#he’ll get to it later it’s just that first he needs to finish pranking Ras Al ghul

[wawa-cupcakes]

Tim Drake starts a revolution. On accident. Part 1:

When he thinks about it the press, nor any of Gotham, or likely even much of the Justice league, had never seen Tim Drake without a coffee in his hand. So maybe this whole thing had been a long time in coming? The look of exasperation on Bruce’s face tells him no. But Jason cackling on the floor tells him yes. So who’s to say really.

It happens randomly one day. Tim is just leaving WE ready to get back to the Batcave so he can synthesize the half baked formula he thought up during the board meeting this morning for The Jokers new toxin. He made himself an especially large coffee with the Kureg Steph bought him for his office.

At the door he’s met with reporters, all asking about WE’s latest foray into buying housing their employees. And amongst all the questions being hurled at him he picks out the one about Coffee. I mean it’s only natural to have a fine tuned sense about these things when someone relies on coffee like it’s their actual blood. (And frankly it might be at this point Tim isn’t sure)

“What brand of coffee are you drinking?” - The question that will unknowingly rocket all of Gotham into chaos for the next few weeks.

“Bustelo. I’m drinking bustelo. Black like my soul.” Tim throws over his shoulder as he slips into the car. And then he forgets about the whole thing because he’s got approximately 20 minutes and 48 seconds to sleep on the car ride home and he’s not gonna waste a second of it.

He does even find out about it until three days later when he opens the cabinet to find oh - Alfred hasn’t replaced the grounds yet. He just grabs a different bag, he deserves some freshly ground beans after the night he had anyway, and set to work on making some coffee.

When he sees Alfred a few minutes later he asks him to pick some more up the next time he’s at the grocery store. “Actually, Master Tim. They were out. I went yesterday. ”

Tim pauses what he’s doing. “What?”

“It seems your recommendation to the press the other day has been taken to heart. All the stores in Gotham are sold out.”

“WHAT!?”

Upon further research apparently Tim’s sort of accidental recommendation had sky elected sales overnight. The company’s stock was up, and apparently they’d already made a statement about increasing production. The inbox for Tim’s work email, the one he never checked, was flooded with emails from various coffee brands reaching out to attempt to get a sponsorship. Offering to send free samples, and some even life time supplies (Which actually didn’t sound half bad) for him to review.

So Tim does what any sane person would do. He takes the power he’s been given an warps it to fit his needs.

[joonie-beanie]

Modern Day Romance

^the gif has little to do with the story, besides fire lol

An anonie suggested firefighter!Namjoon, and I thought it was cool, so I wrote this little...drabble? fic? story? Call it what you want, but I wrote it lol

Words: 1,729

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

It’s a nightmare.

Not literally, but it might as well be.

You wake up to the sound of blaring fire alarms, red light whirling around your dorm room as the warning light overhead spins hurriedly. Your heart is pounding against your ribs, and with adrenaline rushing through your veins—body knowing that it needs to be awake now—you scramble to grab your cell phone, nearly ripping the charger clean from the wall along with it.

The time that stares back at you is just shy of 4am, and immediately you begin wondering if it’s even worth it to get out of bed. You have class 4 hours from now, and you’d gotten to bed late. This is likely some prank by a dumb student about to get expelled from your university, or the result of a kid putting his mac n cheese in the microwave for a minute too long, causing the plastic to melt, but—

“This way!” you hear someone in the hall yell, and there are shadows moving outside your door, feet pounding against the floor. Fear strikes in your chest, and you fling your covers off, scrambling out of bed. You don’t bother grabbing anything besides your phone—after all, this is just a joke, right?—but when you reach your door and grab the handle, you find yourself rearing back with a hiss leaving your lips.

The skin on your palm burns—the door is scalding—and you stare in shock. Your eyes slide up to the ceiling, where you now notice the smoke floating into your room through the crack in the door, and an entirely new sense of dread fills you.

Quickly grabbing a sweatshirt from your closet, you use the fabric to reach out and turn the door handle again—this time protected from the hot metal. This is your only way out—you live on the third floor of your building—whatever’s on the other side of this door you’ll have to face in order to make it to the stairs and out of the building.

Dressed in a tank top and pair of long pajama bottoms—your shoes haphazardly shoved onto your feet—you fling the door open and immediately are met with the sight of red hot flames. They’re ablaze just to your left, which means—

“Fuck!” you curse. The emergency stairwell is blocked!

Turning to your right, you run down the long hall until the small lobby of your floor is before you—the elevator and main stairwell up the center of the building in front of your eyes. Smartly, you avoid the elevator and dash into the stairwell, but you’re met with a cloud of smoke that makes your lungs burn.

From somewhere down below, black smoke funnels up the staircase. Peeking over the edge of the railing—fighting against the soot that stings your eyes—you realize that you can’t see any light—which means no flames.

Figuring it must be fairly safe, you try and stick low—descending the stairs as quickly as you can. When you reach the second floor, however, you’re met not with fire, but with 2 other people dashing out from the entrance to the stairwell. Obviously, they don’t see you, because they plow right into you. Your head hits something hard, and your vision momentarily goes fuzzy. You hear someone calling for you, but then the two shadows in your vision disappear down the stairs.

“Fuck…,” you hiss, and then stumble to your feet, gripping the warm metal rail beside you. However, before you can move, another figure appears in the doorway, and they pause. They’re bulkier than the other two—that’s for sure. It almost looks like they’re wearing…fire gear…?

