

Warnings: Foul language, Sexual References, Language, and Imagery (No Smut yet), Slight Gore, Really Bad Humor

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

At first, she didn’t make a point of leaving, but life forced her hand. One of the first large groups she had found had been terrible. Composing mostly of men, they made far too many attempts to get into her pants, and feeling too uncomfortable and unsafe to sleep she slipped out one night and ran away with a backpack full of goods so she could make it on her own.

For a while she was fine – they hadn’t even bothered to pursue her – but she spent too many nights awake, waiting for danger. After that she found another group, but the group was dissolving at the seams when she joined them. They didn’t have a community, and roamed around much as she had done. The area they were scouting lacked supplies and they were forced to disperse to find enough food for themselves.

For a while she was fine – they hadn’t even bothered to pursue her – but she spent too many nights awake, waiting for danger. After that she found another group, but the group was dissolving at the seams when she joined them. They didn’t have a community, and roamed around much as she had done. The area they were scouting lacked supplies and they were forced to disperse to find enough food for themselves.

Again, Susan was on her own and forced to travel long distances. She went north to escape the weather and find areas that haven’t already been picked clean; and she ran into another group in South Carolina. Susan was with them for the longest after the end of the world, around three months or so. Among them she had forged friendships and there was this one cute guy named Jay. He was just a friend, and she had been trying to work up the courage to admit her interest to him. Unfortunately, though, as the world and life normally does to Susan when things are looking up and going well – it went to shit.

Mistakes were made somehow – Susan doesn’t know how and she doubts she’ll ever know – and the Dead came in huge packs. The group was separated by force, and Susan watched Jay get bit before she killed him. It wasn’t until later that she realized the cruel irony of the situation. She had crushed the skull of the guy she had had a crush on.

Jay was still human when she killed him, but he wasn’t the first human she has killed. Susan wasn’t sure how many she has killed, only that she has. It was an effort to forget, so why bother remembering? Sleep was hard enough to come by anyway.

That being her third strike at living with people, Susan struck out on her own, resolved to harden her heart against others. There were bouts of loneliness, of course, moments where she thought she was going crazy. In her heart, though, she firmly believed that isolation was better than making connections with people who were just going to die anyway. Maybe it was her fault that groups fell apart; at this rate, she could believe it.

The fourth time she joined a group was against Susan’s will entirely. Susan was too careless, too clumsy, and broke her wrist escaping from the Dead. Fate had quite literally forced her hand (until her wrist broke) to find a community or group for safety. She found one, a group she had been distinctly avoiding once she entered their territory. They were friendly enough, accepted her, but as soon as Susan was able she left. While there she didn’t talk much, trying not to make enemies or friends. She succeeded and they let her leave without a fuss.

Winter came and she was in North Carolina, approximately. Not use to the weather and lacking supplies, she fell sick, but this time a group found her. Once she had rested up and gotten over her illness, she left again. By now, she was starting to see how hopping to group to group could benefit her. No attachments, but the benefit of resupplying and resting for a little while. Less of a chance of going crazy by herself, too.

So, when she came to Virginia and stumbled upon a walled community, she decided she would stay for a fortnight. The Hilltop welcomed her, and she was put to work, which she didn’t mind at all. Susan only bothered to learn two names: Gregory, the leader of the community who referred to her as ‘Sally’ or ‘Sweetie’ and Jesus, the guy she went out on runs with. He taught her a few tricks, but other than that maintained his distance. Though he genuinely cared about the wellbeing of the community as a whole, he kept his distance from people. Susan could appreciate the concept and considered herself lucky that he wouldn’t try to get too close to her. She kept her word and left after a fortnight without telling anyone. Additionally, she stole some supplies for herself.

After her stint with the Hilltop, she avoided most people, just in case it was anybody looking for her and the supplies. It was about a month or two – the days blend together after a while when you’re alone – and Susan was found by men wearing riot gear on horses. They spoke with shitty ‘Ye Olde Englishe’ accents and offered her a place at their Kingdom. Running low on water, Susan shrugged and went with them, already making plans to leave in two weeks. She met their King, a rather handsome man, and his tiger, a rather pretty big cat. Physical and emotional distance were required. Some of the knights were nice, like Jerry who made her laugh, but Richard was a bit of a dick. He was suspicious of her. Susan avoided him and enjoyed the cobblers and choir singing for as long as she could. When her two weeks were up she almost changed her mind to stay for a few more days, but she was too afraid. So, again, she left without saying goodbye to anybody; and again, she stole supplies for herself.

That was about three months ago. Susan knew it was three months because it was summer time now, and she had run out of feminine products and needed to go find some more somewhere. Birth control pills had run out long ago. Squinting her nondescript brown eyes into the general direction of the sun, she oriented herself in the direction of a pharmacy. It had been difficult to avoid the Kingdom after she left, but she kept them running in circles and stuck around the area enough to learn a few places. If she headed north, she could find a Walgreens or something, and surely, she could find what she needed there. She would need them soon. Ducking her head down and stubbornly trudging forward, she caught sight of how much browner she was. Well, she had always been brown, but never this dark – and not all of this grime could make her so dark either. Perhaps she should find some sunscreen, too, then.  

Susan sighed and continued to walk down the middle of the street. The side of the roads were crumbling, and she’d rather not risk snapping her ankle. Additionally, she would be closer to the tree line, and she didn’t want one of the Dead to sneak out and surprise her. She was starting to feel lonely again. On a whim, in an effort to bolster her spirits, she started singing,

“Oh, well, I’m the type of guy who will never settle down.

Where pretty girls are, well, you know that I’m around.

I kiss them and I love them, because to me they’re all the same.

I hug them and I squeeze them, they don’t even know my name.

They call me the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer.

I roam around, around, around…”

She trailed off as she started to cough, stopping for a minute to get her water bottle from her backpack. It was her last one. Another reason she should find some store or pharmacy. The pollen wasn’t helping her cough either. Would people think to loot pharmacies for allergy pills? Maybe not and she could get some. Susan perked up when she heard a harsh noise, and with a sigh she took the blunt pipe out of her backpack before she zipped it back up and slung it back on.

One of the perks of being alone was that she could sing without having to argue about the song or lyrics or being told to stop because she was a terrible singer. Of course, there was a downside, like how the Dead just loved her singing and always came running to take a bite of her.

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted one of the Dead lumbering out of the tree line, heading in her direction. It was ugly, dead for some time now, and the Sun had melted its flesh off of its bones until its eyes were gone. It had found her by sound and (ruefully she sniffed her armpit and wrinkled her nose accordingly) smell alone, it seemed. She deliberately continued singing so it could lock in on her location.

“Oh, well, I roam from town to town.

I go through life without a care.

I’m as happy as a clown,

With my two fists of iron and I’m going nowhere.”

Remaining where she stood, she hefted the pipe in her hand experimentally, waiting for it to come closer to her. Susan was bored, there was no other reason for her to do this. Finishing off her water, she gasped appreciatively, and then she neatly chucked it at the Dead and it bounced off its sunken chest. Old Susan would’ve never littered, but New Susan knew this world was already dead.

As she listened to the Dead’s guttural, grating groans growing louder as it hobbled closer, she winced. “Look, buddy, that song I was singing,” Susan stepped forward and swung the pipe at its skull, “Was –” Blam! “Not –” Blam! “A duet!” Blam!

The Dead fell lifeless for sure and for good measure, she flattened his caved-in skull with her heel, grinding it into the hot asphalt of the road. Panting slightly, she glanced down at the sprinkles of blood on her shirt. Damn, she really liked this shirt.  Susan swung her pipe, flicking away the extra blood, and picked up singing again.

“Oh, well, I’m the type of guy that likes to roam around.

I’m never in one place, I roam from town to town,

And when I find myself falling for some girl,

I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world.

Yeah, I’m the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer.

I roam around, around, around…”

Taking all the time in the world, she swung her backpack off again and rummaged through it. Slipping off the spoiled shirt, she wrapped it around the pipe to keep from the blood from staining anything else and stuck it back in her backpack before looking for another shirt. Since showers were limited, changing clothes often was the best way she could prevent herself from getting sick. Thankfully, not a lot of clothes store were looted at the end of the world or even now. Maybe the pharmacy would have a spare scrub shirt or two for her. Not really paying attention, she repeated herself.

“Oh, yeah, I’m the type of guy that likes to roam around.

I’m never in one place, I roam from town to town,

And when I find myself falling for some girl,

I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world.

Yeah, because I’m a wanderer. Yeah, a wanderer.

I roam around, around, around…”

Susan trailed off as she thought she heard something. It would be her luck to be more of the Dead, but she couldn’t be sure. She sat up straight, hesitantly looking around. It wouldn’t do well to be caught with her pants down – or rather, in her case, to be caught with her shirt off. Not hearing anything else, she sang again.

“Because I’m a wanderer. Yeah, a wanderer.

I roam around, around, around…”

Her head jerked up and this time she knew she heard something as she fell silent. There, there was the sound of engines – multiple trucks. “Oh, great.” She shook her backpack and dug around in it faster, but she could see dust stirring just around the bend of the road… Not taking any chances, she booked it for the tree line where the Dead just came from. Just her luck, she tripped over the water bottle that she had thrown at the Dead, and dropped her backpack. Not having time to get it, she continued to run until she reached the cover of the trees. Ducking behind a tree, she prayed that the trucks would just drive by and leave her backpack so she could go back and get it.

That backpack had kept her alive so far and carried a lot of stuff. She had used that backpack in college, and there were still a few decorative patches on it despite its general wear and tear. Even though it was faded, that purple color still stood out on the side of the road, and the Dead one in the middle of the road was just as suspicious. Maybe they wouldn’t notice a damn thing if she were lucky, though.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a convoy of trucks came around the curve, and Susan swore that they were going too slow. The longer she watched, the slower the trucks went, until they stopped less than ten or so feet away from her. “Of fucking course, they would,” Susan muttered sourly.

At the head of the convoy was a blue pick-up truck, the one made for flinging up mud. Was the truck really blue? There was too much pollen to tell for sure. A really tall man with a mustache  – even from the tree line she could tell he was tall and his mustache was huge and black – hopped out of the truck and called to the others, “We’re stopping here to refuel!” There was a flurry of activity like an ant-hill that had been stepped on as even more men clambered out of their vehicles, some toting red gas containers as they refueled their respective vehicles.

Already breathing heavy from her impromptu sprint, Susan started to panic. The longer they moseyed around her, the more likely they were to find her. She couldn’t leave without her backpack, that had everything she owned. On top of that, she couldn’t continue through the woods on foot, defenseless, without a shirt, too. Anxiously, she watched the men and hoped that they wouldn’t see the backpack.

One of the men, rather handsomely dressed in a shiny black leather jacket, whistled; and Susan immediately zeroed in on him like a dog. His black hair was slicked back and she immediately thought of The Outsiders and Grease. Part of her absentmindedly considered if he could sing and dance. He had a red scarf – an ascot maybe? Like Fred from Scooby Doo. More importantly though, he had a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, so shiny it glinted in the sun and nearly rivaled the shiny glint of his slicked back hair.

