#i could have made this sweeter but instead i will intently acknowledge all the struggles and uncertainties in these relationships

[bitimdrake]

batkids & calling bruce “dad”

Damian does not call Bruce dad because he is busy calling Bruce father. Bruce has referred to his own father as such plenty of times, so it’s a perfectly heartfelt word to them, despite the implied distance.

Cass doesn’t call Bruce dad, but that’s largely because calling anyone by titles still isn’t quite natural to her--she usually sticks to names, or not directly calling them anything at all. When she’s actively thinking about it though, she will call Bruce her dad. It catches Bruce off guard every time. Depending on her current feelings, Cass will either intently focus to read his reaction, or look away in fear of seeing it.

Dick is just. So tentative about the whole thing. You wouldn’t notice most of the time unless you’re looking for it, but he dances around it. He never called Bruce “dad” as a kid, and by the time he started to feel that he might want to, he was already getting older, and Bruce was getting colder and feeding (causing) his insecurity. As an adult and adopted, he’s more confident Bruce does think of him as a son--but it still feels awkward to actually say it. “You know who I’m the son of,” sure. “Like a father to me,” no problem. Perhaps even the rare dip into “my dad.” But directly calling Bruce “dad” to his face? He’s never quite gotten comfortable enough to say it. He’ll stick with just Bruce and B.

Tim is the weirdest. Zero hesitation in referring to Bruce as his dad when talking to distant associates and strangers and reporters. Very hesitant to do the same when talking to close friends and family. If he refers to “my dad” around them, he’s almost certainly talking about Jack. And yet, periodically he will test out calling Bruce “dad,” just once out of the blue, like trying on an old hand-me-down to see if it fits yet. It seems that it hasn’t, because he’s yet to stick with it--even if he keeps circling back around.

Jason, of all of them, fits most perfectly into dramatic tropes. Unlike the other adoptees, his relationship with Bruce has been unambiguously parent/child since the beginning. Jason didn’t call Bruce dad right away, but he was slowly working up to it as a kid, feeling it out, testing the waters to see how Bruce would react. After his death and return, of course, that changed completely, and he refuses to say it now... Except, by complete accident, it’s become ingrained in his mind. In moments of extreme danger or decreased lucidity, feverish or injured or drugged or near death, Jason slips and just says dad.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

ugh pretend that woman's not there that's literally him getting a blowie and he's all dom and not rlly giving u a reaction just looking at his phone until ur choking around him

You’ve been on your knees in front of him for about fifteen minutes.

One hand is splayed across Harry’s inner thigh, softly raking your nails down his skin just how he likes it, the other one playing with his balls, rolling them across your fingers and massaging them gently with your thumb. 

You’d had him in your mouth for what feels like ages, pushing him down your throat and holding him there for a few seconds before slowly pulling him out, your bottom lip catching on the underside of his swollen tip every time. The hand on his thigh coasts up to grab at his length, thumb tracing the protruding vein at his base and following it up to the head, where you lean forward and kiss at it tenderly. 

Your lips smear over the tip messily, the ridges of your skin sending tendrils of electricity through his bones but he forces himself not to show it. You look up at him from beneath your lashes, blinking sluggishly due to the tense atmosphere of the room. 

Your fingers give him a few long, sharp strokes and you grin against his sweaty, flushed skin when you see the underside of his jaw tightened. Your voice comes out cheeky and matter-of-fact. 

“I know you’re gonna cum so why are you being so fucking annoying?”

He doesn’t respond, maintaining his stance. He’s leaned all the way back in the makeup chair, head hanging off the back with his phone in the air, parallel to his face. He’s doing it just to get on your nerves, well aware of how much you get off on seeing his reactions, therefore taking that reward away as some type of arrogant charade. 

Harry hasn’t looked at you once. Not when you sat down on your heels before him and questioningly tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. Not when you tugged his belt loose and rolled down his zipper, pasting wet pecks at the faint short hairs running down the bottom of his tummy into his underwear. Not when you fished him out of his briefs and gave him a round of desperate pumps with your palm in order to get him hard, mumbling about how you’ve been wanting to taste him all day. And the most irritating of all, he hadn’t even made a single sound when you’d pushed him down your throat, your nose brushing the crest of his belly button as your tongue cleaned the familiar salty taste off his cock.  

He had just kept scrolling through his social media, the colors of the screen reflecting off the glossy surface of his eyes as his mouth remained in a relaxed, absent-minded pout, not giving you the satisfaction of even the slightest twitch. The only thing he did was part his thighs wider, giving you access for whatever it is you wanted to do but maintaining a disinterested vibe, as if he couldn’t care less whether you stayed or left. 

In the time that had passed, you were hoping you’d be able to draw some type of response from him. However, he could be so fucking stubborn when he wanted to; the attempts had all been failures.

Harry doesn’t answer the question floating in the room, instead tapping out a text to an unknown person and continuing to mess with his applications. You decide to try again and though your patience is running thin, you go the sweeter, less snappy route, sugaring your voice down into a pleading whine that you know would tug at his heart strings a bit. 

“Harry, c’monnnn.” You slump your shoulders lightly, propping your chin on one of his inner thighs and gazing up at him with big doe eyes. “Please? Just wanna make sure I’m making you feel good, baby.” 

Your lips ghost along the sensitive muscles of his thigh, kissing delicately to guilt him into giving you what you want. 

Harry caves for a fraction of a second, glimpsing down at you over his cheekbones, absorbing the way your lips are quivering with longing. You blink up at him slowly, eyes watery, begging silently. 

Then the moment’s over and he looks away, nestling down further into the leather chair and regaining his scrolling.

You release a frustrated grunt, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching. “Fine, you prick.” 

Then he gifts you the first acknowledgment since you walked into the room: an amused snort at your snarky remark. 

It only grates you further. 

You push yourself up onto your knees fully, fingers tucking your hair behind your ears to avoid it getting in your eyes. You stare down at Harry’s tinted cock as it dribbles with precum, watching his stomach stutter with breaths at what might happen next. He knows he’s in for it. 

Harry was pretty big, that much is obvious. Because of this, every time you give him a blowie you always have to take him in gradually, working him into your mouth at intervals in order to accommodate his size. But burning irritation gets the best of you this time and without thinking twice, you shove him down in one go. 

You feel his leaking tip hit the back of your throat, your jaw aching at having to open wider than usual. For some ridiculous reason, you were hoping to accomplish this task without seeming phased, but it hits just how moronic that notion is when you suddenly can’t breathe. 

Your throat tightens around him, the sheer girth choking you and causing your nostrils to burn. But you’re just as determined as he is and you force yourself into holding your position, eyes squeezing shut as another round of gagging wracks your body. 

It had the intended effect. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

The moan he releases is gurgled, raw, and shamefully desperate and you couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. The hand that had been suspending his phone above his face drops to his chest, the device skimming down his stomach and falling off the side of the chair onto the ground with an empty thud. Harry can’t control himself, one of his hands wildly fumbling into your hair, fingers winding your roots around his knuckles. His other hand finds it way into his own hair, yanking at the curls almost feverishly to try and reign in even a slice of the composure he’d had a minute prior. 