“Oh, shit. Are you okay?” a male voice speaks, and your vision finally focuses in on the figure approaching you. It’s a fireman—he takes off his helmet, gently touching your shoulder—oh, and a handsome one at that. Strong jaw—silver hair slicked back with sweat—you should not be taking notes of details like this right now.

“Did you hit your head? Can you stand?” he asks, and you nod.

“The two kids who just ran out…I think they knocked me into the rail. My vision is still…kind of…,” you trail off, and the male curses.

“Do you know if anyone else is still on the upper floors?”

“I heard people running out before me, but I’m not sure,” you respond, wincing when something drips in your eye. The male in front of you makes another slightly panicked sound.

“Alright, I need to get you out of here. Lift up your arms—wrap them around my neck.”

“No, it’s okay—I can w--,” you begin to say, but the male hushes you by bending over and scooping you up in his arms.

“My name is Namjoon, okay? You still seem a little out of it, and your head is bleeding. Hurry and grab on. You shouldn’t remain in here too long.”

Giving in—not wanting to stay in the smoke infested stairwell any longer—you hold onto Namjoon as he quickly descends the remainder of the stairs. Less than a minute later the cool night air greets your skin, and you heave for a breath—not realizing just how badly your lungs had been missing fresh air.

“That’s the last student!” you hear someone call, and you can only guess it’s an RA by the clipboard in their hand and the look of relief that washes over their face.

“Oh, thank god,” the man holding you breathes, and you glance up to see the rest of the students from your dorm gathered around the area. However, instead of going to meet them, Namjoon turns towards where an ambulance is waiting and begins carrying you towards it. There are a few other students already being helped by the two paramedics on sight.

“Minor head wound and a potential concussion,” he says, and the female paramedic climbing into the back of the vehicle shakes her head.

“We’ve got two kids here with carbon monoxide poisoning—another ambulance will be here soon, can you handle it until then?”

“I need to go and help put the fire o—”

“He’ll handle it, please hurry to the hospital,” another voice pipes in, and with a nod from the paramedic, the doors shut and the ambulance speeds off. Once gone, Namjoon turns to face the source of the voice, and you find yourself face to face with a man who looks to be the fire chief. He smiles at you friendlily, and then places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Good job getting the students out. Help this girl with her injures—take a breather. We have enough people working to get the fire out.”

“Yes sir,” Namjoon responds, his face visibly relaxing, and the chief turns away.

“Do you…wanna put me down now?” you ask him, and Namjoon looks surprised at hearing you speak, his eyes fliting down to you.

“That gear is all pretty heavy from what I’ve heard…I’m sure holding a full grown lady in your arms for this long isn’t exactly enjoyable, right?”

Namjoon chuckles, his chest rumbling next to your ear, and he turns and makes his way towards a nearby fire engine.

“Are you trying to take away my heroic moment? It’s like I’m holding a princess in my arms, but all she wants is to be put down. What has happened to modern day romance?”

“Since when does being saved from a burning building count as romance?” you respond with a laugh of your own, and Namjoon leans down, setting you on the back end of the firetruck.

“Hey, I’m just trying to make you laugh~,” he responds, moving around to grab a first aid kit from somewhere in the vehicle. “If you’d prefer I can talk about the mortality of humans.”

“Oh, you’re a charmer,” you say, full of sarcasm, and when Namjoon reappears in front of you the smile on his face causes dimples to appear on his cheeks.

��First time I’ve heard that one,” he says, but there’s no joking in his tone. You blink, looking up at him in surprise, and he pulls out a bandage from the kit.

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms, concentrating on cleaning the scratch on your head, right near your temple. The rubbing alcohol causes you to hiss, and he mumbles an apology.

“Well fuck, I didn’t expect that. Even in the middle of a burning building I couldn’t keep myself from thinking about how handsome you were when you appeared.”

Namjoon’s hands stop working, and you freeze, cheeks burning—perhaps even hotter than the fire inside the building.

“Hey, concussion, remember? Man, I’m really out of it right now, just…ignore me.”

“You’re cute,” he laughs, and you continue to wallow in embarrassment as he finishes bandaging your head.

“Cute enough that you’ll listen to me and forget I ever said that?”

“Cute enough that I won’t do that, and am instead wishing we’d met under different circumstances, so I can ask you on a date.”

“Won’t take a girl you saved from a burning building out for a drink?” you crack, and Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Real shame, that’s some discrimination right there.”

Namjoon laughs, crouching down in front of you. “I’m truly baffled. I feel like I’m breaking code. How am I even supposed to respond at this point?”

“You say ‘yes princess, when are you free?’ and I let you know as soon as I know if I actually have a place to live or not.”

Namjoon sighs, a small smile gracing his lips as he shakes his head at you.

“You’re outrageous.”

“Maybe I am being a bit ambitious,” you mumble, reaching up to gingerly touch your forehead. After all, your building had been on fire, you’d been injured and saved, and it was still 4am, and—

“Are you free this weekend? Saturday, maybe?”

You blink, looking up to Namjoon.

“Sorry?”

The tips of his ears are red, and he rubs the back of his neck.

“This Saturday? For drinks? That date? Unless you’ve been fucking with me this whole time, then—”

“Saturday works,” you interrupt him, smiling widely. Actually, you’re not even sure what you have going on at this point due to, well, the fire, but either way, “Saturday works fine.”