Actually, take that back, his smile was the brightest thing on him. Did he loot pharmacies for whitening toothpaste and mouthwash? Dental hygiene seemed important to him. Also, the most important thing on him had to be his smile after she caught sight of it, it contrasted so starkly with his small beard of grey, black, and white. He was like a dream out here, there was no way someone could be so real as him. No one smiled at the end of the world, but there he was as he surveyed the men around him. Mystery man – or rather more affectionately dubbed, Smiling Man – had to be the leader of this little brigade then. Despite her interest, Susan willed Smiling Man to round his boys up and leave this place quickly.

Against her will, though, Smiling Man just paced leisurely, swinging his bat so playfully as if he were a pimp and that was his cane. He came to a stop right at the remains of the Dead she had taken out. The Smiling Man inspected it, pointing his bat at it, with a curious look on his face. His smile was still there, but now he had pinched his tongue between his teeth, evidently thinking hard about how one of the Dead could get its skull flattened so recently when they had not passed any trucks on the road. Susan bit her lip, partly to ward off her anxiety and partly because he looked so particularly handsome with his head cocked like that with his tongue just so.

While she was distracted by Smiling Man, Susan had neglected to pay attention to two men who approached her hiding spot. She didn’t notice them until one of them said, “Hurry up and piss, David. I still don’t see why you need me out here with you.”

Immediately, Susan ducked back around her tree and flattened herself against it as she heard David’s answer. “Gary, didn’t you hear about what happened to Dwight? Some guy just straight up bit his dick. I don’t want one of those things to bite mine off. That’s a bad way to go.”

“Whatever, David. Just piss.”

Susan was nearly about to piss herself. Part of her wanted to laugh about a guy getting his dick bit, but then the rational part of her knew that David and Gary were way too damn close for comfort. David could piss on her for all she knew, he sounded close enough to do it as she heard the tell-tale sound of a zipper.

“Hey, wait, David. Zip it back up, man.” Gary’s suddenly hushed voice interrupted David before he could even start.

“What, Gary? You see something?”

“Yeah, check out this cool backpack I found.” Susan distinctly heard the man rustle around her bag and she had to bite her tongue to keep back her fury. At least he thought her backpack was cool. “David, look at this bloody pipe. It’s fresh.”

“Those panties look pretty fresh, too.” David commented, and Susan hoped to God that he did not just snatch her good panties out of her backpack.

          The sound of a baseball bat slamming against something metal – a truck? – interrupted the men’s conversation. “Ho! Davey, Gary, you finished jerking each other off yet? We will leave without you slow fucks!”

Susan inhaled sharply. Not Smiling Man. Don’t call him over here.

“Negan, we found something!”

 Damn! Is that Smiling Man?

“You fuckers better have found some good shit to waste my damn time like this,” confirmed Susan’s worst fear. Well, not technically worst fear. Smiling Man was attractive after all, but here she was shirtless and not exactly in the best shape of her life.

 The crunch of leaves underfoot broke her out of her reverie as she heard the men approach the tree line. “See if you can find some more shit out there for me then. And Davey? Put the fucking panties back in the backpack, you sick fuck. You don’t even fucking know where those have fucking been.”

When she was a child, Susan use to pretend that she was a tree-nymph. Being one with nature, she could feel its pain. She was a regular tree-hugger hippie. Well now, Susan really wished she could just melt right into a tree. Holding her breath, she scrunched her eyes nearly shut, and watched as both David and Gary passed on either side of her tree, not noticing her at all. Lady Luck, fickle bitch that she was, was on Susan’s side for once it seemed. Susan exhaled noiselessly through her mouth, nearly sagging to the floor in relief. Now she had the problem of avoiding being seen when they would come back.

A sudden twig snap startled her, and Susan knew it had to be one of the Dead. Both David’s and Gary’s heads swung in the direction of the Dead and started towards the noise. Taking that as a sign to slip away, Susan slowly edged out from behind her tree, eyes fixated on the retreated backs of the men. Once they were out of sight, she sighed with relief and then looked away.

And, of course, there was Smiling Man. Keegan? Negan? Yes, that was what they called him. He was inside the tree line like she was, but he hadn’t seen her yet. Like the other men, he was examining the contents of her bag, rolling the pipe around in his gloved hand. He only had one gloved hand. The dreaded baseball bat was propped against a tree within easy reach of him.

Debating with herself, Susan considered if this was how she could escape. Smiling Man was tall, but not particularly big as he was very slim. Maybe she could overpower him through surprise, but not without killing him. If she killed him, the group would chase her for revenge she was sure. He was a figure of respect and fear, and killing him would warrant no mercy.

Not seeing any other choice, Susan silently tread forward, taking advantage of his attention being elsewhere, and grabbed the bat. “Please, put the pipe back in the backpack, drop it, and move away.” Susan didn’t hold the bat threateningly, not wanting to appear too aggressive. Mainly she grabbed it so he wouldn’t. His only weapon would be that pipe, she knew. The baseball bat had the advantage of length and distance. She was therefore at the advantage until those men come back or if he screamed. Smiling Man didn’t look like a screamer, though, at least not a pussy screamer. Maybe pussy could make him scream… she’s getting off track. “Didn’t you hear me? Do it now, please. And don’t turn around.”

She watched as Smiling Man stiffened and slowly turned around, defying her instructions. Once he caught sight of her, he smiled, and God, if she didn’t melt into a puddle then. Boy, was Smiling Man living up to his unofficial nickname or what. “Well, hello there. I’m Negan. And you are?”

Racking her brain for something clever to say – clever? Why did she want to impress him – Susan blinked rapidly, testily swinging the bat. “Shirtless. Tired. Hungry. Dehydrated. Hot. Thirsty.” She stopped herself before she said something too revealing. “Look, please, just gimme back my backpack and I’ll go. Here, I’ll trade this for the backpack. I don’t have guns or anything good. No pomade for your hair or bleach for your teeth. Nothing. Please gimme the backpack.” She lifted the nose of the bat in a pleading gesture, not lifting the bat any higher than knee level to him. It was a little hard to lift the bat one-handed, but her other arm was wrapped protectively around her midsection as a shield.

Surprisingly, despite her loose lips, he was still smiling. “Well fuck,” he harshly chuckled, though the sound was rather pleasing to Susan’s ear. “I guess you are all of those fucking things. Especially hot, huh?” If it was possible, his smile got even wider, his eyes pleasantly crinkling in the corner. What pretty eyes…focus Susan! “That there that you’re holding is Lucille. Be careful with her.” He dropped the pipe to the ground to appease her, and Susan lowered the bat again.

Glancing at the bat, Susan didn’t bat an eye that he named it. It was a pretty name. Wait, was she envious of the bat? Never mind that now. “Quit stalling, Dapper Dan, and gimme back my stuff, damn it.” Her frustration was bleeding through, and she hoped she didn’t sound too unfriendly. “The least you can do is pass me the clean shirt from there.”

“Fucking dapper, huh? I prefer mind-fucking-numbingly sexy.” He was ignoring her now. “I could pass you a fucking shirt, but I’m fucking enjoying the fucking view for fucking free while I fucking can. Besides, I didn’t see a fucking shirt in here.” He lifted and shook the bad for emphasis, the added effect almost comedic enough to make Susan laugh if she weren’t in a hurry.

Remembering her vulnerability again, Susan wrapped her arm over her stomach more tightly. Her breasts she was proud of, but her midsection? Not so much. “Smiling Man, please,” Susan let the nickname slip as she grew more desperate. “Don’t make this too hard. I’ll give you Lucille and those panties for my shirt and the backpack and everything else in it. Let me go.” She knew that there had to be a shirt in there.

“I am very hard in general, and as for your fucking offer,” he trailed off. Leaning back on his heels as if he were about to fucking limbo, Smiling Man just tilted his head to one side like an adorable puppy dog and smiled at her. “Nope!” He popped the ‘p’ and quickly glanced behind her. Susan immediately whipped around, raising the bat defensively in case David and Gary had snuck up on her.

In so doing, she lost her upper hand, and Smiling Man pounced on her like a cat. His gloved hand wrestled Lucille away from her grip while his ungloved hand caught her hair and yanked it hard like the reins of a horse. Susan stilled, pliant, hoping he wouldn’t rip her head off, and Smiling Man dragged her against his chest, pressing her against him from rear to her head that leaned against his shoulder. She felt his hot breath wash over her face – minty, confirming her suspicions about dental hygiene – and the arousal she had for him flared in interest once more. Against her will, she groaned and hoped it sounded more like genuine frustration that the actual sexual frustration that it was.

“Now, how many fucking nicknames do you have for me?” Smiling Man asked her, dipping his head until his lips nearly brushed against her ear. With one hand in her hair, the other hand Lucille in front of them horizontally like a bar. She held her hands up helplessly as if to ward off Lucille’s attack.

“Um, mostly just Smiling Man, Dapper Dan, and right now Asshole.” Why did she say that? Well, if she was going to die, she would make the most of it.

“I’ve heard Asshole before,” Smiling Man huffed his laughter directly into her ear and the dampness she felt from his breath was reflected on another part of her anatomy. “But I’m fucking Negan.”

Gulping, Susan decided it was her time to die, and what a way to go when she’s scared as hell and wet from arousal rather than piss. “Well what if I want to be fucking Negan, too?”

Behind her, Smiling Man tensed, muscles coiling like a snake. Surely, this was the end of Susan.  “Well, you can be fucking Negan, too, I guess.” He tugged on her brown hair again, more to keep her attention than anything else. “Listen here, you can either be like one of these men – a Savior – where you scavenge for me. You will go by Negan whenever anyone asks.” Again, he repeated the tug and Susan felt herself gush in correspondence. She didn’t know why the hair-pulling was getting to her, it just was. Maybe it was because of him. “Or you can be one of my wives, and then you’ll really be fucking Negan, fucking me.”

“Um,” Susan hummed. This wasn’t what she was expecting. She was ready to die, but now he was offering her career choices. Either she could bring home the bacon or be a trophy wife. Briefly she had the internal struggle of going against the rules she had made, the rules of not staying longer than she has to. But maybe now it was time for a break again, and she could sneak out. Well, if she was going to leave after a fortnight, and this was to be a vacation from the road, then she knew which position she wanted. “I’ll fuck you, Negan.” Oh, yes, she knew exactly which positions she wanted.

There was one more tug, and Susan felt like she was going to cum. Then Negan promptly released her. “Good fucking girl! I like you, you’re fucking smart. Charming, sexy little feisty thing, yeah! You’ll fit right in.” He spun Susan around and she felt dizzy, this encounter head-spinning for multiple reasons. He was smiling. “Say, what’s your name then since you’re not gonna be Negan?” Being smart, he stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth mischievously, and his eyes were glittering with good humor. He was too handsome for his own good, or more precisely for Susan’s good.

“Uh, Susan.” She numbly answered, and her hands came up to wrap around her chest and stomach. This motion wasn’t to cover her decency so much as it was to keep the butterflies still in her stomach. Susan told herself it was just normal sexual attraction. No romantic feelings, no problem. Fucking him for two weeks couldn’t make her love him. She’d caught how he said wives, plural, too. There was no way she could make that much of an impression that he’d care so much when she leaves.  