His thick chest heaves with rattling breathes, his lower stomach tinged an angry shade of raspberry red that is quickly crawling up his flexing throat and pouring into his cheeks. He swallows heavily, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth like glue, but he manages to strain them out.

“Fuck, you’ve never gone that deep.” You gaze up at him with cocky triumph sparkling in your teary eyes, making your throat tighten around him once more, your body bracing the gagging with a bit more grace this time now that you’ve gotten a feel for it. 

Harry’s body reacts just as you’d hoped, his back caving forward, hips lifting from his seat a few inches as he holds your head steady with an iron grip, a pitiful broken whimper scraping his lungs.  

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking deep.”

You fall back onto your heels, your jaw and jugular aching as he slips from inside your mouth. You gulp down air like it’s the last time you’ll ever get it, reaching up with the back of your hand and wiping at your messy mouth shakily. 

Harry’s hips fall back into the cushioning of the chair, his broad shoulders trembling and toes curling with pent up aroused adrenalin. His grasp tenses further against your scalp, causing you to wince a tad despite the fact that you love it. 

He looks incredibly hot. His body has been shocked into an incredibly sensitive state, limp against the seat as his brows cinch deeply, his teeth worrying the inside of his plumped bottom lip, cheeks glowing and jaw taut. The hand in his hair releases his locks, struggling to find a hard grip on the backrest of the makeup chair, nails digging into the leather as he grapples to keep himself somewhat upright. 

When his voice finally pipes up again, you can’t help but laugh at how he frantically begs; it’s borderline pathetic. 

“Can you do it again? Please? Please, darling, please? I’m sorry for being an ass, promise I’ll make it up to you.” 

You smack his hand out of your hair, slowly mounting yourself onto your wobbly feet. You blink the blurriness out of your sight, the edges of your swollen lips carving into an entertained smirk. You don’t say a single word, simply stepping over his feet with your intentions set on the door.

Harry immediately knows what you’re going to do and the way he grabs at your wrist so desperately makes your grin widen. 

“Y/N, I can’t go out on stage like this.” His voice is low, accent slathered over his petrified tone. 

You rend your arm from his fingers, shrugging your brows tauntingly. “You should’ve thought of that before being such a dick.” 

He sits forward, palms resting on your waist to keep you from leaving as he tilts his chin upwards, looking up at you with those big puppy dog eyes he’s so well known for. “Fuck, I’ll do anything, I swear. Just please take care of it.” 

You pick a few matted ringlets off his forehead, thumbing over his temples, feeling his pulse hammering inside his skull. You lean down and flush a lingering kiss to the center of his forehead, his eyes drooping shut sleepily as the warmth from your mouth melts down his eyelids and cheeks, numbing the tip of his nose. 

Another whimper squeezes its way out of his throbbing lips. Please…”

You cup his sharp jaw between your forefinger and thumb, his chin fitting perfectly into the alcove of your hand. You skim your mouth over his, noses bumping and breathing mingling as his grip tightens at your hips, rings imprinting into your skin through your jeans. 

“Let me see your eyes, H.”

His lashes flutter open, the green in his irises fading between a bright canopy jade and a cool, muted olive. You stare right into them, seeing his pupils faintly dilate at the suspense. 

Your answer is soft and whispered, but it rings in his ears like a church bell.

“Go fuck yourself.” 

There’s no time, apparently, because just then Harry’s stylist bursts into the room with nothing but a swift knock as a warning. 

“Shit.” Harry’s stiff fingers quickly stuff himself back into his briefs, grateful that you are standing before him to block a full frontal disaster.  

“Sorry to barge in and interrupt but we waited as long as we could. We gotta get you ready, babe.” Harry Lambert immediately begins shifting through the hanger of outfits at the corner of the room, glancing over his shoulder at Harry with an expecting nod.  

More people from Harry’s team flood into the room— his manager, professional photographer, makeup and hair crew— and you back away from him with an apologetic shrug that carries anything but its face value. “Good luck, honey. Can’t wait to see you on stage.” 

Harry has no choice but to oblige to his team, allowing them to surround him in a flurry of preparations, though he handles dressing himself (much to Lambert’s objections) to avoid a catastrophic situation. He ends up going on stage as you had left him, lucky enough that his pants are a loose flared fit that doesn’t showcase his issue. 

But the whole time he’s performing, there’s a certain itch in the back of his head (and at the underside of his balls) that won’t leave him be. And it doesn’t help that you’re is right there on the side of the stage, watching him with your arms crossed over your chest, features painted with smug delight. 

Every time your eyes cross paths, his cock gives a painful twitch; the bright lights and echoing screams aren’t helping at all. There’s a few instances where he can feel his pants growing tighter around his crotch and he tries to take care of it as nonchalantly as possible, but he knows there will be tons of videos and speculation running rampant across the media later tonight. Cameras don’t lie. 

Throughout the whole show, all he can think about is your mouth— how warm it is, how soft, the way you feel licking at him, how pretty your lips look covered in his jizz. It drives him off the fucking wall and you can see it happening in the way he progressively starts glancing at you more often. 

His disgraced lack of control slowly starts to mold into anger because now you’re mocking him in front of hundreds of people, possibly embarrassing him in front of thousands more on the internet. It won’t be a huge riot or anything— it’d probably be easy to debunk— but the strain it’s putting on him now is enough to infuriate anyone.  

At one point in the show, Harry jogs off stage to fetch a bottle of water waiting for him the edge of the curtain, right where you’re residing as you watch the performance. He bends down and scoops up the drink, unscrewing the cap and tilting it back, staring down at you intently through the whole exchange, sweat pouring down his temples and glistening across his exposed chest. He recaps the bottle, turning it over into your awaiting hand and giving you a swift once-over. 

He then leans forward as if to give you a kiss on the cheek, lips tickling the shell of your left ear as he quietly mumbles a very different promise than the one he’d made earlier in an orgasm-deprived stupor.

As soon as the words finish rolling down his tongue, he’s gone again, gripping the microphone stand and introducing the next track as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Harry’s words continue to sizzle across your skin for the remainder of the concert. 

“I’m gonna break your fucking back tonight for this.”

[emptynarration]

Author already had 5 soulmarks -all platonic, thank god- so he really didn't need any more. But there it was, the sixth mark, appearing right on his neck. And clearly a romantic one as well. He doesn't want any soulmates. He wants to be alone. He doesn't want romance, he hates it. But apparently, fate wanted to smother him in love and affection, if he wants it or not. 

~

So yea I had this idea once before but differently so now. Have Author being ABSOLUTELY C O V E R ED in soulmarks!!

Spoiler: He'll have 23 soulmarks.

You can probably figure out who the soulmates already having their mark on him are! :D If you can, you're awesome 💜 (Also decided against explicit sex though... i may add some later. i'm a horny guy im sorry-)

Leave a comment if you liked this please!! 💜

~

Author had a total of six soulmate marks. One was a VHS tape, another was some sort of flower, two of them were an old TV and a receiver connected to it, another was simply a tree, and the latest and newest was of a shooting star. He hated each and every one of them. He didn't want a soulmate, yet alone six. And the worst was, that he was apparently getting new ones still. Considering the sixth he'd just gotten a couple months ago. At least only the newest one was romantic. It were only black outlines, while the rest were black lines with black shading -it meant the one would get coloured, once he found that soulmate. He didn't want to think there was someone he was destined to be involved romantically with though. He didn't like romance.