With fluid grace, Negan scooped up her backpack and handed it back to her. “Well, uh Susan – can I call you Suzie?”

“No.” She answered him shortly, gratefully accepting her backpack.

“How about Suzie Q?”

“No, I’ve heard all that noise before. No thanks.” Taking her eyes off of him again, she started searching for her extra shirt. Did she really not have one? She could’ve sworn she had at least one cute red one.

“What about Sue?” Negan asked, watching her intently, gently tapping Lucille against the heel of his boot.

Susan paused, remembering how she was singing when the trucks started to roll up. There was no way that he knew that. “I would prefer Susan.”

“Well you had a billion and fucking one nicknames for me. Turnabout is only fair play, Susan.” He waited a moment and then continued, “You don’t got a fucking shirt, do ya? Told ya.”

Trying not to whine, Susan answered, “Well, I thought I did, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fucking fine with me, Susan. But I don’t think you’d want everyone to see your girls, so here.” Negan started to unzip his jacket, and Sue’s mouth watered. Funny, she thought all the moisture in her body had gone to wet her other pair of lips. As soon as he was standing there in his white shirt – sans leather jacket – tucking his red scarf into the back pocket of his pants, Susan confirmed that he was particularly slim and still all the more handsome. “Wear this until we get to the Sanctuary.” Like a fucking gentleman, he handed her his black leather jacket.

“Sanctuary?” Susan parroted back to him as she pulled the jacket on. It fit her entire wrong. It was too long, but couldn’t hang over her too-big ass, so instead it bunched up on her hips. She could barely manage to zip it and she didn’t want to risk breaking the jacket of her new husband when she had just met him, so her ‘girls’ as he put it were still practically handing out. The enjoyable part was how the sleeves came down to her the palms of her hands, her fingertips and too-long nails just hanging out. That was the only part she could deem attractive to him in her eyes. Honestly, she’s surprised he proposed marriage and seemed agreeable to fuck her. Maybe her luck was turning around.

“Yes, Sanctuary. You’re new home, Susan.” Negan’s eyes roved over her form once more and he snickered. Her stomach dropped correspondingly, ego plummeting just as low. “You look fucking cute.” Stomach and ego returned to their places, and Susan relaxed at her false alarm. She didn’t want her vacation cut short because he found her lacking as a wife. That would make escaping harder.

“Okay then, dear husband,” she lightly sassed him. Susan clutched her backpack to her chest and looked up at him, admiring his smile. “Take me home.”

[fwittrocknews]

The Gentleman Caller Cometh: Finn Wittrock on the Endurance of ‘The Glass Menagerie’

By Drew Grant • 03/16/17 6:00am - Posted on Observer.com (This interview goes along with the photoshoot in the previous post)

The first time I saw Finn Wittrock, he scared the shit out of me. As Dandy Mott in the fourth season of American Horror Story (that would be the “Freak Show” one, for those not keeping up), Wittrock, 32, was a rich mommy’s boy-turned-serial killing clown (because in a Ryan Murphy production, one naturally follows the other) who turned matricidal when he didn’t get his way. Wittrock, with his cleft chin and movie star good looks, has a polish that tends to cast him in a darker light: as mere mortals, it’s hard for us to imagine anyone that attractive hasn’t just been over-compensated for some defection of the soul. Which is why he’s made such a good foil in the last three seasons of Murphy’s seasonal anthology, playing everyone from Dandy to Rudolph Valentino to a vampire/male model named Tristan (and that was in the same season!) to, most recently, a backwoods inbred cannibal in American Horror Story: Roanoke …a role that required the actor to transform himself with so many prosthetics that he was barely recognizable.

But outside of AHS, Wittrock has enjoyed a killer career trajectory, beginning with an off-Broadway stint in 2011 for Tony Kushner’s The Illusion and a year later, on Broadway in Michael Nichols’ production of Death of a Salesman, a rendition made famous by its applauded reviews and Philip Seymour Hoffman’s performance. (Wittrock, along with future Spider-Man Andrew Garfield, played Hoffman’s prodigies.) Wittrock, like his AHS co-star Evan Peters, seems at home playing smaller parts in larger ensemble films, like his turn in Adam McKay’s The Big Short (where he played a young garage investor, Jamie Shipley) and most recently, as Emma Stone’s clueless, pre-Gosling boyfriend in La La Land.

Luckily, Wittrock didn’t manage to be part of the coterie on-stage during the epic #OscarFail of 2017, as he was in rehearsals for his return to Broadway in Sam Gold’s The Glass Menagerie. (Prior to that, he’d been working with Gold for New York Theatre Workshop’s production of Othello.) As he splits his time between Los Angeles–where he lives with his wife–and New York, where he performs alongside the likes of David Oyelowo, Daniel Craig and Sally Field, Wittrock sat down with us on his day off about Tennesse Williams, Ryan Murphy, and while he’ll always be brushing up his Shakespeare.

What do you think will surprise people most about this production of The Glass Menagerie?

I think people are surprised by how many laughs there are in the show. I was surprised when I first read it.

I don’t know how Sally Field managed to embody both my mother and my grandmother at the same time.

I heard she did some research on that, talked to them about it.

The play struck so close to home, the last third act I was just muttering into my hands “Shut up shut up shut up, you’re making it worse!” Both to your character and Field’s.

A lot of people have felt that it’s close to home, and maybe not in a totally comfortable way.

My first experience watching you was originally on American Horror Story, when she showed up in season 4 as the rich brat-turned-clown-serial-killer. But I had always wished that I had been able to see that performance of Death of a Salesman that you starred in with Philip Seymour Hoffman.

That was a life-changer.

Was that your first big introduction to theatre?

Not with theater as an art. I’ve been doing theater since I was a kid. But it was definitely like, in terms of my career, a big break for me. And just artistically too, working with those people opened me up, I would say, in a big way. So it’s kind of cool, looking back at what I think is five years ago, now.

You were what, in your early twenties?

I turned 27 during the production. It’s fun and beautiful to come back to Broadway, to see how I’m different, how my confidence is different.

As the Gentleman Caller, Jim O’Connor, you’re VERY confident.

Well…I’m acting that way. But I still feel like a kid when I’m onstage.

I was reading The New York Times‘ profile of Sam Gold putting on this production, and they gave you guys a glowing review. And I guess I hadn’t known that Madison Ferris, who plays Laura, has muscular dystrophy. That wheelchair she sits in through much of the play isn’t a prop. I just thought she was making a very specific character choice for a part that only requires a slight limp.

I think Sam is very sincere in trying to expand the pool of what we’re used to seeing onstage, and trying to crack that open; trying to crack open the norms: the normal shapes and sizes and colors of what we see onstage.

I imagine that makes the production extremely hard to block around. The scene where you are trying to get her to dance, and you knock over a figurine…the entire time, all I could think was “They must have rehearsed that scene endlessly.”

The blocking was very specific and very intricate. Though it seems very simple, there’s a lot of work that goes into making it seem that natural. The analogy is perfect for the whole production because the set looks completely bare-bones, but if you see that Times piece, you see there were, however, many thousands of pounds of concrete poured onto the stage. All the sprinklers. This contraption to make the table move back at one point, that’s an incredibly elaborate contraption of shifts and levers and things. Which, basically, no one notices. Because it’s all to make a table move back, seemingly on its own, when the spotlight is elsewhere. All the work that goes into making something seem effortless. But that’s the kind of magic of it.

I haven’t done theater since high school, but even then, I remembered just how exhausting it was. The everyday grind of it all. Rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal, opening night, all these performances…and that’s just like, a high school production of Guys and Girls. I can’t imagine what that must be like on Broadway, especially coming off doing television and film.

It is, it’s very different. The fundamentals of acting are still the same, but the kind of athleticism of doing a play is just more demanding.

I imagine everyone has to be in just really good shape.

Internally, too. Also, I think the biggest difference to me, is, say, I have a tough emotional scene to complete in a movie or a show. That will be like, a really tough day at work. It will be like 8-12 hours that are really rough, having to go there. And then it’s over; it’s done, and I never have to touch it ever again for the rest of my life. It’s in a can, it’s in a computer program somewhere and someone edits it, and it’s gone. But if I have an intense scene in a play that goes well one night, I have to go back the next day and do it again. There’s no finale, you know?

Your character, Jim, reminded me so much of most of my ex-boyfriends. One of these guys who means well, but is always trying to–for lack of a better word–“mansplain” everything. He’s a little bit of a blowhard.

I think he’s a guy who lives by self-help books. He’s a guy who lives by an idealistic, gung-ho America kind of thing. But I think he believes in it genuinely. And I think the trap is having him fall into a lecture-y egotist. I think he is selfish, but completely unconsciously. I think he is trying to help her, and the scene does play deeper.

The way he’s just hitting that beat over and over, that her problem is a lack of confidence.

I think he’s like a lot of people. A believer in hard and fast solutions. I started reading this book, How to Win Friends and Influence People, by Dale Carnegie. It’s one of the first kind of real self-help books. It may actually have been….Tennesse Williams might have taken some inspiration (for this character) from it. The way Jim speaks is very, very similar. So I read that every night before I go on stage.

At its core, the book actually has a nice message. It’s like “Make it about the other person, don’t make it about you.”

And explain their personalities to them.

That’s the trap, yes.

In general, I’m not the hugest Tennessee Williams fan. Melodrama is its own certain thing, and where we’re at right now as a country, it feels like watching a show that’s so claustrophobic in its view of family is maybe a bit…melodramatic. But the way Gold did the show felt very modern: there was a lot of physicality, the way the characters are constantly touching each other, that I’m pretty positive Williams didn’t write into those bare-bones stage directions.

I think Sam is always looking to how to be faithful to the play as written, but also be very affecting for people in 2017 walking into a theater. How to do both things at once, but always leaning to the side of what will affect people the most, rather than playing homage to another dead playwright.

At the very opening of the play, after Tom’s speech, someone right behind me yelled out “Sounds like Trump!”

Oh yes. I remember that. The line was about “the huge middle class of America was matriculating in a school for the blind.”

That’s a great line.

I know, Tom has all the best lines. You think of these plays as sort of dated, but it does become amazingly pertinent when you strip it down. And the stuff Jim says about America…it still hasn’t aged. We haven’t aged out of that mentality.

I think the play is really harkening back to a time that is simpler. Because the play is written just at the cusp of World War II, but is set in the 30s. Tom is looking back at a time just before the world blew up with a kind of nostalgia, but also, things weren’t so great then, you know?

No, it seems almost…uncomfortably tight.

Tight, exactly. Claustrophobic. The family as the microcosm for the national blow-up that was about to happen. And I feel like there’s a sense of that now. People are, even from a few months ago, nostalgic about the past.

Oh my god, do you remember a couple months ago? Things were great!

I know right? The world was so simple!

The play is about memory, and that never gets old. You don’t think about memory in a vacuum. Every memory you have is connected. You feel something about that memory. Anything you harken back to, you feel a certain way. Your stomach is connected to your head. I think that’s what the play was after: really stripping memories down and making them about bare-bone human essentials.

Let’s go back a little bit. You said you did theater in high school?

Even before that. I was born in Massachusetts, in Lenox, and my dad worked at this theater company called Shakespeare and Company. Mostly summer, but they do some stuff year round with Shakespeare. I kind of grew up running around the hills of the Berkshires, listening to actors do Shakespeare and being like the pageboy for whatever play was happening at the time. So that’s where I caught the bug. I was young.

Were you a big Shakespeare fan?

Yes. I would say so. It was nice, I got to Othello right before this with Sam, which was great. So that’s where I began, and then I moved to LA when I was 12 and went to this arts high school, called LA High School for the Arts.

Then you came here, did Death of a Salesman…so how does this lead you back to Los Angeles and getting hooked up with the Ryan Murphy crew for American Horror Story?

Ha, it’s funny how life becomes like a domino effect, right? You can track back like “How did I meet that, from that, from that?” I was in a movie called The Normal Heart, which Ryan directed, which Mark Ruffalo was in…and actually, so was Joe Mantello (from Menagerie). He was in it on Broadway, but plays a different part. It’s a beautiful movie. I just got that from an audition. Salesman had exposed me to a lot more casting directors at the time, so I started going out a lot when that was over, and I went out for The Normal Heart and found out three months later that I got it. And then shot the scene…I mean, it’s a nice part, but it’s a smallish part. Really intense and cool, though.

I met all those guys, and then Ryan one day on the set was like, “I have this crazy idea for a character in my show. Do you want to do it?”

What he doesn’t tell you is that the following season, you have to play two characters.

Or I’ll have to wear so many prosthetics that no one recognizes me.

American Horror Story: Roanoke, will live forever in my memory as “the season we barely saw Evan Peters or Finn Wittrock.”

Yeah, it’s the season where everyone showed up and immediately died.

Well, to be fair, that’s often how AHS plots develop.

But that’s the thing about the show! Being dead doesn’t mean you’re not going to work! Kathy Bates I think, talked more AFTER she was dead.

Are you a dancer as well?

(laughs) Who told you that?

In the Hotel season of American Horror Story, you have a great tango with Lady Gaga. I thought “This guy has some moves!” And then watching the heartbreaking way you “dance” with Laura in the Menagerie…

Oh, that’s sweet. I’m married to a dancer, actually, so maybe she’s rubbed off on me through osmosis. They do make me dance on that show, that’s right. They don’t make me sing, luckily…for everyone’s sake.

I have to say, for a lot of my friends, Dandy from American Horror Story: Freak Show is their fan favorite character.

That’s cool. That’s pretty wild. He creeps me out, personally.

Ryan Murphy is heading up approximately a million projects right now: AHS, American Crime Story: Katrina, Feud….are you going to be involved with any of these projects?

You know, Ryan is a very loyal guy. I’m sure I’ll get an email from him one of these days with something to do, and I’ll inevitably say yes.

So, let’s talk La La Land. You had a small role in the film as Mia’s boyfriend. Were you there at the Oscars?

No, I wasn’t. The nice thing about doing a play is it makes for a perfect excuse not to have to go to those things. Or anything else. I guess I might have been there, if I had been in LA.

Did you watch the now-historic moment when La La Land handed the Best Picture Oscar to Moonlight?

Yes, I watched the whole thing. It was…tense. I would say the word “tense” could be used.

But it also made for some great live television.

It did, it did. I have to say, I felt bad because the Oscars had done really well, up to that moment. The show was going really well, it was a relatively diverse year, the jokes were pretty funny, people had nice speeches…and the ONLY thing people are only going to remember this fiasco. The last few seconds.

But yes, it did make for a great moment on live TV. I just don’t know you’re supposed to compare La La Land to Moonlight; it’s like comparing two totally different art forms.

[storiesbybrian]

The Barber of Ludlow Street (June, 2000)

MK had been in the guitar business for 20 years. When he saw desperate marketers whine about the fickle nature of youthful passion, he scoffed. “A myth!” he said, squirreling away the commissions his boss let him keep until he made enough money to open up his own shop in the nearest epicenter of wildness that he knew, New York City’s Lower East Side. But his time worn formula for getting money out of crazy kids and indulgent parents bought him his independence about three years too late. To MK’s dismay the slow weeks piled up, held together by a thick mortar of bills, until he finally learned that kids today prefer Hip-Hop to Rock ‘n Roll. The Lit Fuse Guitar Shop, the culmination of 20 years of sacrifice, dedicated to serving the dreams of a new generation of Rock ‘n Rollers, opened to an indifferent public.

But MK wouldn’t give up. Conducting his own marketing survey, he noticed a lot of Asian kids strolling around the neighborhood, the yokes of their purchases cutting wide swaths in the sidewalk. MK remembered a piece he had seen on 60 Minutes about the Japanese Hip Hop craze and he snapped his fingers in revelation. He recalled wealthy Japanese kids tanning themselves and having their flat black hair professionally damaged into spongy manes of dreadlocks. So, with the help of RS, his one, slow-witted employee, MK changed his outdated Rock ‘n Roll shop into a one-stop, negrofying boutique that he hoped would keep the Fuse lit for as long as the wind blew black. He needed his customers to trust the with-itness of his taste though in his heart he knew it was only a matter of time before rock stars recaptured the imaginations of alienated children. But until the day when the wail of his guitars could swallow up the beats of his newly stocked dance records, he was gonna wring every dollar he could out of this rap fad. Behind the shop, he poured concrete, installed an old-fashioned barber’s chair, hung a mirror from a hook, draped a mylar canopy over the whole thing and invited kids to let the Rude Boy Salon tend to their fashionable grooming needs. And a haircut got you a 10% discount on a guitar.  

 Morning at the Sunshine Hotel is met with toothless grumbles of resentment.  Morning carries a price tag of $10. Those without monthly benefactors shoot out the door south, south west, west, north west and north like crooked spokes from the Sunshine’s Bowery horizon looking for the means to reserve the pleasure of the Sunshine’s accommodations for yet another evening by the 7 o’clock curfew. But PJ hooked around the corner and went east, to Ludlow Street. He was 54 years old.

           Everybody knew PJ- the police, the neighbors, the mailmen, the supers, the bartenders and owners, the children, the garbagemen. Everybody. He was an inevitability on Ludlow Street with his boisterous gibberish, big bang cloud of cologne and his broom. “I’m fine as wine! You a frien’ o’mine! Anytime you need a rhyme! I see you, cuz!”  

His dire financial straits, his alcoholism, his age- none of it meant a damn thing to PJ. It took a strong being to crumble the way he did and keep his sweaty black resilience about him. He swept and mopped for his pocket money and told stories about busting the spine of the man he caught with his second wife or about his position of authority when he worked for the sanitation department. He had also been a cook, a gardener and a barber, as anyone within 20 feet of his rantings could attest.  

When CN, the owner of a local bar called Barratoba, had t-shirts made with pictures of PJ on the front, his cult status in the neighborhood was lifetime guaranteed. MK, still a new kid by block standards, immediately cultivated a friendship with PJ, thinking it was his ticket to fitting in in the neighborhood.  

One day in August, MK was outside smoking a cigarette and scanning the block for professional music enthusiasts. His sales for the month were still off and the haircut gimmick had no one abuzz. He had hired a barber from a local salon. But too many customers were demanding refunds, disappointed with the authenticity of their new dos. MK was left wondering whether he needed somebody who knew more about hairstyling or less. PJ was taking out the recycling from CN’s bar across the street.  

MK called out to him, “PJ, my friend! How are you today?”

“Yo, cuz! Gimme dolla!”

MK reached into his pocket and PJ crossed the street towards him hand first.  

“PJ, my main man!” MK said, slapping PJ five, “How would you like another job?”

PJ blinked at him seriously for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“No, really. How would you like to cut hair for me?”

“I was a barber for seven years in Nokalyna!”

“That’s what I hear. So how ‘bout it? I pay you ten bucks a head and anytime you want a bottle of anything, you just let me know. Deal?”

PJ shook MK’s hand and told him, “I be back after I get the flo’ mats at Quinine.  They pay me extra to do them. Good music over there. You ever wanna go, you jus’ let me know. But ssshhh. Don’t tell anybody, a’ight? You a good guy. I get you in at Quinine, ‘k? Den I go get Barratoba’s and Guiseppe’s. They nice, too.”

“OK, PJ, I’ll see you later. Thank you.”

And MK had his barber. PJ took off to wherever he went when he had money and MK dropped his cigarette and went inside. Within weeks, PJ’s distinctive style became MK’s greatest source of revenue.

 Any grandparents who came up through Manhattan’s Lower East Side, be they Jews from the first half of the last century or Spanish from the second, would be shocked to learn that one block of Ludlow Street now has seven fancy designer clothing shops and almost no drug trade. Girls who never would have set foot on Ludlow Street five years ago are now running the Community Board.  

The newest proprietress of a clothing shop was called EW. EW had quit her investment banking job to open Glo, an astronomically upscale accessory shop. She had a German shepherd named Tamburlaine who did not get along with PJ.  

A few days before Glo’s grand opening in late August, EW was supervising the finishing touches on her window display- a thick pyramid of handbags that were custom stitched from maple leaf shaped patches of leather and suede in front of a poster of an orange lagoon. Tamburlaine began to growl from inside the window and EW turned to see PJ lugging enormous bags of trash and plopping them down on the sidewalk in front of her new store.

“Excuse me sir, but you can’t put that garbage here,” she said politely to PJ.

“Huh? Naw, dey comin’ for it in two hour.  I use to work for sanitation. Two hour,” PJ said EW.

“I don’t really care. You can’t put that garbage in front of my store.”

“Who you? Ask anybody on the block. They know me! They my friend! Ask cuz over at barbershop.”

PJ dropped his bags and went back inside, returning seconds later with another load of garbage.

“Sir. You’re not listening to me. That’s somebody else’s trash. Put it in front of their building.”

“No!” PJ yelled. His right knee began to pop involuntarily out of joint, an ancient baseball injury that flared up in times of stress. “This the same garbage from the same building I been puttin’ in the same place for 20 year!”

Sensing his mistress was in trouble, Tamburlaine bounded outside and began barking at PJ. PJ said, “You better get that muthafuckin’ clown away from me!”

“Or what?”

“Don’ you worry none. You just get that thing inside. I don’t like him!” PJ said, his trick knee hopping and forcing his hips to grind back and forth.  

At this EW stepped quickly back and pulled out her cell phone and called the police. “Yes, I’m calling from Ludlow Street between Houston and Stanton,” she said. “Yes, a street man is leaving rubbish in front of my store and threatening my dog and myself- what? Right, garbage… Yes. Thank you.”

PJ clucked his mouth exasperatedly, knowing that when the cops learned that the alleged source of trouble was he, they’d laugh the whole thing off and explain PJ’s prestigious status on the block to newcomer EW. He wiped the sweat from his brow and then clutched his leg, trying to get it to stop twitching so violently.