Just to prove his point, Author often went to random bars, to pick up strangers for a night, to then never return to them again. Fucking around was pleasurable and easy, and he didn't have to think about soulmates or people or anything. So he went to a bar, got himself a drink, and scanned the crowd. Maybe he'd find someone good looking enough he could imagine sleeping with. He never really felt any attraction to people, just going with what he liked aesthetically, so he had a pretty free pick of who he wanted. He spotted a man, short and soft looking, and clearly drunk. Judging from his state, getting drunk had been his intention. Sauntering over, Author decided that was the perfect man to pick. Someone drunk enough they wouldn't notice all the marks on him once he was naked -though most people just assumed he got those tattoos himself.

“Hello there handsome.”, Author purred, leaning against the bar next to the man, golden eyes half-lidded as he took in the sight of the other man from his now closer position. The drunk man shifted to look at Author, a tired sort of expression on his face. “Hello..”, he mumbled, nearly slurred, and Author chuckled lowly. He reached out, brushing stray strands of hair from the man's face and behind his ear. “I think you had enough to drink, haven't you? Let me take you somewhere.”, Author murmured, leaning in close. The man hummed, the smell of alcohol on his breath, and one of his many soulmarks itched. Author ignored it. “Mhh..”, the man was clearly thinking, blinking at Author, fiddling with the glass in his hands. He shifted to turn his body towards Author, and he cupped the man's cheek in his hand, gently running his thumb over the man's lips. “Come on handsome.”, Author pulled back, just to help pull the other to his feet. Glad to hear the man had paid off all his drinks already, so Author could just pull him along with him.

“Wha's your n'me?”, the man slurred a little, but Author could understand him well enough. He hummed as he thought, before shrugging to himself. It wouldn't hurt to tell his name to a man who was too drunk to think straight. “Issac. And yours, handsome?”, he answered, leading his partner for the night to the nearest hotel. No need to drag the stranger through a dark forest to his own home -plus, Author could just leave as soon as he was awake again and leave the man to forget all about this. “Ed-... Edwa-ward. Edward. Ed.”, Edward stammered, furrowing his brows as he tried to think. It was almost endearing in a way, how he had to think so hard just to pronounce his own name. He clearly tried to ask something more, but he was struggling with the words, so Author didn't really listen. Instead, he dragged Edward to the hotel, got them a room, and brought him there.

He let Edward sit on the bed, climbing in his lap and straddling him, wrapping his arms around Edward's neck and kissing him deeply. Edward seemed unsure at first, but when Author ground down against him, he moaned and stopped worrying. Laying his hands on Author's hips, kissing him back as the man moved on top of him. Edward kissed and licked and nipped at Author's neck when he pulled back, making the man moan, his hands moving to push off Edward's jacket, and undo his shirt. Edward's hands were clumsy on Author's skin, struggling with the man's shirt -so eventually Author just pulled back enough to pull off his own shirt, and help Edward out of his in turn. Author vaguely noted the mark in form of an open book on Edward's collarbone, but didn't linger enough to notice any colours or not. He didn't want to know, and he didn't care, so he focused on kissing Edward again, kissing him deeply and hungrily. Edward was sloppy in turn, but he was also drunk.

The man's skin was warm, his body soft, and Author's hands happily explored what laid barren to him. Edward's hands moved over Author's chest, making an unhappy sound when they were met with another garment. “You're drunk enough to not care.”, Author muttered, shifting to lean back and pull his binder off over his head. He shouldn't have sex in it anyways, so he was glad he had picked someone drunk enough to probably neither care nor notice. And Edward truly didn't care, his hands moving to Author's soft breasts, and Author couldn't help the soft breath that left him as Edward's warm hands touched them how he did. He let himself merely enjoy the touches, breathing heavily as he rolled his hips over Edward's, feeling aroused. He moaned when Edward was back on his neck, sucking dark marks onto his skin, pleasuring him further and making him more wanting. Eventually though, Author had to pull back, getting off of Edward. He pulled a condom out of his pant's pocket, before working on getting them off of himself. Edward watched with a dreamy gaze, before he fumbled with his own belt and pants, until he could kick them off.

Author was now only dressed in panties and stockings -because he had felt like them before leaving his home, deciding that whoever he picked up tonight would be a lucky fucker. And Edward was apparently the lucky man who got to see him like this. And Author was pleased to see the man aroused and wanting. Author climbed back into Edward's lap, arms sliding around his neck, and Author kissed him deeply once more, breathing heavily as he claimed the man's mouth with his own. Kissing him felt good, no matter how sloppy it was, no matter how much Edward tasted like alcohol. Author didn't question why.

Their bodies were hot as they were pressed together, Edward's hands exploring Author's body, as the man held himself up, enjoying the touches and kisses. He was eventually the impatient one, pulling at both of their underwear respectively, until he had his night's partner free beneath him. Author was impatient with safety first, but that made the pleasure all the sweeter as he moaned, their bodies melding together perfectly, fitting so well together as if they were meant to be. Author lost himself in the repetitive movements, arms tight around Edward's neck as he moved, and the other man attacked his neck and shoulders, causing more pleasured moans to leave Author. It felt wonderful, making Author forget about all these soulmarks covering him, all these people he was supposedly connected to in a deep and meaningful way. All that mattered, was the pleasure filling his senses, the warmth of Edward's body against his, and the soft lips against his skin.

They reached their climax together, Edward groaning beneath Author, the writer kissing Edward breathlessly, swallowing his moans and breaths. Pulling back once he had no more air in his lungs, Author slumped against Edward's chest, feeling exhausted but happy. They had to move slightly though, Author needing to get off of Edward. After slight adjustments, the two men laid down in bed together. Edward was quickly out like a light, with Author soon following behind -snuggling into the warm embrace the other man so openly gave him. It was one of the best sleeps Author had gotten in a long time, unbothered by bad dreams or nightmares, barely waking up once or twice during the night. It didn't stop him from waking early in the morning, but that was alright.

He took his time with waking up, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Edward's chest, telling him he was still asleep. He would definitely have a hangover once he woke, and, hopefully, wouldn't remember Author. When he finally decided to be awake, Author rubbed his eyes, shifting away a little. He looked Edward over, his features gentle and soft as he slept so peacefully. It was nice like this, and Author found himself enjoying merely laying here and sleeping next to this man. That was, until it spotted the soulmark on Edward's collarbone again -the open book, the pages yellowed, the cover red. With slight panic starting to build, Author carefully got out of bed -as to not wake Edward- and hurried to the bathroom. He looked over the marks on him, and his eyes widened seeing the shooting star now coloured in with yellows and blues, and a hint of mint. “Oh god oh no-”, he hurried to gather his clothes and get dressed again, fleeing from the room. He did not want to acknowledge that he had found his soulmate, and had just had sex with him. Nope!

So Author fled the hotel, running from his soulmate -his damn romantic soulmate- and all the feelings that brought with it, back to his own home. It would be better this way, he told himself. He didn't need a soulmate, and he didn't want a soulmate. Hopefully Edward would forget about him, forget this had ever happened. Hopefully he wouldn't notice his colored soulmark any time soon, because that'd mean he'd be certain of his night with Author, and would probably remember, and try and fine him. And Author really didn't want that.

He didn't go back to the bar after that. He didn't want to see Edward again, he didn't want to risk the man looking for him there, so he just.. stayed away. He stayed in his cabin, sometimes unconsciously scratching at the coloured mark on his neck. He didn't want a soulmate. He didn't want a partner. He didn't want romance. He tried to distract himself with writing, but every time he sat down to write, his thoughts strayed from what he was writing to instead think about Edward. He wondered what Edward's job was. Hadn't he worn some sort of labcoat when they had met? No, no it mustn't have been. It probably had been closer to a trenchcoat than a labcoat. But that made him wonder, what if Edward was a scientist? (We've all been a scientist at one point in our lifes anyways). Or maybe he was a researcher? A doctor? Or maybe he was something entirely else. Maybe he worked with children? Or maybe he did something entirely else? He really wanted to know, he didn't know anything about Edward, and he wanted to know. But he also really didn't want to know. He wanted to forget all about Edward, and how gentle his touches had been, and how good his sloppy kisses had been, and how soft he had been....

He growled in frustration, head on the table as his hands tugged on his hair. He just wanted to write, but apparently, he wouldn't find peace until he was back with Edward. At least he didn't feel any, urgh, butterflies. The thought alone of such disgusting romantic feelings made him feel sick, and he couldn't imagine anyone actually feeling something like that. He knew they were destined for romance, so all he could hope for was, that he'd grow to enjoy it more when getting to know Edward. He didn't want to get to know Edward though. No! Nope sire, he didn't want anything to do with the man. Except he did, and every day he stayed holed up in his cabin away from him was torture. He was battling with himself, very much not wanting to go, but also desperately wanting to go.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Author abruptly stood up. He'd go back. There was just nothing he could do but try and find Edward again. He pocketed some pens and scraps of paper for emergencies, and made his way out of the cabin. He'd just find Edward, and put his thoughts at rest. Maybe if he just met him again, and told him he didn't want any romantic relationship, he'd feel better. He kept thinking over and over about what he was going to say, chewing on the pendant of his necklace as he walked and thought. He wasn't sure if what he was trying to do would work -he wouldn't even know if he were going to find Edward. But when he entered the bar, the bartender -Jim, someone who knew Author more or less, considering how often Author showed up here- perked up when he noticed him. “Issac!”, Jim called, beckoning Author over. He let the pendant drop out from his mouth, walking over. It was still early, so there weren't many people around yet. Author leaned against the bar, and it was obvious how uncomfortable he was. “The guy you left with couple days ago was around, asking for you. Left me his number, if you wanted it.”, Jim told Author. Somehow, Author wasn't surprised in the least, sighing heavily, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Yea give it to me.”, he muttered, letting himself be given the note. He could just not text Edward. But every fibre of his being wanted to text Edward, to call him, to meet with him again and touch him, feel him, hear him, have him. “Good luck.”, Jim wished him, making Author snort and wave him off, muttering a “yea yea” and leaving the bar again. He stared at the number on the paper, before eventually pulling out his phone. Having no clue what to text, he decided to call, because that would obviously be easier than texting. It rang a couple of times, before Edward picked up. “Edward Ipliér speaking.”, Edward said, and Author briefly wondered if the man was French, judging from how he pronounced his last name. Eeplee-er. How weird. “Hey, this is Issac.”, Author mumbled, not feeling quite as confident as he should've been. What was he supposed to say? He wasn't sure if this was any sort of a good idea anymore, and he really wanted to hang up now. “Issac!”, Edward gasped, and Author grabbed his pendant with his free hand, so he could chew on it while he walked. He wasn't sure if he should go home or not, so he just... walked.

“Yea...”, was Author's lame reply, knowing that was nowhere near as excited as Edward probably expected him to be. “Heard you were searching for me.”. “Yes! Issac I- well.”, Edward cleared his throat, reigning in his excitement. “I noticed my soulmark was coloured in after our... night together.”. Author takes a deep breath. He wasn't sure what else he expected, really. Edward would tell him he was his soulmate, and that it was romantic, and Author knew all of that already. “I don't want romance.”, Author said, quick and easy. Like a bandaid. Crush any hopes before they grew too much. “I'm... not interested in romance.”. Edward was silent, and there was a tiny speck of panic in Author's chest -because this was his soulmate, and he needed to be with him- but he stayed calm. He just said how he felt, because Edward deserved that. “That's... that's okay.”, Edward said softly, after a moment, and Author barely relaxed hearing him speak again. “We can... just be friends? I don't think I'll manage to function without you.”, he chuckled a little, a bit awkwardly, and Author knew exactly how he felt.

“Yeah, I feel the same. I haven't been able to focus on anything at all.”, Author replied, attempting a smile for the sake of how it'd affect his voice. He knew it didn't really work, but well. He tried. “Could... could we meet some time?”, Edward asked, almost hesitantly. “I'd like to get to know you.”. Author hummed softly. He could remember Edward's touch as clear as day, how gentle and loving he had been, how good his fingers had felt on his skin. He knew, once he met Edward again, he would want that again. “Sure.”, he replied simply then, because he didn't want to scare Edward with saying what he thought at that moment. He knew it couldn't possibly drive his soulmate away, but... still.

They agreed on a time and place, and directly the next day, Author was nearly excited to go meet Edward. Somewhere, he thought of this as a date. He tried not to though, because he didn't want this to be a date, even though it very much was, in the end. They met, and they talked. Author got to know Edward -he was a doctor, he was very interested in stars and astronomy, he usually wasn't one for one-night-stands, and was a very kind and caring man. Of course Author also talked about himself, who he was, what he did for a living. Neither mentioned anything about any weird powers they may or may not have. It was nice. They decided to take a walk, and when Author took Edward's hand, the man let him. Author couldn't help the tingles he felt, feeling Edward's warm hand against his own. It was probably because of how touch-starved he was, though he would never admit such a thing out loud just like that. If Edward did take notice of it on his own, he didn't say anything about it.

“This was nice.”, Edward said softly, smiling up at Author. He was happy, he was comfortable with Author, and he had really enjoyed his time with Author. He didn't want him out of his life -he wanted to be with him, though he knew Author didn't. “It was.”, Author agreed lightly. He had enjoyed himself. He had liked just... spending time with Edward. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he didn't want to just cut Edward out of his life anymore. He knew he wouldn't be able to either way, but to never be close to him again? He couldn't imagine it. He couldn't fathom his life without Edward anymore. “Can I call you sometimes?”, Edward asked softly, lightly squeezing Author's hand -still holding it, as they had for their entire walk already. “Sure. No promises I'll reply though.”, Author replied, giving a mischievous grin to Edward, who chuckled lightly in return, smiling and nodding.