Inside of five minutes, a squad car pulled up next to PJ’s plump row of garbage.  

“Yo!” PJ greeted the pair of officers. “Tell this blonde woman leave me alone!”

One officer got out of the car while the other sat behind the wheel with a pen and summons pad spread across her lap. Tamburlaine continued to bark viciously.

“What’s up PJ?”

“A’right!”

“Hold on a second, PJ. Alright, miss, are you the one who filed the complaint?”

“Yes and thank you for coming so quickly,” said EW, raising her voice to be heard over her dog’s racket. “This person is harassing me and dumping this trash in front of my building.”

“Who, him?”

“Yes. Him.”

The dog continued to bark and flinch everytime PJ’s knee jumped.

“Alright sir,” said the cop with his hands on his hips. “Where is this trash from?”

“Man, you know where this trash from. ‘S from Guiseppe next do’ but I ain’t gon’ put it in front of no goddamn fire hydrant!”

“Well, what about over there?” asked the cop, pointing to space in front of a nightclub that wouldn’t be open until much later.

“Man, I don’t get paid to be draggin’ this shit all up and down the block!”

“There’s no need to yell at the police, you know.”

“Miss, we’ll handle this.”  

“Well, look at how he’s acting. It’s like he’s gonna attack me.”

The cop noticed PJ’s jumpiness and stepped back and began fingering his nightstick. “Sir. Move the garbage and stop bothering the lady or we’ll have to arrest you.”

Drained from the officer’s face was any trace of recognition of PJ. His partner in the car stared down at her lap. With a vicious grunt, PJ snatched up the garbage bags and began dragging them the 10 feet to where the cop had designated. EW and the officers stood over him until he had finished hauling the entire pile of bags and continued to eye him until he left, which he did, cussing and twitching the whole way. PJ needed a drink.

 Meanwhile CT and FL were sitting at Kennedy Airport, waiting to pick up their friend, BD. BD’s flight was arriving from Tokyo via San Francisco. The girls could not stop giggling. They hadn’t seen BD in several years but they kept in touch regularly and now they could finally show their dear friend all of the wonders and marvels of New York in person.  

During the years that CT and FL had been building a life for themselves in New York City, BD had been building a reputation as a world class interior designer. His arrival in the States was greatly anticipated by the design community who found him so fascinating. Throughout their time apart, CT and FL fully cooperated in BD’s plan to cultivate an air of mystery which his arrival would solve with what all three friends hoped would be sensational panache.

When the plane taxied up to the gate, CT and FL clapped their hands excitedly. BD burst from the tunnel and all three old friends met in a fierce collision of joyful reunion. Each of them began speaking rapidly at once which led to uproarious laughter.  The girls had so much to tell BD and to ask him, and he them. CT and FL each clasped one of BD’s hands and led him down to baggage claim where his limousine driver had already collected his gear. BD told them a funny story about customs in San Francisco as he handed his carry-on luggage to the driver as well.

In the back seat of the limo on the way into Manhattan, the girls asked BD what he would like to do first.  

“Well,” BD said with much relish. “The first thing I want to do is visit Rude Boy for a haircut.” And he showed them a small article torn from a Japanese magazine. The article featured a picture of a famous Japanese record producer. The producer’s mangled head looked like a lopsided Rastafarian who had changed his mind about enlisting in the Marines at an extremely inopportune moment.  

“Ahh,” said the girls collectively. “PJ.”

             The article BD held pointed out that MK didn’t allow customers into his barbershop unless they brought at least two friends to hold them down in the old chair. Insurance purposes. It also offered Rude Boy customers a 10% discount on all guitars in the Lit Fuse. So, CT and FL instructed the limousine to drop them off in front of the Lit Fuse and then take their bags to their own shop, which was just one block away on Orchard Street.

The girls led BD into the Rock ‘n Roll/Hip Hop shop where MK greeted them warmly and asked if they’d like to see anything in particular. BD handed MK the cut-out, which flattered MK tremendously. His adaptation to the changing of the times had garnered international notoriety. A glow rushed about MK’s face and his mouth flapped back into the biggest smile that he’d worn in years.  

MK shook hands with CT and FL while BD was looking through the store’s album collection. After a moment, BD returned to MK at the counter with a very high stack of records. CT and FL asked MK if they could leave these records on the counter and cash them out after BD’s superfly haircut. Mentally adding up the value of BD’s purchase, MK wagged his head like a puppy. Then he led the three of them back to the barbershop under the tinselly outdoor shine of the canopy.  

           BD sat down in the chair, flanked by CT and FL. MK gave the chair a good spin round, determined to delight BD to the pits of his soul and surpass every dream that BD had ever had about American Hip Hop culture. BD smiled and closed his eyes, ready to be transformed in appearance to what he already felt in his heart.  

           “Be right back…” sang MK and ran back into the store to summon PJ.  

           Befitting the grand entry of his star attraction, MK had taken a page from the NBA and engineered a garish bit of fanfare to let PJ, and the whole neighborhood, know that he had a customer. With the push of one button, a series of cherrytop police car lights began swirling in the Lit Fuse’s windows. Sirens and ice cream truck songs howled to a techno rhythm, punctuated by blasts from a lifeguard whistle. And then an announcer’s voice blared through the circus jungle beats:

 “THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS! HE STILL AIN’T CROAKED! ANOTHER HEAD FROM A FARAWAY LAND LOOKS TO BE CURED BY THE THUNDERBIRD HAND OF THE MAN OF THE HOUR, MAN OF THE DAY! LET’S HEAR IT HO’S AND G’S FOR HIS TRAVESTY, P-J!”

             The first few times that this explosion of bells and whistles rocked Ludlow Street, a few of PJ’s many friends and empathizers applauded as he burst from wherever to go careening through the Lit Fuse, hellbent on revising the possibilities of a hairdo. But after PJ’s work began to attract a larger number of customers, the frequent cranking of his theme song became a hardcore nuisance. MK received enough complaints that he began to sneak off the premises as soon as he turned on PJ’s noisy invitation. He would wander through the back way to sit and have tea down the street, leaving the store in RS’s incompetent care rather than field complaints from the neighbors.

           So, as BD waited in the chair, the clanging and screeching BOOM BOOM BOOMed to summon PJ. PJ was down in Barratoba’s swilling gin, trying to recover from the shameful outrage of the policeman making him kowtow to that new blonde lady. PJ remembered when that cop was eight years old and shot an old man in the shoulder with his beebee gun. PJ tried to suck the liquor out of the tilted bottle faster than it could pour and it splashed out of his full mouth and ran down his chin in silver trickles. When the bottle was empty, PJ cast it aside and jerked his sleeve across his mouth. Then he charged out of the bar towards the noise that was calling him to sculpt someone’s head like an African banzai tree.

           PJ whirled out into the bright light of the street, his dirty limbs gangling like giant pinwheels. Cars slammed on their breaks to avoid this stumbling dervish that seemed part liberated bull, part agitated rodent. Pretty young women shopping up and down the block reared back in horror to allow PJ to swarm his way past the pounding speakers and blaring lights and into the Lit Fuse.  

           BD was waiting for PJ in the back with an outstretched hand. Something about the scene seemed vaguely familiar to PJ and for a split second he wondered if he had ever fought overseas. He found his hand being tugged vigorously, worshipfully by the young Japanese man with the flat black hair. The mylar glinted above him and his muddy eyes took on a look of understanding.  

           BD mistook PJ’s newfound orientation of his whereabouts for an acknowledgement of their spiritual kinship. He smiled at the older man and lay back in the chair, waving off CT and FL. The two girls went back inside the shop. BD beamed ecstatically from his chair, overjoyed to be face to face with his kindred enigma, PJ. He handed his remaker, his redeemer another picture of the haircut he wanted. This picture was taken from the same magazine but the article was about police brutality in New York City, of which the young man in the picture was a victim.  

           PJ tenderly fingered the ragged edge of the picture and briefly forgot that he was too drunk to stand up. He held out his hand to BD. BD handed him two $100 bills. PJ’s eyes lit up and something about the image that sat under the money in his strong hand clicked. He nodded his head and got to work.  

           BD closed his eyes. PJ shaved tiny stripes into the young man’s eyebrows. Then PJ took the scissors. He raised them straight up and assumed the exact pose of Lady Liberty lifting her lamp beside the golden door. With his other hand, he pressed his large palm to BD’s temple and took a snippet of hair between two of his fingers. Then the scissors began jawing rapidly and swooped down at BD’s head. BD became secretly terrified in PJ’s shaky hands. But the scissors plunged along the shape of his sleek head accurately, shearing off a shaggy wing of hair. It was exhilarating and BD relaxed a little, surrendering to the moment. PJ reared the scissors back like a tailor’s needle. His trick knee had subsided and hardly jerked at all. On this pass, the hand on BD’s forehead rolled towards the incoming razor bomb. With a horrible squinching sound, PJ snipped off BD’s ear.  

           “Oh Lo’d!” shouted PJ as the blood spurted all the way up to the silver ceiling. BD began to cry and chant the comforting words of some of his favorite songs.

           “Docta! We need a docta! He’p! He’p!” cried PJ, dancing around in BD’s blood. BD began convulsing in the chair. “Shee-it!”

           CT and FL were inside the shop listening to BD’s new records on headphones. RS was watching the records spin round and round. But a few other customers peaked into the back to see what the ruckus was about. When they saw PJ’s ghoulish dance under the canopy and the young Japanese man writhing in the chair murmuring “you gon’ make me lose me mind-up in here, up in here” in a thick accent, they immediately searched about the place for cameras, certain as they were that a music video was being filmed out back. It was so easy to accept the absurdity of the scene as some vaguely symbolic play on entertainment and modern medicine. But something about the lack of cameras and the amount of blood blasting out of the side of BD’s head seemed too lavish for a rehearsal. What was going on back here? “i am walrus, i am walrus, ki ko ki shoom,”? Almost apologetically, the gravity of the situation asserted itself and the two young guitar shoppers were forced to accept the irrevocability of what had happened. One of them had been shopping for a guitar, the other a bass. The guitarist swooned but the bass player kept his cool and dashed back into the store and behind the counter to call an ambulance for the mutilated Japanese boy in the chair.  

           Rather than sobering PJ up, the accident thrust him into an entirely different realm of intoxication. He still thought maybe he could keep this whole thing quiet and nobody would find out. So he placed BD’s ear on the counter next to the jar of blue disinfectant. Then he combed some of the blood out of BD’s hair and skillfully continued the abstract trimming he had begun a few moments earlier. BD passed out, certain that his plane to JFK hadn’t even landed yet.

             The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and rushed BD to the hospital. Police arrested PJ and pulled BD’s ear and $200 from his pocket. The ear was perfectly in tact, like an unbitten cookie, but it would never work again. Blood and hair had clogged BD’s auditory canal and damaged his eardrum during his convulsions and the entire left side of his face caught an infection from PJ’s rusty scissors. At CT and FL’s insistence, the ear was sewn back onto BD’s head for reasons purely cosmetic.  