They soon parted ways after, bidding the other a good night, with the promise of future texting and calling. Author already knew he'd have to meet Edward again, would eventually show him how to find his cabin, because he wanted Edward to be close to him. He also knew he'd have to tell Edward about his other marks, his other soulmates he had, the ones he may or may not know. Well, so far he did know them, he simply... didn't want to. Not that they were horrible people -not worse than he himself was at least- but simply because Author didn't want to have them as soulmates. It didn't help that two of his soulmates were also soulmates with each other. So he preferred to stay away, and merely partake in a group chat they had. Which they specifically had for him, because even not having contact with his platonic soulmates was grating on him after a while. He hoped Edward would be okay with it. Of course he would be, he was his soulmate too after all, but... well. Author couldn't help the spark of anxiety it brought, the thought of Edward hating how many soulmates Author had. It'd be fine. Next time they met, he'd tell him.

[seventeencelcius]

Coffee Shop! Joshua

after a horrible first paper that kicked off your finals season, you headed to your regualr coffee shop to continue studying after the closing hours of your college library

“17 Celcius” was the place you fondly regarded as your second home since you spent most of your time inside

especially when you needed a space to escape from your noisy rommates in the cramp dorm you were staying

you usually went there just before your 8am classes to receive your morning dose of caffeine or for any project discussions, but it was probably a first for you to arrive at this hour

you couldn’t really blame yourself because every time exams was round the corner, you automatically became a zombie by staying up all night studying and crashed in the afternoon while powering your night with additional zcoffee

while it was not unusual for you stay up late, your roomates had an issue since you were the one the kind who acted up as they studied,

which was sort of creepy to listen to when someone was trying to sleep so they ‘unofficially’ kicked you out of the dorm unless you were actually back to, you know, sleep

luckily for you, this place was opened 24 hours with the owner’s intention to attract  college students who had a messed up sleeping schedule

or even to those who had their hearts broken at an odd hour and needed some warm hot chocolate to mend their soul

it was the cafè’s one and only policy to serve any customer without any questions asked regardless of the time and their appearance

having a sweeter tooth, you usually leaned toward drinks such as a caramel latte and a mocha

however, you already had a shitty enough day from pretty much flunking your test despite how much you had studied the week before and the stress from seemingly not being prepared enough for your other subjects

with those thoughts constantly running through your mind, you had forgotten to grab your wallet you had left on the library table

you could only pray hard that you could still find it in the morning since it was already closed by the time you remembered

you only had a few loose change to spare after digging around your tote bag but thankfully, it accumulated enough to get you the cheapest beverage on the menu - a black coffee

butter drinks weren’t exactly your favourite but you had to suck it up

you desperately needed that fix of caffeine to continue studying or you would have collapsed from fatigue in no given time

furthermore, the environment from the cafe was much better than the silent library

with the occasional sound from the coffee beans being grounded and roasted made it lively even with the lack of customers

you barely paid attention to the cash register as you dropped the amount to the cashier’s hands and muttered out your name

exhaustation was evident on your face and your mind was genuinely worn out from the amount of things you had to memorize for your upcoming tests

whoever was in the college exam board, you hated them with your entire heart, mind, body and soul

geez who in their right mind thought it would he a great idea to schedule all your exams back to back?!?!

pulling an all nighter for the last few days  was seriously driving you mad and you felt that you couldn’t even hold a proper conversation without spitting out some theory in between

to add on to your frustration, none of yourlecturers  were being helpful whenever you took the liberty to email them questions

what came back to you was usually “check the previous slides” or “I’m taking a break, contact me again at xxxx”

you couldn’t wait for finals to be over so you could be a normal, functioning human being again

a notification from your phone caught your attention and by the time you skimmed the first few lines, you were on the verge of a mental breakdown

you were close to hyperventilating as your palms become clammy

it was an email from the college board to notify all full scholarship holders that should they not reach the minimum requirements of 3.5 GPA for finals, their scholarship will immediately be revoked

you really didn’t need to be reminded by this constant nightmare and it felt as if your demons were closing in one b-

“Here’s your order. Enjoy!”

for a moment you panicked since it was accustomed for the barista to call your name and for you to collect your order, yet here this person was bringing it all the way to your secluded corner where your tower of lecture notes seemed to be covering your frame

“i didn’t order any of this???? Wasn’t it supposed to be a black coffee?”

glancing downwards, a chocolate chip cookie deocrated your table along with a drink that was clearly too milky to be a black coffee

also definitely more than $3 you paid for

you begin panicking when you looked up at the barista because were you THAT sleep deprevied that you somehow gave the wrong order??

your pupils dilated even more when your line of vision moved upwards, immediately distracted by the person infront of you

this was totally the worst day of your life

here was the probably the most handsome person you had ever laid your eyes on and you looked like you haven’t sleep in days with your panda eyebags and the hoodie you slept in

if looks could kill, you would probably be death by now

& wow if you were still alive, you were going to put a drink recommendation in the suggestion box called: Death by chocolate cause those eyes of his were more than just mesmerizing

considering you were a regular gere, thsi worker was most likely someone who only worked the midnight shift,

you guessed you needed to bug your friend who also worked here, Seungcheol, to know of his name

“oh, you looked like you needed it. don’t worry, it’s on the house. have strength and just endure a little more!”

you never deemed yourself as a particularly emotional person

sure there was the occasional outburst when you watched Hachiko or when Peter K. confessed love to Lara Jeans in To All The Boys I’ve Lived Before

but this, this was something else.

you didn’t know what struck you but you started crying

you would like to think it was because this situation too much for you to handle since you weren’t familiar with kindess during this bleak period of time known as exam season

yes, crying in an empty coffee shop at 1:15AM with the cute as heck barista standing right next to you

you had your fair shares of meltdowns in public before but most of the time, the crowd would just ignore you, with the belief that everyone goes through a hard time anyways so there wasn’t a need to pause their lives just to comfort a complete stranger

truth to be told, you thought the cute barista would just bolt through the entrance and call 911 or be like everyone else by giving your the cold shoulder treatment

to your surprise, you felt a warm hand patting your head before moving down to gently stroke your back in a rhythmic yet tender movement

“you will feel better after crying it all out.”

hearing his voice gave you more than just confort but you sought solace in both his words and presence

“i’m sorry *sniffs* e-exams ar-re jut ... so hard right now ..... i’m gonna fa—il and not-ot make it .... in my life ...”

the barista called your name, making you divert your full attention to him and tbh you were wondering how did he even know your name until you remembered you were the one who gave it when you ordered your drink lol

“you’re doing fine and I know you’re trying your best right now. That’s what most important.”

those words were all you needed for a smile to crack up and for your spirits to be lifted up

maybe what you needed all this while was an acknowledgement from others, to know that your hard work wasn’t going nowhere and that someone can see how much effort you are putting

“those are on the house so have faith in yourself and enjoy what you are doing!”

his encouragement had you lifting the corner of your lips to form a smile

sighing, you were sure the barista was only being nice to you because based on the fact that he looked like your age, he probably understood what you were going through and pitied you right from the start

to avoid being a food, you didn’t dare to think much about the encounter when you thanked him at the counter, cheeks reddened from your earlier outburst

you stuttered when you struggled with what to call him because you were rather embarrassed by the nickname of ‘cute barista’ you labelled him

“jisoo, but I usually let the people I like call me joshua so you can call me that.”

his twinkling eyes paired with that dangerously sweet smile of his took you off guard for a second

you had to shyly looked away to organize your thoughts because pray god that you weren’t interpreting this situation the wrong way

thanking him again with his name this time, you told him you will drop by to pay him back so won’t owe him anything

instead, he smiled and asked you to give him a second so he could tell how you could repay your ‘debt’

while you remained confused, joshua took one of the napkins sitting on the counter and scribbled something down before passing it to you

it had his number written neatly with a:

“i only work the midnight shift, you can repay the debt by going on a date with me :)”

[kyuuppi]

7-Eleven Part 2 (requested)

Title: 7-Eleven (Part 2) 🏪

Pairing: cashier!Lee Jihoon x idol!Reader (female pronouns)

Genre: fluff, romance, idol au

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I don’t know Korean at all so I’m sure most of the translations or labels don’t make sense LOL sorrynotsorry

>>Part 1<<

For perhaps the first time in your life you find yourself dreading going out for snacks.

It has been a whole two weeks since the incident--you frown just thinking about it--and you have pointedly avoided going to that particular 7-Eleven. In times you direly needed something only a convenience store could provide, you gladly took the fifteen extra minutes to go to a Ministop instead--but your efforts were not without reason.

The night you shamefully found yourself crying over Jihoon in the middle of the street was the same night you had promised yourself to get over him. Boys who didn’t have any interest in you weren’t worth your time, you’d repeatedly told yourself. But you were weak for him. You were honest enough with yourself to admit that much. And so you made sure to keep yourself as far from him as possible. Out of sight, out of mind.

But life seemed to have a knack for completely screwing you over.

You had been with your group members, practicing the dance to your newest song. It was a complicated dance, one much more strenuous than you or most of the others were used to and the extra work combined with the later hour was quickly catching up to all of you. It was the oldest of the group who brought up the idea of eating some snacks. She promised it would re-energize everyone and help keep you all from feeling sleepy.

Everyone had agreed, yourself included. Snacks were always a good idea in your book, you saw no harm in the idea.

It all started to go downhill when the visual spoke up. 

Being an open otaku, she pitched in about a limited-edition chocolate themed after some popular anime you didn’t recognize.

“That sounds great...maknae, could you go get them for us?” your leader asked, looking directly at you.

You agreed easily. As the maknae, you were used to running errands for the others when the managers weren’t around. The Ministop was only a fifteen minute walk away anyway--seven if you jogged. You were already rising to your feet when the visual spoke again.

“They’re only sold at 7-Eleven though.”

You froze.

“Oh? That’s great; 7-Eleven is the closest store to the studio--hey, could you bring back some beer too?”

The rest of your members began laughing at that last request, joking around about attempting to perfect the new dance moves while tipsy but you were hardly listening, still struggling to process the reality of having to face the one person you had spend the better half of two weeks avidly avoiding.

And thus here you are, purposefully taking your time as you make the achingly familiar walk to the corner store. Even with your best efforts to make the travel as slow as physically possible, you soon find yourself standing in front of a familiar set of glass doors within a matter of minutes.

A quick in-and-out, you assure yourself.

With a brief inner pep talk, you grasp the cold metal handle and swing the door open with pseudo confidence before taking two large steps and immediately turning down the snack aisle before your brain can even process your surroundings.

You pause to frantically skim the shelves for the desired chocolates and when you finally do spot them you waste no time gathering up two arm fulls, praying it’s enough because you can’t be bothered to count right now.

You shuffle down the aisle and hesitate at the alcohol fridge for only a moment before ultimately deciding against it (which may or may not be because you fear having to spend extra time with Jihoon while he checks your ID) and making your way to the checkout counter, eyes trained obediently on the floor tiles.

There is another customer there for once, a young girl, perhaps in her senior year of high school, with long hair and a cute voice. 

She’s pretty, you note.

Pretty but average--the type of girl Jihoon will probably fall in love with.

The thought slips before you can think to block it and suddenly there’s a heavy weight pulling from somewhere deep in your stomach. You scold yourself immediately, inwardly repeating that you’ve sworn to give up on him so his ideal type or future girlfriend should be none of your concern.

But the girl is giggling now. At what? You don’t know.

But something made her laugh and you don’t recall Jihoon ever being a funny guy or cracking jokes for you. Hell, he never even really spoke to you outside of what he had to but now he’s making some other girl you’ve never seen before laugh and leaving you heartbroken over a relationship you never even had and--

“--miss?”

You start when you realize Jihoon is looking directly at you now. His dark eyes, familiar but ever enigmatic, cause your heart to clench in a way you refuse to acknowledge before you avert your eyes and realize the girl from earlier is no longer standing in front of you. The telltale electronic bell echoes through the store a moment later. 

“Are you ready to check out,” Jihoon repeats, politely.

“Yeah,” you reply.

You shuffle forward to gracelessly dump the packages on the counter and pray your voice hadn’t sounded as winded as you thought it did.

Jihoon hesitates briefly--way too briefly for you to notice with your averted gaze--before he is quickly scanning and bagging each of your items like a professional.

You distantly note the radio is playing jazz tonight.

The keys on the register clack noisily as he quickly types something before announcing your total and you’re quickly handing over a wad of bills your group members had given you before you left. 

As he reaches for the money, you briefly panic that your hands will brush against each other and some irrational anxiety constricts around your chest until you feel like your heart is going to stop beating altogether and you’re retracting your hand as if you were burned before you can even think the action through. The money falls to the counter without a sound and you almost gasp in horror at your own stupidity. Your wide eyes instinctively shoot up to meet his own, gauging his reaction to your little outburst.

He looks surprised for once, caught completely off guard and a part of you regretfully relishes in being able to make him feel something so strongly, at having some semblance of power of him.

But he is quickly recovering and picks up the money while his gaze politely averts without uttering a single word until he’s handing back the appropriate amount of change by placing it neatly on the counter.

A majority of you wants to crawl into a dark hole and rot away.

The rest merely scoops up the money along with two plastic bags and scurries out of the store as fast as socially acceptable before you can embarrass yourself any further.

---

When you reach the studio you immediately hand the bags over to your leader, half-heartedly apologizing to the others for “forgetting” to pick up the beer. If anyone is disappointed it doesn’t show and everyone seems to be wholly satisfied after the candy has all been distributed--luckily you had bought just enough for everyone sans yourself. But you weren’t in the mood for chocolates now anyway.

“Oh, you forgot your candy,” the leader suddenly tells you, handing back one of the seemingly empty plastic bags.

Your brows furrow as you take the bag. You don’t recall picking anything else up.

You open the bag and are met with a small package at the bottom. Picking it up you find it to be some type of hard candy. Honey flavored--your favorite.

Did...Jihoon put this there?

You nearly scoff at your own thought. It’s not possible--Jihoon has no interest in you and definitely doesn’t seem like the type of person to just give away freebies or remember what foods you like.

Your thoughts are extinguished the moment you flip the package over in your hands and find blue ink messily scribbled over the nutrition label.