           BD stayed in the hospital for a few days. His design and magazine contacts were notified and they all came to visit him. It was a great disappointment for all parties concerned that the mysterious BD should finally be revealed in a hospital cot with a useless ear freshly stitched onto such a blotched, ugly face, capped now by his astonishing haircut. Several established members of the industry in which BD starred were horrified to learn of the conditions of the Rude Boy Salon. None of them were opposed to underground fashion per se, but a homeless drunk using unsanitary blades seemed too extreme. This was not a haircut. It was assault and they demanded justice.

             Back on Ludlow Street, word spread. MK stood in front of his store smoking and furtively looking for anyone wearing one of CN’s PJ t-shirts, which he was prepared to buy for as much as $35 apiece. He needed to distance himself from the incident and keep his store open. As soon as the police had taken PJ away, he had taken down the canopy and the chair and dumped the remaining furniture in a different alley, in Queens. Then he had RS scrub BD’s blood off of the concrete behind the store. Rude Boy was finished, but he’d be damned before he’d lose the Lit Fuse. He considered offering to pay BD’s medical expenses, but then thought that such a gesture might suggest greater responsibility for the assault than he could afford to accept. PJ lived in a flophouse on skid row. He had no family, no money and, to MK’s way of thinking, a primitive, ill-developed grasp on reality. PJ could afford to take the whole rap.

           But how would a rap stick to a man as disenfranchised as PJ? With no driver’s license, no social security number, no fingerprints on file, no credit, no library card, no nothing except a nickname, he was a phantom, completely disentangled from the institutional marionette strings yanking most of us around.  

             PJ was being held at the 7th Precinct. Detective QV had been called in to help discern PJ’s identity. PJ was little help. No matter what question they asked him, PJ said, “I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy.”  

           QV pulled PJ’s arresting officer aside.

           “What do you know about this guy?”

           “Officially, not much, detective. Everybody in the neighborhood knows him but nobody knows anything about him. Last name, where he’s from, nothing. The guy’s slicker than batshit. Most famous John Doe I ever met.”

           “The kid in the hospital pressing charges?”

           “That’s what proprietor of the guitar shop says.”

           “Lit Fuse?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Yeah, I know that guy. MK. He’s a real cocksucker. Wish we could arrest him instead.”

           “Nothing tying him to the incident, detective. The alley where the barber chair was ain’t even his property. And any business ties he had with homeboy in there were strictly off the books. Not a thing we can do about it.”

           “What about all that noisy shit in his window?”

           “He says it’s a gift from some Japanese kid whose friends request him to play it. So how long we gonna keep Mr. PJ in there?”

           “I dunno. Assault like that’s two to four. But we don’t really know who he is. No assets to lean on, no retribution for the kid’s ear. Just punishment for the old guy.”

           The phone rang and the officer went back to his desk to answer it. Detective QV paced back and forth, rubbing his head and smoking. He didn’t like any of it. He was worried that PJ would be remanded to the mental ward at Bellevue with the rest of the John Does if he didn’t cough up more details about himself. But PJ was too distraught to recount a personal history. People around the neighborhood repeated his stories about North Carolina and the sanitation department, the Sunshine Hotel stuck to its policy of non-cooperation, and civic records had nothing that matched his prints or general appearance. He didn’t like any of it.

           PJ’s groaning lament continued: “I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy. I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy.”

           Several months earlier, back when BD was still in Osaka, AO finally scraped together enough money to buy his guitar back from the Lit Fuse. But MK wanted more than double what AO had hocked it for, which was considerably less than AO had saved up. So, needing something to play on his upcoming tour of central Michigan, AO was forced to settle for an inferior guitar. He handed MK his hard earned cash and stared up at his own baby hanging on the wall, gleaming forlornly back at him. MK shrugged behind the register in mock empathy with AO.  AO was PJ’s cousin.

                       MK sat behind the counter at the Lit Fuse, sweaty and nervous. He hadn’t slept for days and the only thing he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was half a bottle of aspirin. Three times yesterday, he thought he heard PJ shouting in the street. He turned down to his pocket video game to distract himself from the strange paranoia that had afflicted him ever since he had visited the 7th Precinct to wriggle himself out of any occupation of the space between BD and his ear.

           A mist jammed his nostrils and yanked out a sneeze.  

           “God bless you.”

           MK looked up to see PJ towering over him in a cowboy hat.

           Two police officers in uniform entered the Lit Fuse and handcuffed MK and read him the Miranda warning. PJ pulled AO’s baby down from the wall and handed it to him.  

             Back at the hospital, BD was going through therapy to regain a sense of balance and adjust to his hearing loss. CT and FL informed him that PJ was out of jail and that the owner of the shop had been arrested instead. The owner of the alley behind the Lit Fuse had been summoned to prosecute MK for vandalism and conducting unlicensed surgery on private property. PJ had been bailed out by a relative.

           BD wanted to know what the relative had told the police about PJ.  

           “Not much,” FL said. “Just that he didn’t used to be so simple. He wouldn’t say what happened or how he dissipated so or anything.”

           “Is he in any more trouble?” BD asked.

           “That’s up to you,” CT told him.

             A few days later, BD checked out of the hospital and went downtown to see PJ. He wore a hunting hat with earflaps to cover his wound. BD was directed east to a small jazz club called Quinine where he stood outside, smoking cigarettes and waiting for PJ.

Sure enough, the older man emerged from the club lugging his garbage. He was much less exuberant than he had been the first time the two had met. PJ stopped for a rest and struck up a conversation with the young Japanese man in the hat.  

           “Yo cuz! Gimme cigarette.”

           “Here. Take two.”

           “Thank you. Thank you.”

           “Yes.”

           “I used to cut hair over Ludlow Street.”

           “Really?”

           “Yeah. But I hurt somebody. He a Chinese like you.”

           “Mmmm.”

           “He a nice young man, too. I felt bad.I used to be barber, before I work for sanitation department.”

           “Ah.”

           BD looked down at his cigarette.

           “See, you got to learn more English. This the USA, man! This ain’t China.  USA!”

           “I trying. Thank you.”

           “A’ight cuz. See you later, k?”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “40 and 13″

Overpopulation caused the governments all over the world to vote for a drastic resolution: a special virus was created that makes everyone die when they turn 40 years old. The Joker will turn 40 in five days and Y/N can't cope with the news since she'll be left behind without him.

You and The Joker just finished eating dinner in front of the TV, trying to ignore the depressing news that shows the death toll climbing each day since the virus killing everybody once they turn 40 was unleashed upon the overpopulated Earth 12 months ago.

The King of Gotham is quietly sipping on his grape juice, debating if he should tell you or not; he’s been struggling with the decision for a while and being the way he is doesn’t help the matter.

“Pumpkin,” he starts the conversation,” did I ever mention my birthday is on July 13th?”

“Hm?” you turn your head towards him, not sure you heard right; you had a huge fight this morning and barely managed to patch things up enough to tolerate each other’s presence by night fall.

“You always wanna know when my birthday is and I’m telling you now it’s on July 13th.”

He keeps on staring at the TV s, disregarding your gaze that seems to burn through him.

Why is he suddenly sharing such an intimate detail? You tried several times to get it out of him without any reaction besides that of him getting mad and emphasize it’s none of your business. Unless…

“J…” you hesitantly ask. “How old are you going to be?...”

The Joker takes another sip from the can before placing it on the coffee table and nonchalantly enunciates:

“Fourty.”

He hears you sniffle it’s not difficult to predict you’re going to burst into tears in a few seconds.

“I’m only saying this because I didn’t want to drop dead without any warning; I’m sure you would hate me forever and we can’t have that happen: I do the hating part. That’s a sacred rule.”

And there she goes, he sighs as soon as Y/N begins bawling her eyes out next to him on the couch.

“…July 13th is in…in 5 days,” you manage to utter while crawling on his knees, your arms tightly going around his neck. J doesn’t stop you and actually hugs you back even if he promised himself he won’t tolerate any kind of emotional rubbish from his girlfriend.

“Yeap, coming up,” he buries his face in your shoulder, inhaling the perfume he likes and for some reason it’s not very comforting today. “You have three more years to go so make it count, ok?”

Y/N can’t stop crying and plans to blur out a million sentences yet the disclosure is overwhelming for the heartbroken woman.

“W-why didn’t you…” and The Joker can’t understand the following word but he comprehends the meaning.”…earlier?”

“I didn’t share earlier since it would have been atrocious to watch: when you cry you get these wrinkles in the middle of your forehead. Uggghhh”, he shrugs with fake disgust. “It makes you… how should I put it nicely?… Super ugly! For 5 days though…I believe I’ll be able to endure it.”

Y/N’s faint snorting noise prompts his smile too, aware she is not fighting back the stupid remark like she would usually do and that’s fine with him.

“P-please don’t leave me,” you kiss his cheek and cuddle to his body, panicking at the thought he’ll be gone in a few days.

“I don’t have a choice, Pumpkin. Nobody does. Not anymore.  It’s inevitable and you’ll have to deal with it…”

“What am I supposed to do without you?” you bring up the painful fact bound to become reality in such a short notice it physically hurts.

“Survive,” the candid reply advises. “You’re The King’s Queen so live for both until your time will come.”

J wishes to elaborate on the topic and you cover his mouth, upset.

“You’re not a King and I’m not a Queen. We’re just a man and a woman that screwed up over and over again; still…here we are. That’s it…That’s all there is…No King and no Queen,” you shake your head in denial. “Only us…” your voice dims under the burden of grief.

Your fingers slide off his lips, revealing a stunned Joker that seems to see his girlfriend for the first time. How come he didn’t realize sooner?! She loves him. She really does.

“Only us…” J repeats in a trance, pulling Y/N into a soft kiss that somehow feels more intimate than everything else they did before.

You glide your hands down his chest, the way you grind against him making it clear you want more than a make out session.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me for the moment?” he tests the waters although the answer is logical.

“U-hum,” you take your t-shirt off and The Joker gropes you, the typical mischievous smirk lacking from his part: he just wants you close. Despite vehemently denying the hunger for your touch, the thought gives him an unexpected sense of loneliness. When all your life you’ve been nothing more than a walking contradiction, it’s hard to battle the inner demons caging your desire to the point of no return.

That’s why J wipes your tears and doesn’t have a smart ass comment regarding the smeared mascara: he craves the distraction with such intensity it makes the rest fade.

“I have some requests,” you whisper and he stares into your eyes, kind of lost and finding himself unable to resist the tempting lips pouted one inch from his.

“Oh yeah?” the curiosity takes over.

“No fighting,” you trace the tattoo on his abs and The Joker never agreed to anything faster:

“OK.”

“I want to talk about stuff we never talk about…”

“OK.”

“I want us to make love as much as possible,” you negotiate wondering if he will fuss about the spontaneous list summarized in a hurry.

“OK,” The Clown Prince of Crime consents without arguing to your terms because the truth is he has no intention to do so today.

“And I want some sort of proof that you like me,” Y/N boldly demands since he unfortunately indicated the opposite on numerous occasions in the past.