Your breath hitches.

---

Two days later you find yourself in a similar situation but in a much better mood.

Since finding the candy and little message Jihoon had evidently given you, you’ve decided to give your feelings a second chance. 

And what better way to start than by going back to personally thank Jihoon for his kindness?

The weekend seemed to last forever when you impatiently waited for the next day you knew he’d be working. No one had questioned why you’d left the dorms bright and early at 6AM on a rare day you all had off from schedules but you assumed your group mates were used to your eccentricities by now--or just intent on sleeping in.

Regardless, your cheeks ache with the effort of containing your smile when you reach a familiar set of glass doors and the resulting electronic chime above your head has never sounded sweeter. You make your way to the snack aisle out of pure habit and pick up your favorite brand of chips only for the sake of having some sort of reason to be there other than solely seeing Jihoon’s handsome face.

You practically skip to the register.

He is sitting this time, head rested on his pale wrist and eyes seeming to struggle to stay open as they often do on his early morning shifts. The cuteness of it all has you inwardly gushing. He takes a few moments to notice your eager presence but he quickly gathers himself when he does and shuffles over to the counter as fast as a half-asleep man can.

“Are you ready to check out, miss?” he slightly slurs.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before you cheerfully reply in the affirmative and watch in rapture as he scans your single bag of potato chips. Your eyes are practically shining when you speak up again.

“Thank you for the candy last time,” you murmur sweetly, almost shy despite your apparent happiness.

Jihoon doesn’t pause in his movements as he bags your item. He shows no signs of having heard you at all and for a painful moment you fear he might just ignore your words altogether.

But then he looks up and the planets must have aligned for this particular moment because he looks up to make direct eye contact and the corners of his lips pull up a little and he’s actually smiling sweetly right at you.

Your heart skips several beats too many before it picks up and thrums with pure, cute boy-induced adrenaline.

As if miracles are unlimited today, those rosy lips part and his soft voice greets your ears.

“You’re welcome.” He pauses. 

“But don’t start expecting a bunch of freebies now; I’m no pushover.”

His dark eyes are dancing with something akin to mirth and his grin looks more teasing than sweet now and oh god you’re in really deep now, aren’t you?

You’re sure you look like a bumbling fool but all you can manage is a giggle just a little too high pitched and your face will almost certainly split apart if you smile any wider. Jihoon gives you your bag and you feel a disorientating mix of emptiness and elation when you step out of the store. The grin doesn’t leave your face for the rest of the day--especially after reaching your dorm room and finding yet another mysterious package of candy--a strawberry KitKat at the bottom of your bag despite his words. Once again you can’t recall seeing him ever slipping it in but, then again, you often find it difficult to focus on anything other than his dark irises and your own racing pulse when he’s around.

You fumble in your haste to flip the package over, nearly dropping it altogether just to check if he left another small note. To your joy, you’re met with the same, messy handwriting as before.

Your heart swells with affection and you carefully open the package, sure not to tear it before you dutifully place the wrapper in the top drawer of your desk, right next to the first one.

Butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach as you imagin your collection growing. Small, friendly notes growing into longer, affection messages, confessions, feelings that couldn’t possibly be anything less than romantic--you stop that train of thought there; it is dangerous territory.

But as the days continue you find yourself feeling closer and closer to Jihoon. Casual conversation slowly became the norm between you two, even so far as cracking jokes and teasing each other. The little treats continue as well. Almost every time you leave the store you find various flavored candies--cherry lollipops, watermelon gum, ginger cookies--each one with a small note on the back.

The roles between you two of cashier and idol seem to melt away like lemon drops on your tongue. Jihoon never asks anything about your career or why you visit at odd hours of the night or early morning with random gap days in between. But you suppose you like it that way.

And you like Jihoon.

You’ve known that for a while now but with the second week of February approaching you’ve decided to make your feelings clear. You’re going to confess to Lee Jihoon.

The thought alone both terrifies and exhilarates you in the way you think the world’s fastest rollercoaster might.

Jihoon is a simple man, you reason. And thus you’ve decided on a simple confession: homemade chocolates and a note.

You can’t go wrong there, right?

Heart-shaped, slightly sweet, and full of your love--the ultimate Valentine’s Day gift of sincerity and dedication.

You’ve prepared almost everything well in advance to prevent any unexpected hiccups and you visit the 7-Eleven on the thirteenth for one last visit before everything will most certainly--whether for the best or the worst--change.

You half-heartedly pick up a bag of chips without even reading the label before rushing to the cash register.

Jihoon greets you with a ghost of a smile and you two proceed to make small talk, as usual, but something about it feels slightly different. He is quiet by nature, obviously the type of person to prefer actions over words, but his answers to your questions lag behind and his replies are shorter than usual. He is visibly distracted and you struggle with the strong urge to know why he feels that way and how you can fix it and what you can do to make him feel better--but all of that seems it would be crossing some sort of metaphorical line in your already unstable relationship so you don’t mention it.

All too soon Jihoon has bagged your purchase and this time you actually see him slip something extra in as your “freebie” but you pointedly pretend not to notice.

“See you tomorrow,” you call, already growing anxious at what exactly tomorrow would mean for you two.

But Jihoon doesn’t nod or repeat the phrase back.

Instead, he averts his gaze downwards as if apologetic and a hand lifts to sheepishly ruffle the hair at the back of his head.

“Ah, actually I won’t be here tomorrow. I asked for a day off.”

Your heart sinks.

Ten minutes later you’re back in your dorm room, alone, with a plastic bag in your hand. You can’t for the life of your remember what how you made it back or what you even said to Jihoon before you left but you can’t find it in yourself to even care.

You had planned so hard, worked out every possible detail--except the most important one, apparently.

Your crush won’t even be around for your confession.

Logically, you know it’s not the end of the world. There are plenty of other opportunities to confess or you could even give him the chocolate a little late, the day he’s back, but none of that makes your chest any less tight.

The weight in your left hand reminds you of a possible emotional outlet and you’re tearing open the bag of chips with the intent of eating your feelings away before you can think any better of it. The small package you saw Jihoon stuff in your bag earlier tumbles out with the motion and you almost scoff when you recognize the pink and red packaging as some type of Valentine’s candy.

You want to ignore it, you really do.

But it’s from Jihoon so you just can’t.

You snatch it up from the ground, glaring at it as if it were the cause of your foul mood and you expectantly flip it over for a message on the back.

And there is a message--but its different.

Instead of a scrawl across the black and white print of a nutritional label there is a light grey sticky note taped on with more words than usual. 

A series of numbers are at the end. 

[w44]

Football Fan and Charitable Man

At 8:00 PM on a Tuesday night, the light blue Skype app flickers to life. This app is the 850-mile link between me and a man in Seattle. The video call rings. A face appears. I smile and say hello, but I quickly realize he can’t hear or see me. I watch his eyes intently dart from one side of the screen to the other. His face tenses as he scours for a solution to this problem. I notice he sits in an office laced with Seahawks memorabilia. A football helmet riddled with autographs, a framed picture of former quarterback Matt Hasselbeck, and mounted triumphantly in the middle of the office, just above his head, is the front page of the Seattle Times after the Seahawk’s 2014 Super Bowl win. Each piece represents an era of the Seattle Seahawks football legacy. It’s here that he spends hours immersed in his love for the sports franchise. I direct my attention back to him and watch his eyes squint as he maneuvers his mouse like a commander at a battle station. Suddenly, the white glow of the working Skype app illuminates his face, confirming that he’s solved the problem and we can communicate. He eases back into his chair and smiles softly, waiting for me to take the reigns on the conversation. I’ve earned time that this man doesn’t seem to have, and I’m not going to waste it. This man is Brian Nemhauser. Brian appears to live a life like any other middle aged man in the Seattle area. He resides in Bellevue, the less hectic version of Seattle. He supports his wife and two kids as Director of Product Management at Adobe where he’s been employed since he graduated from American University in 1997. At Adobe, Brian “started in tech support and moved onto quality engineering … and then product management.” Brian appears like a completely regular person when he’s buying groceries or taking his kids to school. However, the difference between Brian and everyone else comes to life in the office he sits in during the interview. In that office, Brian spends hours pouring over statistics, studying NFL game film, and producing passion filled articles. Brian is the author, editor, and producer of hawkblogger.com, a sports blog covering the Seattle Seahawks since 2007. When his thirst for knowledge relating to the Seahawks wasn’t quenched by the local media, he began producing content himself. He writes articles about anything Seahawks related, including specific games, players, or even holistic evaluations about the front office. He says he writes “to extract the thoughts in my head into some sensible written form that people can read and discuss.” His audience started from a mere two people; a man in Alaska and a local mom. Over the past nine years, those two readers expanded into thousands. Then, tens of thousands. Now, hundreds of thousands and growing. He’s a staple guest on a local radio show on KJR 950 with well-known local broadcaster Dave “Softy” Mahler. He has his own collection of sources for articles from the likes of Seahawks players, coaches, and personnel. Local journalists are the ones citing his work, so anyone reading the Seattle newspapers have no choice but to recognize the name “Hawk Blogger.” As his site gained popularity, so did the opportunity to monetize it. Companies saw the high page views hawkblogger.com, and offered to buy advertising space on his site. Brian faced his own moral dilemma. He explained how he didn’t like the idea of having his “passion project” be full of ads, and he “felt a little dirty getting paid to write about the Seahawks” when he made a good living at this day job. In 2012, Brian realized that he could sell ad space on the blog and donate the earnings to charity instead of keeping it. John Schneider, General Manager of the Seahawks, launched a charity that coincided perfectly with Brian’s realization. The charity Ben’s Fund provides financial assistance for families that need help with autism treatment. Brian explains that he has a son with special needs, “and when Ben’s Fund got announced, it just seemed like the perfect symmetrical way for me to keep the purpose of the blog in harmony.” Since then, his blog isn’t just a passion project, it has a purpose. Brian didn’t create the blog as an idea to make a change. It evolved into one. He impacts people by writing articles that people spend time reading. Ads are shown on the blog and when someone views a page, and that turns into money donated to Ben’s Fund. Through this, the time he spends researching and writing in his office late at night eases the stress of another family. Brian focuses his articles on quality content, and living a busy life, he claims to never proofread his articles. Proofreading takes time he already doesn’t have. He claims his purpose isn’t to create a refined piece, but to incite conversation. I asked him how he balances a full time job while spending time with his family and updating his blog. He pauses for a second, then delivers an analogy akin to those he writes about the Seahawks. “Ultimately, it comes down to priorities and knowing what your rocks in the river are” he explains like he’s contemplated this question for years. “In other words, what are the parts of your life that everything else has to flow around?” He pauses, waiting for an answer, but not expecting one. “For me, it’s 1. Family and Friends, 2. Job, 3. Blog, 4. Health, 5. Everything else.” Simple. Clean. Straightforward. He doesn’t shy away from acknowledging that his dedication to the blog means sacrificing things like working out or cleaning up the house. He embraces it. Brian’s extreme dedication to his blog has led Seahawks players to take note of his in-depth analysis. Through maintaining his active Twitter account, @hawkblogger, he routinely calls out players by their Twitter handles after games to praise them. Brian has cultivated unique relationships with current Seahawks players, which has separated himself from the completely objective analysis of the blog. Knowing that the players are reading his work “is gratifying” and he “never, ever, expected this level of interaction with players, coaches and front office members.” Brian “cherishes [his] player relationships above all others” and claims that he does his “best to respect that trust while also holding them accountable on the blog.” Brian Nemhauser, the person, will always be more involved than Hawk Blogger, the alias. He started the blog as an overly dedicated fan, not a writer attempting to abide by any sort of journalistic integrity. Object newspaper reporters may not be able to foster friendships with players because of potential bias, and maybe Hawk Blogger can’t either. But Brian Nemhauser can. The peak of Brian’s blog and Seahawks fandom was the 2013-2014 NFL season. The Seahawks were rated #1 in the league, thanks to a suffocating defense and a quarterback with pinpoint accuracy. “The team was executing at an absurd level and they felt different than teams of the past” Brian explains, “I was enthralled along with my readship.” Every victory brought more people swarming to HawkBlogger.com as people tried to learn more about a team that felt “different.” The Seahawks stormed into the playoffs, trouncing opponent after opponent and eventually earning the opportunity to play in Super Bowl XLVIII in New Jersey. Ticket prices for the game coupled with the airfare for flying across the country limited the chance for Seahawks fans to experience the action in person. Luckily, one dedicated fan had an idea. If fans couldn’t go as on their own, they could all pitch in to fund one deserving individual. There was only one fan that other fans could rally behind. Hawk Blogger. The man who’d written countless enthralling articles all season deserved to see the team in the biggest game of the year. Hawk Blogger readers were sick with Super Bowl fever and raised an astounding $1661 to help cover his expenses. I donated $25 myself because I, like others, recognized Brian as someone to live vicariously through. Brian was taken aback seeing the amount of money raised from people that only know of him through the blog. He explained, “I never imagined I’d feel such strong of a connection to my readers. I wish they all could’ve been there. They deserved to be.” February 2, 2014. Super Bowl XLVIII. Seahawks vs. Broncos. The game began with a Broncos mishap, allowing the Seahawks to take the early lead. Brian recounts, “Twelve seconds into the game the momentum was set. You could feel the energy start from the players and reverberate into the stands.” In a game characterized by complete and utter domination, the Seahawks breezed to a 43-8 victory. The win was even sweeter knowing that Seahawks supporters helped send mega-fan Brian Nemhauser to New Jersey to be there for the franchise’s historic moment. This was someone who wrote about the Seahawks in the years when they struggled to reach mediocrity, and now he was experiencing the greatest moment in the team’s history. Brian portrayed his feelings about the game by prefacing, “not including anything related to my family, watching the seconds tick off the clock in Super Bowl 48 was the happiest moment of my life.” After capturing the essence of the game on the blog, Brian returned home. He continues to grow his readership writing informed and entertaining articles about the Seahawks. After nine years of writing on the blog, the Seahawks aren’t just a hobby for Brian. They’re part of him.