J frowns, not mumbling the OK you are expecting. The awkward silence continues and The Joker notices how hard you’re trying to hide your disappointment when actually he’s straining to conceal his own emotions. He shouldn’t indulge the urge of making you happy before it’s too late, yet the demons in his mind are quiet now: the accidental clarity could make a person finally act against their usual judgment.

You watch him pass his fingers through his locks, confused when he brings the longer strands in the front of his face. J carefully plucks one green hair out of his head, gesturing for your left hand. You hold it up and he twists the neon colored token at the base of your pinky, explaining his action while finalizing the project with a couple of knots:

“I guess you can say you have me wrapped around your finger.”

The girlfriend’s stunned expression is certainly worth the trouble of affirming it loud; The Joker savors the outcome and you take off your bra, tossing the lacy garment behind the sofa:

“Abandon all hope Mister Joker,” Y/N’s instant evil grin changes the mood.  “You belong to me now.”

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

“I can’t sleep,” you stretch next to him on the couch.

“Me neither,” he yawns. “Even if you exhausted me,” J adds, yanking you in his arms again. You kiss his collar bone, restless at the question about to echo in the stillness:

“Are you afraid?”

The Joker has no idea on how to verbalize his inner views on the matter, but he doesn’t leave you hanging either.

“Maybe …I’m not thinking about it…”

“I am,” you squeeze in the important topic he probably didn’t even consider. “I’ll be here for you when it happens, but when I die…I will be alone...”

J feels this sharp pain in his heart that makes him realize a critical element: he didn’t have the opportunity to weigh in what dying before Y/N will mean for her.

“I’ll be here,” he pecks your forehead and you cling to him, discouraged at the obvious lie.

“Yeah, sure…”

“I promise I’ll be here, alright?”

“We are both aware how well you keep your promises,” you admonish in a way that doesn’t trigger his anger.

“I’ll keep this one, hm?” he reassures Y/N and she snickers at the impossible to fulfil vow, but appreciates his passionate response nevertheless. You nod a yes, drawing invisible circles on his skin.

“Do you want to dance on the terrace?” you suggest on a whim.

“OK,” The Joker quickly consents and gets up, grabbing the sheet from the floor. He takes your hand and guides you on the patio, unfolding the thin fabric as soon as you’re outdoors. Despite the cool breeze, it’s nice and warm in the middle of the night.  

“No music?” you tease as he wraps both naked bodies in the sheet.

“We dance to our own tune, Pumpkin,” he winks and slowly moves while tightly hugging you.

“We always did,” you play along, brushing away the horrible sentiment of regret clouding the peaceful atmosphere.

“It’s a jungle out there,” J stirs the dialogue in order to address his concerns. “This whole virus business is turning the world upside down. You saw on the news they might release the antivirus sooner than anticipated, but there are no guarantees. You have to find a way to survive no matter what.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine…”

“After I’m gone, please don’t do anything… reckless. It won’t be easy, but you can’t give up."

You know what he’s referring to and mutter:

“I won’t… I swear...”

J starts spinning faster, chuckling at your excited screams. 

“Stoooop!!!!” you beg laughing, trying not to trip and fall.

“Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” he bites your ear and you squeal, jumping out of the sheet that’s sliding to the ground since he’s not holding it anymore.

“No,” you giggle and J lifts you up in his arms, delighted to have found a small piece of heaven in the hell surrounding the gloomy future.

“Good; there’s a first time for everything,” he abruptly halts for a kiss before reprising the crazy pace while Y/N can’t remember the last time the two of them had so much fun.

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

July the 13th, 8:45am

“I couldn’t help noticing you didn’t wish me a happy birthday,” he watches you comb your hair and the reflection in the mirror depicts a tearful girlfriend that struggles with so many emotions it’s difficult to speak. “I was hoping you’ll mention it while we took a shower.”

“Happy Birthday…”

“Thanks,” The Joker simply replies and you finally put the brush down and attempt to flee the bathroom when he blocks the exit. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Ummm… I’ll make breakfast…” you sniffle and he glares at you, understanding your reaction for once.

“I was planning to have sex, but I might kick the bucket right in the middle of the activity and I believe you might take it personally although I don’t consider you boring in bed.”

“It’s not funny…” you scold and he agrees:

“It’s not because it’s not meant to be,” the harsh reality strikes a chord within Y/N. “It literally can happen at any moment and I don’t want to embarrass myself like that. Can you imagine? Rumors spread all over town that The Joker couldn’t finish.”

He detects the faint smile and sulks at your verdict:

“You’re an idiot.”

“That’s fucking rude,” he scoffs. “What if these are the last words I hear?! What if I check out precisely this second, huh?! Would you be thrilled that’s the last thing you said to me?!”

Instead of a sassy remark J gets a remorseful apology he wasn’t aiming for:

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what to do…”

“Me neither,” he sincerely underlines. “In the meantime, you should…” and pauses since he suddenly feels out breath, “you should make breakfast.”

“Are you OK?” you inquire, worried he almost lost his balance.

“I’m fine, just need my coffee to wake up,” he sighs and steps away from the doorway, heading towards the master bedroom.

“Aren’t you coming downstairs?” you catch up with him and The Joker tilts over for your support.

“I’m a bit dizzy; I’ll lie down until you finish the food. Don’t look so panicked: after I eat I’ll be better.”

You gulp and place him in bed, your pulse so enhanced it gives you the impression you’ll faint soon.

“You want some water?” you offer and he adjusts his pillows, collapsing on top of them afterwards.

“Yes,” J musters the strength to grumble, this weird sensation of total exhaustion creeping up in his brain.

You rush out of the room and bump into the bookcase, numb at the soreness. The Joker barely perceives your stomping, digging under the cushions for a small envelope he keeps in his fist for you to find in case you don’t return before he loses consciences. He wrote the note yesterday and it would be a shame to chicken out at the end and not proceed as planned.

“Here’s the water,” you barge in with the bottle and run by the bed, nervously touching his face. “How are you? Can you stand up?”

His eyes go in the back of the head and he tries to concentrate on your voice as it fades into nothingness.

“Hey, I’ll make your favorite pancakes,” you shake him, startled he won’t snap out of his apathy. “J, look at me. Come on, let’s go downstairs…Can you at least drink some water?” you start sobbing seeing he’s not receptive to your encouragements.

The Joker’s lips are moving without sound and you fall on your knees, scared to see him frantically breathing:

“I know, alright? I already know. All I ask is that you come downstairs and eat your stupid pancakes, deal?”

The Joker’s eyes are closing and he deeply exhales, releasing the small piece of paper that rolls on the floor. You don’t even pay attention to it, desperate to witness an event you aren’t prepared for.

When The Joker came into this world 40 years ago, there was nobody there to love the newborn; his own mother didn’t want him.

But when he passed away at 9:03 am on his birthday, someone that loved him was there.  

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

Three years later – your birthday, 6:07am

You turn off the TV, annoyed they continue to depict the terrible results after to the official release of the antivirus last week: it’s not working and people are still dying. What did they expect by opening Pandora’s Box? So much turmoil on the streets, protests and demonstrations…

The governments will be voting tomorrow on implementing the martial law since the public outcry makes it impossible to contain the escalating damage after the huge failure they neglected to speculate.

Y/N drags her feet on the carpet, watching the snowflakes dancing outside the windows.

“We shouldn’t postpone this any longer…” you talk to yourself, removing the precious message The Joker left behind out of the hidden drawer on top of the fireplace.

You unfold the envelope, reading the hand written note for the millionth time:

Inside you’ll find my real name.

You’re the only one I trust with this.

Destroy the evidence.

You don’t glance at the name it contains and his memory immediately makes the isolation unbearable. You flick the envelope on the burning logs, enjoying the flames consuming the last trace of who he really was.

“Done… I kept my end of the bargain; where’s yours?” you lecture The Joker’s framed picture decorating the dinner table. “Liar…” Y/N pats her hands together, feeling cold even if the fire is very warm. The ticklish sensation in your fingers intensifies, making you shiver. You stare at your knuckles, no other jewelry besides the strand of green hair still wrapped around your pinky; it’s infinitely more valuable than any present J ever gifted you.

A gush of wind makes the curtains fly inward since the sliding glass doors leading to the terrace are wide opened. The sky is still dark, matching the general mood hoovering over Gotham these days.

You decide to take a stroll on the patio, this way you might be able to clear your mind from the impending doom you can’t escape. The snow squeaks under Y/N’s socks and the chill gets her out of trance since evidently she didn’t bring a jacket either. Another step and you stumble, finding it difficult to regain your equilibrium.

“Shit…” you choke on the strong air filling up your lungs.

Why is it so difficult to walk?

You take a seat on the nearest chair by the pool, not bothering cleaning up the snow; for some reason a break is more than welcomed at this point. You’re growing restless and try to disregard the anxiety building up in your chest: are you dying? Or is merely stress after living with this burden for so long?

Maybe if you shut your eyes and rest for a sec, you won’t be this tired. Yet the moon is shining so brightly it’s impossible to ignore; last time it was this beautiful you danced with the devil on an that unforgettable summer night. Seems like ages ago for the worn out Y/N.  

What if you take a nap? Only five minutes. That should be helpful and then you can resume your morning routine because you refuse to accept this could be the end already. Your eyelids close, not realizing you don’t feel the cold anymore; it’s nice and comforting, just like the touch of someone you love.

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

You wiggle in the chair and rub your eyes, refreshed after the well-deserved snooze: hopefully you didn’t waste too much time from your last day on earth. Your gaze wanders off around the terrace and you suddenly freeze: there’s someone leaning over the railing, watching the city from the 30th floor.

You rise from your spot and hesitantly walk towards the person, gasping when you notice the familiar fur coat.

“There she is,” The Joker turns around to greet you, smirking when you cover your mouth in disbelief. “Told you I’ll be here.”

You can’t make a single sound and he opens his arms, waiting for you to run to him.

“You didn’t miss me?” he laughs at your baffled reaction, bundling the coat around Y/N as soon as she finds herself in his embrace.

“I did miss you; I missed you so much,” you inhale his scent and the smell of your favorite cologne confirms he’s truly there. You hug him so tight he would normally complain, but there’s no bickering coming out of The Joker. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you smile and he kisses your lips, whispering:

“You have me wrapped around your finger. Where else am I supposed to be?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Auntie D”

All villains get paired up by the Dark Shadows World - “Match Made in Hell (MMIH)” Division. It’s always such a challenge to find a suitable match for The Joker. Good thing you’re still around.

“What about her?” one of the entities points out and the others attending the meeting are fast to disagree.

“No way, he’ll kill her in a week!”

“She’s not strong enough to keep up with him!” another one vociferates.

“He’ll eat her for breakfast and burry the leftovers,” the leader concludes and the contendent is dismissed.

“Oh, what about that one?” someone points out towards the woman and nobody’s happy with the new choice.

“Are you kidding me?! She’s such a wimp; no way she can handle The Clown Prince of Crime!”

“Wouldn’t last two days,” another committee member complains.

“Bad choice!” more and more object.

“I’m so sick of this, we have the hardest time finding him a girlfriend,” the youngest entity sighs and suddenly you are seen on the board.

“What about Y/N?”

“Didn’t we try before and it didn’t work?” one recalls, intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s been a while. I always thought they should have stayed together, they can handle each other. How did they break up?”

“Something about him being selfish and her not paying attention to him,” the boss remembers.

“That’s it?! We can fix this, I see she has no match yet either. We’re running out of options so I think we should make it happen again and go with the flow. No better choice. Y/N is in the same building with The Joker as we speak and we’ll have to force things a bit but it could work. All in favor, raise your hands. Oh, right, we don’t have any.”

Just a bunch of shapeless Dark Shadows.

“Yes, yes, might as well, it’s frustrating to keep on meeting about this problem.”

“Agree, I’m sick of it myself. Let’s do it!” the youngest entity impatiently speaks.

“They are so close to one another, we need to act NOW.”

“Proceed,” the leader gives its blessing and…

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

You and The Joker almost - kind of- sort of –nearly…well … definitely had a thing going about a year ago. You are actually thinking about that at the present moment as you crawl through the vents of “Diamond Emporium” store so you can get to the goodies.

Mister J is there on a heist with his men and you have no clue about each other’s presence…yet.

MMIH Division is taking care of it.

You suddenly hear the cracking sounds under you and before you can move another inch the ceiling gives out and you land right in front of your ex, almost killing Panda in the process.

“I’ll be damned, Frost, a fallen angel ! Is it Christmas already?” J grins, instantly recognizing you. “What are you doing here, Doll?”

You gather yourself from the floor, dusting debris off your clothes, grateful you didn’t break anything.

“Same thing as you, J: making sure the air ducts are clean.”

“Ha!” he snorts, signaling his guys to spread around so they can collect as many items as possible.

“Sir, the seif is over there,” Frost announces and you turn around to look.

“Want me to open it for you?” you offer, this way you can get a few things as payment instead of The Joker getting everything. You know how he operates: too bad he had the same wretched idea of robbing the place in the same time with you.

J debates and decides after a few seconds:

“Are you as fast as you used to be?”

“Faster,” you smile, fixing your hair.

“OK then, go for it,” your former boyfriend pouts, watching you head over the seif. A very sparkly necklace gets your attention so you break the small glass case and get it out, tossing it to the ground after analyzing it.

“Too shiny,” you answer J’s soundless question when he looks your way with an intrigued expression on his face.

“Too shiny?!” he repeats. “Since when a woman complains about diamonds being too shiny?! Never heard of it before,” he grinds his teeth, puzzled.

You just lift your shoulders up, you don’t need to explain your taste in sparkly stones – he should know that by now.

Jonny is waiting by the seif and you just have to say it:

“My, my, Frost, you always look so sharp in your perfect tailored suits. I love men that dress fancy for every occasion.”

Frost straightens his back, pleased at your compliment:

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt your flirting,” The Joker shouts. “Can we finish this faster? We need to move out !”

Ahhhh, he’s getting annoyed, one of his “qualities” you like so much.

You start your work and J is messing around with his cane. He doesn’t want to bring it up but when does he ever know how to control himself?

“What’s wrong with my outfit, hmm?”

“Huh?” you stop what you’re doing so you can hear him.

“What’s wrong with my outfit? Since …ummm…apparently you like guys in suits. I wasn’t aware.”

You stare at his attire: no shirt -  just the purple coat, Batsy shorts and boots. About 4 heavy gold chains around his neck, a handful of bracelets on his wrists and a bunch of rings on his fingers.

“Nothing, it looks…good,” you smirk, getting back to your stuff and…done. “My God, you are faster!” The Joker exclaims, forgetting he was irritated about your earlier statement.

“I just want a few things; you know me: I’m not greedy.”

“Go ahead,” he agrees as you open the seif.

“I want this one…and this one…” you pick what strikes your fancy, excited at the excellent quality.

“What is this?” he frowns, pulling out a chocolate bar from a small drawer inside the seif.

“Weird, why would you keep chocolate with diamonds?” you inquire, surprised.

“Maybe one of those sentimental souvenirs for someone working here?” J tries to guess, disgusted at the thought.

“How dumb, you think so?”

“Maybe,” he glares at the bar, scoffing.

“Is it expired?” you bite your cheek, in mood for sweets.

“Nope, still good.”

“Can I have it?” you reach your hand and he gives it to you.

“Suit yourself, Doll.”

“I think that’s all I want. I’m done,” and you rip the plastic foil, beginning to munch on the chocolate.

The Joker’s henchmen stashed a lot of diamonds in bags and you linger around for a bit.

“I heard you have a kid,” J sniffles, puckering his lips.

“Yes, I’m taking care of my niece. My sister died last year, shortly after we…e-hem…went our separate ways,” you bring him up to date since he’s gazing at you with those hypnotizing blue eyes, expecting a briefing.

“She died?” he replies, not really giving a crap and you are aware of it.

“Car accident,” you mumble and your eyes get teary, saddened at the memory.

“That sucks.”

That’s the best he can say for “I’m Sorry” in Joker language. Thank goodness you speak that language.

“It does…” you whimper, trying to keep it together.

“We finished, sir!” Frost announces and you are glad for the interruption.

“I’m going then,” you back out, holding tight to your backpack.

“I might need you again, Y/N. Your skills have improved even more. I have a heist in 2 days, 3 seifs inside Gotham Bank. Interested?”

“Yes, of course,” you mumble, wanting to hurry up and run before the cops show up.

“Want me to pick you up?” J offers.

“Sure, I’ll text you the address.”

“You don’t have my new phone number,” he yells before you disappear behind the stairs.

“I’m an excellent hacker, I’ll figure it out!” you scream back before sneaking through the gap in the wall J’s henchmen opened for themselves to get in.

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

You managed to get J’s phone number and text him your address ; it was a piece of cake. Yummm, cake…you love sweets. Anyway…

He came to pick you up for the robbery, wearing… a suit. Dark green. Looks ravishing on him, not that you pay attention to such details.

You are going to take a shower and get ready. In the meantime, he’s left alone in the living room with Mikah, your niece.

She’s 7, going on 40.

MMIH Division’s strongest ally and she’s not even aware.

“I know who you are, I saw you on TV,” the girl inspects J, curious to hear him speak.

“Did you now?”

“Yes, plus Auntie D has pictures of you on her cell.” “You don’t say!” J grins, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“Are you a bad man, mister?” Mikah wants to know right from the source.

“Yeah,” the short answer confirms it.

“Can I sit in your lap?”

“NO!” J growls, hoping you’re coming back soon.

“My aunt says she has the biggest crush on you,” the kid reports, not understanding why.

“Does she now?”

“U-hum, she talks about you quite a lot.” The little girl tightens her pony tails. “Hey, mister, are you single?”

“Supposedly,” he rolls his eyes, wishing she would shut up.

“Auntie D too. You should take her on a date.”

This feels like an interrogation: The Joker is the one that likes to ask questions, not the other way around.

Mikah just ignores his earlier reply and places herself in his lap. J doesn’t know how to react. She touches his face and he tils his head backwards because surely doesn’t like to be touched by strangers.

“Are you shy?” she bounces her legs, giggling.

“No, kid, I’m not.”

“Why do you have tattoos on your face?”

“Because I wanted them there, that’s why.”

“Auntie D says you are very handsome. I guess you are…in a strange way. Why do you look different? Auntie says we shouldn’t judge people for being different.”

Why can’t she quit talking?! J thinks. Is there a turn off button somewhere?

“Do you dye your hair?” she caresses the green locks, smitten with the wild color.

“No, it grows like this.”

“I think that’s cool. What happened to your teeth? Why are they silver?”

“Do you ever shut up?!” your ex snaps, fed up with the questionnaire.

“No, only when I sleep, ” your niece innocently blurs out. Mikah notices the numerous tattoos under the almost unbuttoned shirt. “Untie D loves guys with tattoos. She told me once you are a stud and then she covered my ears, but I heard it. I asked what it means because you don’t look like a horse in pictures. Auntie said to forget about it, it’s not for children.”

J snorts, finally amused.

“Did Y/N say that?”

“U-hum,” she nods. “Why do you have a cane? It doesn’t look like you’re limping.”

“So I can spank people that don’t behave,” J winks, entertained.

“Are you gonna spank Auntie D with it?!” “Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!” he laughs. “Maybe, if she doesn’t behave.”

Interesting kid, he never had a dialogue with one before.

“Do you have children mister?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The Joker lifts his shoulders up, not replying. Mikah continues her tirade:

“Auntie D says you’re the Daddy type. So how come you don’t have any kids yet?”

J is getting quite immersed in this crazy spiral consisting of the little girl spitting out things he shouldn’t know about.

“You should have a baby with Auntie D, I would loveeee a sibling,” she continues yammering and J wants to cover her mouth.

He finally has to seek for an answer to the burning question:

“Why do you call her Auntie D? Her name doesn’t start with a D.”

Mikah places her index finger on her lips, getting secretive.

“It’s girl stuff, I can’t tell you if you’re not part of the girl club.”

“I can be,” The Joker grins, hoping to trick Mikah into telling him.

“You’re a boy, can’t be part of our club.”

“Ohhh, that’s too bad, little Doll. But if you tell me, I’ll take your aunt on a date.”

She gasps.

“Oh my God, for reals?!” “A-ha,” The Clown Prince of Crime is fast to utter.

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

She gets close to his ear, whispering: “My auntie’s bra size is a D-cup, that’s why I call her Auntie D.”

The Joker doesn’t remember hearing anything funnier than this for the past few months. He snickers, closing his eyes and Mikah giggles, happy the bad man is laughing at something she said.

“I’m ready,” you finally step in the living room, gathering your wet hair in a messy bun. You are intrigued seeing your little niece in J’s lap, both laughing, accomplices on a secret for sure; you can tell.

Before you can express your curiosity regarding the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, J gets up, leaving the kid on the chair he sat and cracks his neck, approaching.

“Change of plans, Princess, we’re going on a date. Go put something nice on.”

“We’re going on a what?!” you crinkle your nose, watching Mikah’s mouth opening in amazement - she seems delighted.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all night,” he pushes you back towards the bedroom.

“I don’t want to go on a date with you,” you protest, displeased and baffled.

“Shut up, woman, don’t talk back to me! Be grateful you have the honor of having a date with The King of Gotham,” he snarls, shoving you in the bedroom and closing the door behind him. “And hurry up…Auntie D!!!!” and you hear him laugh as he distances himself from the door.

What the hell is going on? You debate, perplexed about tonight’s twist, digging in your closet for a dress. But you have to admit you don’t really hate the present situation. After all, you still have the biggest crush on your ex, too bad he doesn’t know.

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

Match Made in Hell Division is absolutely, utterly and indisputably more than happy to close two difficult cases in the same time: The Joker and Y/N aka Auntie D.

You took enough of their precious time, even if they have an eternity to their disposal.

Plus, J is the first male villain to be part of a girls’ club, another legendary skill he will forever be praised for in The Shadow World.

It all started with a bra size.

Also read- MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist