#like vitamins n stuff

[bfish]

hi……….wanna come cuddle?

hii just finished therapy im running into your arms

[zoekrystall]

Did I ever complain abt that publicly idk anyways I need to get to the big city (2h to and 2h back, not much for the states but sure for me) and next to not wanting to bc cold, they gonna stab bc blood test and my body hates making that easy to locate (dif place but I will never forget the time I got stabbed like three times and still no blood so new appointment had to be made, I have a fear of needles otherwise it would be whatev), and even more risky bc gatherings were recently do I prob hate the most that like. I'm hungry.

I'm hungry and I suck at eating enough so I often go out w not much in my stomach. I survive but it sucks really bad that I can't either buy smth once I arrive to eat on the way back or pack smth to like eat on the journey bc no-one wears a mask and the virus stays rampant so I can't take my mask off until I'm back home. At the inbetween stop I maybe could but I rather won't risk anything. Esp in winter I could bring smth warm to drink w me at least but I rather don't in the crowd I gotta walk through. Least people are when I'm only a few mins away from home and at that point I can always just wait a bit longer.

Tbh I dread going outside and limit it to only shopping and appointments bc even if I could walk here prob somewhere without many people do I rather just stay indoors and try to limit irl reminders of how many people can't be bothered to care bc that just nosedives my mental health. It doesn't help that I still try to nudge my irl friends to care more.

[rubberbandballqueen]

i'm getting a tan on my hands bc i never go out w/o a jacket and it's like. "did i have a tan like this in high school?" (was the public school kid who wore a winter jacket year-round) and "should i just start wearing gloves all the time too?" (thinks the tan looks silly bc it literally stops at my wrists)

[villalunae]

i need to get blasted with vegetables fucking stat

[this-doesnt-endd]

Just had a dr appt that coulda been a phone call damn i was booking it to get here on time and all that and it was so quick brought a book and everything

[togament]

⤷ ume, sakura, nirei, kiryu, kaji, togame, suo, endo.

"he wants to make you smile so he left you a little note. What'd he write and where'd he hide it? I got you."

⤷ 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF!!!!, g/n reader, suo's kinda scares me ngl, I feel guilty for togame pls be patient with him He Is Trying, ENDO IS SCARY, nirei is very sweet oh MY GOD, all the fluff all the fluffies!!!!!!!

♯ 𝐔𝐌𝐄

"You found it! ◡̈ I just wanted to drop a little sunshine for my sunshine while I go get some sunshine ☼ You're my favorite person in the world and I hope this note makes your heart do a little happy dance like mine does whenever I see you. If you find this (and you did!! Yay!) it means you're awesome and that I'm so lucky to have you in my life. I love you!!!!! Your Number One Fan, 🍑"

Little doodles and happy scribbles!!!! You can tell he was smiling so widely when he wrote everything out for you -- it's like you can feel his happiness radiating from his writing it's very infectious. He just loves you that much.

(hid it in your favorite mug for you to find in the morning when he's out tending to his garden.)

────

♯ 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈

"Hey, love. Just a quick note to remind you how much I appreciate everything you do. For me and the boys. Your support means the absolute world to me. Don't forget to take your vitamins today -- gotta take care of yourself too, alright? I love you. - T."

Thankful and doting!!!!!! Vaguely smells like him too so you know he kept the note right by his jacket pocket for a while before sneaking it into its rightful hiding spot. His handwriting is sharp and you know he wrote it quick. He probably wrote it while on patrol.

(hid it inside your vitamin case that you use daily so you find it easily.)

────

♯ 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀

"I'm not really good with this whole cutesy stuff, but I wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you. You make my days better (even if I don't say it right). Love you. Lots. - S. P.S. there's chocolate for you in the fridge :)"

Clumsy and cute, the note has little writing indents of past notes he's written and promptly thrown away. He settled for this one because you're stirring awake beside him and he doesn't wanna get caught lmao

(Has the note hidden in one of the books you're currently reading, right where your bookmark is.) ────

♯ 𝐍𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐈

"Whoops. You found me. Wanted to leave you a little surprise! I'm planning on something fun for us real soon, but until then (tonight!!) I hope this note makes you smile as much as you make me smile every day. You're the best! I can't wait to see you. - your bunny."

Bright and cheery, much like Nirei is. Of course he has something planned for the both of you by the end of the day and he's keeping it a secret... But you know him. Something's bound to slip from his lips when you meet up with him tonight. Promise to act surprised?

(He hides it inside your pencil box because he knows you use it on the daily.)

────

♯ 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔

"Sweetheart! ♡ Surprise! I just wanted to leave a little reminder of how much I adore you. If you find this note, it means you didn't wait for me to play with you ( •̀ - •́ ) kidding! Can't wait to start our new game tonight. I love youuuu!! - forever your Player Two ♡"

Written on a purple and pink post-it, it's spritzed with his perfume. His penmanship is remarkable too. Playful and sweet!!!!! It makes you extremely giddy and excited to meet up with him later. You know for a fact he's got his space set and decked out in fairy lights for your game night. Gotta wait for a couple more hours though UGHHHSHAS

(has it neatly hidden inside the game case of the new game you both have been dying to play.)

────

♯ 𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈

"Before anything, don't get mushy on me. Just wanted to say you're pretty great and I'm glad you're around. Found this album at the shop. Remembered you saying you wanted to listen to them, so I guess that's my way of saying I care. Listen to it with me later. - Ren. ♡"

neatly written on a post-it note, you kinda think it could be printed out. It's crazy. Short and concise, you can tell he had his brows furrowed when he wrote this for you. He's trying!!!!!! He really is!!!! You know he'd bring some food for the both of you when you meet up. He's a romantic at heart.

(has it taped to the CD he bought for you right next to your player.)

────

♯ 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄

"I'm probably late again, aren't I? Big surprise. I promise I'm working on it, but in the meantime, I thought I'd leave you a little reminder that you're amazing and that I promise I'll always be worth the wait. Thank you for being so patient with me, doll. I love you. A lot. Bringing your favorite dish tonight. Kame Special. -🐢"

HE'S TRYINGGG AAAASJKDKJASD!!!!!! As you read, you can practically hear the slight purr in his voice and he sounds so apologetic too. HE'S TRYING HE'S TRYINGGJAKJDS he loves his sleep a bit too much, you see. Pepper him in kisses when you meet him tonight. He deserves as much.

(Snuck it inside your planner the night before your date so you'd find it when you go check on your schedule for the day. He's not late for your home date later, by the way.)

────

♯ 𝐒𝐔𝐎

"My dove. Consider this a little hint: I've got a little something special planned for you, but you'll have to find more clues first and follow them. I promise you won't be disappointed. I'll be waiting for you tonight. Wear that dress that I love so much, yes? - Your Hayato."

uH OH. UH OH UH OH. Your man has you working for the surprise but that's such a him thing to do. At least he has something super cute planned by the end of it!!! If he says you won't be disappointed, he means it. HE MEANS IT.

(hid it inside the pocket of your coat that he knows you'll be using today. It's something you'd naturally reach into. Such a Suo thing to plan out.)

────

♯ 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎

"Hey there, gorgeous. I know you're in the middle of pretending not to miss me while reading up on this chapter. It's my favorite one, by the way. If you find this note, it means I'm missing you too and totally not hiding underneath your bed or in your closet ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ See you in a sec. - Only Your Yams."

Ominous and teasing, much like Endo is. You kind of wanna check under your bed and in your closet but you know your boyfriend's just out to grab some coffee for the both of you. His handwriting is legible and super neat and he spritzed some of his favorite perfume on the note too. Mmmmm. Sandalwood and smoky vanilla.

(hid it between the pages of your favorite book with your bookmark replaced with a new one he bought for you. One of those fancy ones that can mark the words and stuff. Has to match his.)

a/n: I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING I FUNALLYNJASDJKASD HUHUHUHUHUUASHKAS thank you for reading through this. I feel very rusty.

[apute11as]

Liability - Alexia putellas x reader (+platonic Lucy bronze)

Based on this little request of ficlets (more will follow) x

Warnings: no warnings just Alexia being overly protective

- part of the “everything happens for a reason” universe 🤗

It was around 9pm and Lucy had just returned from dinner and analysis with the team when her phone started to ring. Glancing down at it, she was met with a picture of Alexia bent down as you poured champagne into her mouth out of the Champions league trophy, a contact photo that captured a rare moment of pure joy from the Catalan midfielder. Lucy wondered what on earth would her captain be calling about this late at night, worried it was to yell at Lucy for not telling her that you were pregnant, the second she found out. Hesitantly, Lucy accepted the face time.

“Ay dios mío Lucia today would be great” scolded Alexia.

“Sorry Ale but may i ask why you’re calling me out of the blue?” She replied

“Y/n is pregnant.” She stated bluntly.

Ah yes Lucy could see this one coming but she was not about to be blamed for anything Alexia was ready to accuse her of.

“She is. Congratulations.” Lucy responded in an equally blunt tone.

“I’m very happy” Alexia added.

“You really sound it Ale” Lucy mocked

“Excuse me?” exclaimed the blonde, a hint of annoyance laced her voice.

“Why are you calling me Alexia, I’m very happy for you both too but this phone call seems rather pointless, like something that could’ve been done over text?” Said Lucy, hoping her captain would get to the point so she could be on her way to bed.

“Right yes, there was a point” Alexia stated, clearing her throat as though she was preparing a pre-match speech. “I love y/n very much but she’s ridiculously stubborn, I mean she hid a whole pregnancy for a while just so she could play in this tournament. Whilst I’m mad at her, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same so with that being said, I’m asking you to watch over her for me.”

Lucy was taken aback, she was not sure what she’d expected from this conversation but this wasn’t quite it.

“You’re asking me to babysit your wife?” Laughed Lucy

“Sort of? I’m just saying I know I already told you to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid, like play through and injury and when I told you to keep an eye on her sickness and stuff but now she’s carrying mi princesa, even more of a reason why I won’t let her do something dumb.” She explained

“Alexia you and I both know how stubborn she is, if I start hovering she’ll kill me” Lucy argued

“Fine I tried to be nice, she always tells me if I use my captain voice it’s not fair but Lucia I swear to God if anything happens to her or my baby I will get you benched for the rest of the season and then kill you” Alexia responded with a stern, demanding voice.

“Okay okay but if she finds out and calls you to complain that’s your fault not mine” bargained Lucy.

“Si si, of course! Make sure she eats enough, lots of vitamins, make sure she doesn’t train too hard, make sure she gets lots of sleep and-“

“Crshhhhh lo siento Capi the phone is- crshhhh breaking up- crshhhhh”

And with that Lucy hung up, rustling her crisp packet worked every time with Alexia as she had been told by you, bless Alexia and her inability to understand technology.

Just as Lucy opened her hotel room door, Mary came running down the corridor with you on her back, Alessia and Ella hot on her heels. Dear God what had Lucy gotten herself into.

[bittersw33t-lotus]

Little Life

Ghosting Series pt. 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Cw: pregnancy stuff, reader is female, cursing (let me know I I missed anything)

A/N: sorry if this is very short the chapters may be pretty short just so my motivation to keep writing can stay.

Part 2 here

“Alright hon, if you can lay on the bed and lift you shirt over you belly please.” Dr. Raven says, the woman pointing to the dull looking patient bed with thin paper lining fitted over the top.

You follow her words and sit down on the bed, the cushion was surprisingly comfortable to sit on. You bring your shirt up over your stomach stopping at your rib cage and lay back waiting for Raven to prepare for the scanning. You watch as she brings out a plastic bottle you assumed was the gel, as she opened the plastic cap as she looks at you. “Okay, I’m going to put this on your abdomen. Be prepared, this will be cold.” She says as she squeezes the bottle over your stomach, the bright translucent blue gel slithers out the opening and trails down towards your stomach.

The moment it makes contact with your skin, your stomach retracted back at the cold viscous material. You shudder a breath and laugh a bit. “You weren’t lying.” You joked as Raven smiled and chucked at your response.

“Always takes them by surprise.” She says before she finishes squeezing the bottle, pulling it away and closing the cap back on. Placing it down on the table beside her she grabs the transducer clicking a few buttons and the screen turns on. She places the nub against your abdomen and spread the gel around your stomach and looks at the screen seeing the scan coming through as she adjusts it to hover where your uterus is.

You watch the screen feeling a bit anxious as you watch trying to figure out exactly what you were seeing, after a couple seconds you soon immediately spot a little white blob. A baby.

“There it is. Your baby.” She tells you as you stare at the screen in awe. That’s really inside you. Your baby slowly growing by the second, yours and Simon’s baby.

“So tiny.” You say as Dr. Raven nods to your words.

“You’re only eight weeks currently, it looks like you and the baby are doing just fine so far, baby is healthy and growing, overall you’re both doing great. I’ll provide you with some prenatal vitamins for you to take. I did notice in your readings, your blood pressure is a bit high than we’d like it to be so I need you to make sure you’re not overworking yourself, do more things to keep you calm and not focus and do things that cause you such distress if that’s possible. Other than that, you’re all set and good to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Raven says as she takes a few pictures of the scan to print out for you.

You breathe out in relief, the baby is all good. You figured the high blood pressure was definitely caused by the whole situation with Simon so you don’t know how you can make yourself forget about it, on top of that you’ve also been worried about finding a place to live and trying to figure out your financial situation now with Simon out of the picture. You take a deep breath and nod at Dr. Ravens advice. “I’ll be sure not to.” You tell her with a small smile as she hands you a paper towel to wipe off the gel, which you take.

“Would you be comfortable with telling me about the cause for your mental or physical wellbeing may be? Anything that maybe I could help you with if possible.” She asks you; you can spot the concern in her eyes when she brings it up.

You shake your head and ignore the feeling you felt as she brings it up but regardless you smile and shake your head. “Just trying to deal with not having the father in the picture. He decided he didn't want to be around." You tell her as she nods, understanding your words.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She tells you as you simply shrug your shoulders pulling you shirt back down.

"it's fine, think we'll be better off without him anyways.” You tell her. It's true, to an extent, at least that’s what keep telling yourself. You know you can do this all on your own. It won't be easy, but you hope you can manage. But deep down, you know you'll never be okay not having him by your side. He’ll miss out on so much, like watching your baby grow, learning and growing along with the baby as that baby also learns from you. You both won’t grow old together like you both wanted, with a bunch of animals, but with the baby included, maybe one or two more if things had worked out in the end.

You finish up the remaining paper work you had to sign and received your vitamins. Dr. Raven hands the ultrasound pictures to you in a white envelope and you make your way back to the lobby where Jared waited, still sitting and reading the pamphlets. He looks up as he notices you approaching and smiles as he stands up. “How’d it go?” He asks you.

You hold up the envelope with a smile. “It was great, got to see the baby, doctor said that they’re healthy and everything looks good thankfully. Just have to focus on not stressing myself out so much.” You tell him as you both make your way out of the building and into the parking lot.

“That’s great to hear. I’m sure Stacy already told you but she has a surprise in stock for you but she’s wondering if you have anything nice to wear.” He asks you as you approach the car.

Opening the car door you think for a minute before you nodded. “Yeah, I should.” You tell him. You’re sure you can find something. You took everything with you when you left Simon’s place, all your things are still in boxes save for the necessities that you need, but you’re sure you can find something.

On the drive back you spent the entire car ride back home staring and looking at the ultrasound picture, the little blob that you still couldn’t grasp was your baby, just still needed some more months to grow before you can meet them and that made you anxious. You don’t think you could wait that long.

“What’re you hoping for?” Jared asks you, steering the wheel as he switches to the next lane, glancing at the photos in your hand.

You think about it for a moment, it hasn’t crossed your mind surprisingly. Either one would be great, there was a moment where you dreamt of having a baby girl with Simon. You can’t lie, the sight of Simon being a girl dad made you all giddy and warm. Then thinking about a little boy, one that looked like a copy and paste of Simon would be so cute. You smile as the possibilities ran through your head, of course you’re just being delusional, you wouldn’t be able to see that happen ever. Just a thought in the back of your mind.

“Honestly either would be great. I don’t mind what I have, as long as the baby is healthy that’s enough for me.” You say tucking the photos into your purse, holding it close to you.

Jared smiled and nodded. “Sounds great, you’ll make a great mother. I’m sure of it.” He says to you as you smile, the reassurance from Jared was something you didn’t know you needed but greatly appreciated.

“Thanks.” You say to him, before you know it you’ve finally made it back home.

Once you arrived home you got out the car and walked into the house. Right away Stacy approached you with a smile.

“How’d it go?” She asks you as she gets up from the soft couch and walking over towards you and Jared.

You pull out the envelope and pull out the multiple pictures and hand them out for her. Upon seeing them she awe’s as she examined the little bean like fetus. “Little baby.” She coos before looking at you. “How far along are you?” She asks you.

“Eight weeks. I’ll be able to see the baby’s gender by fourteen weeks.” You tell her as she hands back the photos to you. Placing them in you bag you can see Stacy smile as she walks towards the island counter of in the kitchen. “Oh, what was that surprise you had in store?” You ask her.

She props herself up on the counter with her elbows and looks at the time. “We decided to treat you to dinner tonight. We have a reservation set for six tonight. You feeling up for it?” She asks you.

You take a moment to think and nod your head a bit excited to hear you’ll be eating at a restaurant feeling your hormones go crazed at the thought of food. “Yeah, I’ll get ready now.” You tell her with a wide smile. You haven’t eaten out at a restaurant in a long time. Last time you went was with Simon for the last anniversary together.

Making your way to your ‘room’ you take out a box with your fancier clothes. Opening the box you pull out multiple tops, bottoms, and dresses. Finally choosing one you like you slip the dress on and admire yourself in the mirror. You bump is bulging out a bit, you take the time to admire it.

You took the time to shower, do your make up and get dressed right on time. Stacy looked at your outfit as you did a 360 showing off your outfit. “You’re not even half way into pregnancy and already look like a milf.” Stacy jokes, you laugh as you grab your purse.

“Don’t tell me lies Stace.” You tell her as she shrugs her shoulder.

“I only tell the truth.” She says as you both walk out the door and towards the already running car where Jared sat in waiting for you two.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

A click from the lock sounds from the front door as it swings open. Simon’s bulking frame walks through the door as he scans the house. It’s dark and eerily silent.

When Simon came back, he felt like shit. His heart dreaded coming home to see your answer. He hoped you stayed, at least long enough till he came back, he planned to move out the house and leave it for you if you decided to keep the baby. It would give him a peace of mind to know where you were and know that you and the kid were safe, and you could use the extra room and space for the baby. But, even if you got rid of it, he doesn’t know if your relationship could ever be the same.

However your answer was first made clear when your car not in the drive way. His heart dropped but he took a deep breath, ‘Maybe she’s at the store.’ He thought. He hadn’t texted you either to let him know he was coming home today, he couldn’t bring himself too.

You’re not here. It’s something Simon suspected but he still feels dread overcome him as he steps into the house and notices the little things around the house that belonged to you were gone. Your shoes were gone, your car keys, the blanket you left on the couch is gone. He walks into your shared bedroom, which is now his bedroom, opening the door and he’s stunned with how much of an eye sore it is. His room is so plain now, like how it looked before you moved in with him.

He remembers how much you wanted to decorate the place, especially the bedroom, you hated how lifeless the whole house looked. It didn’t take much to convince him to let you decorate saying , “Go crazy.” And you did. Literally. You decorated adding a touch of you but keeping it to an extent to not overwhelm Simon. You hung up a few decorations and posters in the bed room of bands you and Simon both loved. A few shelves displaying your books and trinkets. Your touch added to his home making it more like home for him. Like you were his home. He liked, loved it if he dare say, he worried you would over do the place but it look perfect. Like you.

But now as he looked around the house, he sees the walls are bare and plain. He feels plain now, empty. Sad. He looks through your closet and drawers only to find them completely bare and empty.

He walks into the living room notices your shoes are gonna as well from the rack, and the little table beside the front door, he noticed the white folded paper on the little ceramic plate that held their keys, walking over he pick up the paper seeing his name written on it in your hand writing, unfolding it reveals page with your writing inked into the material.

‘I know we made a promise but this is something that takes two to do, accidents happen and I know you never wanted children and you knew it was still on the table for me, I’m thankful that you gave me a choice, even if it wasn’t easy. I don’t want to drag you into something you never wanted but it still hurts that I have to chose between you and this baby. I figured it was best for the both of us if I left, you can keep your home and I can keep my baby. I hope you stay safe out there Simon and please take care of yourself. I still and always will love you and I’m sorry.’ Simon checked the back of the paper for anything else but it was empty. You didn’t say where or what you were going to do and it scared Simon. Were you safe, do you have a place to stay, do you have people to help?

He knew you weren’t really in any contact with your family, your only friends were Johnny, Gaz, and Price. His ‘friends’ were yours. For the most part Simon knew you didn’t have anyone to help you or look after you and the baby. “Fuck!”

Taglist <3

@wise-owl @sandyseagullsip @mileyraes @nicolebarnes @nikkyevansdochen22 @mattmurdock-wife24 @demonking-69 @mooievis @lunamoonbby @cherrycosmos392 @eevee-of-eternity @makimamybelovedwife @venavanup @amberpanda99 @simplyymee98 @callmeluno @stormy-stardust @ssc7514 @badbitchthings @moldypeaching @asteria33 @going-through-shit @blarba-girl @leonsgirlie @andoraamore @nobodycanknoww @thegreyjoyed @natashamea18 @kylies-love-letter @blackhawkfanatic @leehoonii-i @xenop0p @sh1ga-to3s

[hana-loves-bumblebees]

Same vibes

nežiju si svůj diskopříběh :((

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— said “i’m fine” but it wasn’t the truth ; when people said when we’re mad and frustrated we can just break stuff, punch walls, smash chairs, or destroy whatever. but why do we always end up just staying quiet and decided destroying our mental health instead?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Winter classes were supposed to be a chance to get ahead, but instead, they felt like a relentless race you were barely managing to keep up with. The class wasn’t crowded, maybe a dozen students, but each one of them seemed like a walking encyclopedia, filled with confidence and an unwavering hunger for knowledge. They’d arrive at class an hour early, occupying the front rows with books spread out in front of them, and their hands perpetually raised, ready to challenge or add to whatever the professor was saying. It made you feel small, like you hadn’t studied enough, like you didn’t belong.

Each night, you’d prepare as much as you could for the next day’s lecture, even though your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Your mind wandered constantly—flitting between how much you just wanted to curl up in your dorm bed with a warm blanket, and how the pressure to perform was slowly grinding you down. Your mom’s incessant texts about what you should eat, reminding you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic, felt like a constant pressure to maintain an unrealistic level of perfection.

You tried to get some rest, but your brain wouldn’t turn off. Sleep was the only escape, and yet, even when you did sleep, it wasn’t restful. Every time you stirred, you’d hear the familiar blare of your alarm reminding you to take another supplement, or the ping of your phone with another message from your mom telling you that your meal delivery was arriving soon. It all became so routine that you found yourself on autopilot—studying, sleeping, eating whatever your mom sent, and wondering if it was all worth it.

Sometimes, the thought of skipping class altogether seemed tempting. Why couldn’t you just enjoy your break like other students? The thought of cozying up in your room, watching movies, and getting some real rest before the next semester felt like a distant dream. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t let yourself fall behind. Not with the way things were going.

It was during one of these dreary cycles—struggling through the monotony of your winter class—that you ran into Yamaguchi. He had just returned from a winter volleyball camp in Okinawa, looking worn out but content, with a large backpack slung over his shoulder as he entered the dormitory. You had just received another food delivery from your mom and were balancing the boxes awkwardly in your arms when you saw him.

“Back from camp?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though you felt a wave of envy wash over you. He had been training in the sun, while you had been holed up in your dorm, trapped between study sessions and forced naps.

Yamaguchi flashed you a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just got back. Okinawa was nice, but the camp was brutal.”

“I bet,” you replied. “Must be exhausting.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But, hey, there’s a game coming up this weekend. A lot of students will be there—it’s kind of a big deal. You should come. You could use a break.”

You hesitated, balancing the food boxes in your arms. You weren’t sure you could afford to take a break, but the idea of escaping the monotony—even just for an afternoon—was enticing.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you said. “I could use a distraction.”

Yamaguchi grinned. “Great! You won’t regret it.” and then he disappeared heading to his own room.

You find yourself sitting in your room, staring at the clock as it ticks toward the start of your winter class. Normally, you would have packed up your things by now, grabbing your notebook and meticulously prepared materials, ready to attend. But today, the heavy feeling in your chest has been particularly suffocating. Your classmates—so driven, so sure of themselves—are already filing into the classroom, likely throwing questions at the professor before the lecture even begins. Meanwhile, you sit paralyzed with dread, the thought of being surrounded by such ambition making you want to curl up under your blankets and disappear.

Lately, you’ve been thinking about skipping class more often than you care to admit. The demands of the course have been relentless. It’s winter break, and yet here you are, working yourself into exhaustion while others seem to thrive in the chaos. Your mind drifts to how good it would feel to stay in bed, tucked into the warmth of your comforter, resting and doing nothing. It’s hard not to resent how your days are filled with either studying or sleeping, with alarms going off to remind you to take your vitamins or respond to your mom’s texts about food deliveries she insists on managing.

But then, Yamaguchi’s invitation to his game pops back into your mind. Skipping class seemed like an impossible risk. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized how desperately you needed a break from the monotony.

Now, you stand at a crossroads: attend another draining class or take a chance and watch the game. You swallow hard, your nerves bubbling up as you reach for your phone. Quickly, you tap into your settings and turn off your location. Your mom would kill you if she found out you were ditching class.

You can already imagine her voice, stern and disappointed, demanding to know why you weren’t where you were supposed to be. The thought sends a jolt of panic through you, but the excitement of going to Yamaguchi’s game is just strong enough to overpower it. You toss your phone into your bag, slip on your coat, and head out the door before you can second-guess yourself.

When you arrive at the gymnasium, the noise hits you first—a vibrant, buzzing energy that feels almost overwhelming after the quiet of your dorm room. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, heart racing as you navigate through the crowd of students. Everyone seems to be moving in the same direction, excited and chattering about the game ahead.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s Yamaguchi. He’s texted you the seat location: front-row, right near the stands where the volleyball team would be sitting.

That realization makes your stomach flip. You had thought you’d be watching from a distance, blending in with the rest of the crowd, but now…you’d be sitting right where they could see you. And more importantly, where Tsukishima could see you.

The thought of being so close to him, to them, makes you nervous all over again. What if they think you’re a total fraud for skipping class just to be here? What if your classmates see you and realize you’ve abandoned your studies for a game? And worst of all—what if your mom somehow finds out?

You push those worries aside and head toward the front of the gym. You can feel the heat of the stadium lights on your face as you scan for the empty seat Yamaguchi had promised. Your stomach twists when you see it—a perfect spot, right next to where the players are already gathering.

You take a deep breath and sit down, trying to calm your racing heart. Yamaguchi waves at you from the court, his usual friendly smile plastered across his face. You wave back awkwardly, feeling a little out of place but also secretly excited. You can’t remember the last time you did something spontaneous like this, and as the game is about to start, you can feel the excitement building in the air around you. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The gym grows louder, students chanting and clapping, their energy infectious. As the game progresses, you find yourself fully immersed in it. The players move across the court with a fluidity and grace that you can’t help but admire, and every time Yamaguchi’s name is called, you cheer louder than you expected.

But every time your eyes wander across the court, they keep finding him—Tsukishima. You don’t even mean to look at him, but it feels impossible not to. He’s just there, always in the corner of your vision, his sharp focus making him seem untouchable. His tall figure commands attention, the way he’s so utterly concentrated on the game almost mesmerizing.

At one point, during a timeout, you catch him glancing toward the stands—toward you. For a split second, your eyes meet, and your heart skips a beat. It’s so brief, you’re not sure if it even really happened. Maybe you’re just imagining things, but the feeling stays with you.

You try to shake it off and return your focus to the game, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from drifting back to him. You find yourself watching his movements, the way he adjusts his glasses with a flick of his hand, the focused way his brows knit together when he’s strategizing. There’s something magnetic about him—something that makes your heart flutter despite your attempts to stay calm.

Then, when the game is heating up, he calls out to his teammates, his voice firm and commanding. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You quickly exhale, shaking your head at yourself. It’s just Tsukishima. You’ve been around him before, so why is he making you so nervous now?

As the game continues, your eyes keep darting to him—almost unconsciously—as if you’re searching for some sort of acknowledgment. And when his team makes a crucial block, you can’t help but cheer for him too. You clap along with the crowd, but the butterflies in your stomach are there for an entirely different reason.

As the game nears its end and the score tightens, the tension in the gym grows. You grip the edge of your seat, your focus divided between the game and Tsukishima, who’s still laser-focused on the court. Every now and then, he glances at the stands again, and though he never lets his gaze linger on you for long, each fleeting look sends your heart racing.

And then, in one final, climactic play, the ball soars over the net, and Tsukishima jumps—higher than you’ve ever seen him—his hand slamming down in perfect sync with his team’s attack. The gym explodes in cheers as the point is won, sealing the victory. You’re on your feet, clapping and cheering along with everyone else, but all you can think about is how incredible he looked in that moment—so strong, so confident. Your pulse is pounding, and you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement of the game or something else entirely.

When the match ends and the crowd begins to disperse, you feel a mix of relief and lingering anticipation. You made it through the game without being caught, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself have fun without worrying about school or your mom’s expectations.

As you start to gather your things, you feel a presence next to you. You glance up and there he is—Tsukishima. He’s standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, his tall frame casting a slight shadow over you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s a subtle edge to it that makes your heart jump again.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

His gaze flickers toward the crowd, and then back to you. “You’re still here,” he says, as if he hadn’t expected you to stay until the end.

“Of course,” you say, feeling a little flustered. “Yamaguchi invited me.”

Tsukishima nods, his expression unreadable as always. “You didn’t have class?”

Your stomach twists, the lie you’ve been trying to avoid suddenly hanging between you. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. But I skipped it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of something like amusement crossing his features. “You skipped class to watch volleyball?”

“Yamaguchi invited me,” you repeat defensively, but even you can hear how weak the excuse sounds.

Tsukishima huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You feel your face heat up even more, but there’s a strange thrill in his teasing. It’s not cruel, like it sometimes feels when he scolds you in class. This time, it feels almost… warm.

Before you can respond, Yamaguchi jogs over, grinning widely. “Hey! Thanks for coming!” he says, his eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so glad you got to see the game.”

You smile back, grateful for the distraction. “It was great! You guys were amazing. Good game,” you said awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Thanks.”

Yamaguchi chuckled. “Look at him, trying to act all cool. He’s just happy to see you. Tsukki always plays better when someone important is watching,” Yamaguchi teased beside you, his tone playful.

Tsukishima shot Yamaguchi a look but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned back to you, adjusting his glasses. “I’m glad you came.”

The simple statement sent a flutter through your chest, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of ease. Maybe things weren’t perfect—maybe you were still struggling with your classes and the pressures that weighed on you—but in this moment, standing here with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, you realized that you didn’t have to face it all alone. Small moments like this, small escapes from the overwhelming routine, were what made it all bearable.

The rest of the day is a blur, but you carry the memory of the game—and those fleeting moments with Tsukishima—long after you leave the gym. His teasing words, the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary—it all leaves you feeling strangely giddy, like something has shifted between you. You don’t know what it means yet, but the thought of it makes your heart beat just a little faster.

The excitement from the game lingers with you as you walk back to your dormitory. You should feel relieved, maybe even a little triumphant for sneaking out of winter class without getting caught. But as you step through the threshold of your room, that familiar heaviness settles back over your chest. The contrast between the energy of the gym and the quiet stillness of your dorm is jarring, almost suffocating.

You close the door behind you and drop your bag on the floor, collapsing onto your bed with a heavy sigh. The reality of what you’ve done sinks in—you’ve skipped class. Skipped winter class. The one your mom keeps reminding you about, the one she’s certain will help you "catch up" with your more advanced classmates. You’re supposed to be there, making up for all the time you’ve "wasted," proving you can handle the challenge.

Instead, you spent the afternoon at a volleyball game.

You glance at your phone, half-expecting an angry message from your mom, berating you for skipping class, but there’s nothing. You turned off your location, after all, so she can’t possibly know. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at your insides, twisting and turning in your stomach until you feel almost sick.

Your phone pings with a new notification. It’s from your class group chat—students exchanging notes and summaries of the lecture you missed. You scan through the messages, but every word feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. All your classmates seem so prepared, so eager to prove themselves. Some of them were in the lecture hall an hour before class even started, peppering the professor with questions as if they were experts themselves. Meanwhile, you’ve barely had the energy to keep up with the material, even though you’ve been reviewing it diligently every night.

You should be like them, you think. You should be more proactive, more engaged. Instead, you’ve been struggling just to stay awake, constantly exhausted, your mind barely able to process anything outside of the textbooks in front of you. It’s as if your body is stuck in a cycle—study until you can’t anymore, collapse into bed, and wake up only when your alarm blares to remind you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic. Your mom’s incessant control over your meals only adds to the stress, with daily reminders that she’s still keeping tabs on your health, convinced you’re not doing enough to take care of yourself.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re not doing enough. But the truth is, you’re just so tired—tired of constantly running on this treadmill, never feeling like you’re getting anywhere. You feel stuck in place, your efforts swallowed up by the endless grind of study, sleep, repeat.

A text comes through from your mom, just as you feared: “Don’t forget to eat the chicken soup I sent over. It should be there by now. And make sure you drink the herbal tonic after—there’s no sugar in it, just like you asked.”

You groan inwardly. Even when you’re not thinking about school, your mom’s constant reminders feel like another layer of pressure. It’s like she doesn’t trust you to manage your own life, and as much as you appreciate her concern, it’s starting to suffocate you. You look over at the brown bag by the door—the delivery she’s had sent to your dorm—and you realize you’ve lost your appetite completely.

You collapse back into bed, letting your body sink into the mattress. You want to sleep. More than anything, you want to shut out the world and just… rest. But your mind won’t let you. It keeps spinning, the guilt of skipping class, the fear of falling behind, and the constant pressure from your mom all swirling around in your head until you can hardly breathe.

And then there’s Tsukishima.

The game flashes in your mind again—his quick glances during the match, the way he teased you afterward, the tension between you when he stood so close. You feel your heart flutter, even as you try to push the thoughts away. You can’t afford to be distracted by him, not when you’re already struggling to keep up with your coursework. But no matter how hard you try to focus, his image keeps creeping back in—his sharp gaze, his calm, steady voice. It’s maddening.

Another buzz from your phone pulls you from your thoughts, but this time it’s not from your mom or your classmates.

It’s Tsukishima.

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the notification.

Did you make it back to your dorm?

You blink at the screen. It's a simple text, nothing special, but the fact that he’s checking in on you sends a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You feel your fingers twitch, hesitating for a moment before you type out a response.

Yeah, just got back. You?

There’s a long pause. You watch the three little dots as he types and deletes a few times, and you start to wonder if maybe you’ve said something wrong. But then his message finally comes through.

Still at the gym. Going to grab something to eat.

You smile, picturing him somewhere near the gym, maybe wiping off sweat or grabbing his things, looking as serious and unruffled as ever. Before you can overthink it, you send another message.

Don’t forget to eat your veggies —you joke, hoping it will lighten the mood.

You wait for a response, and when it comes, it’s as dry as you expect.

Noted.

A small laugh escapes you. You can almost hear the sarcasm in his voice, the subtle amusement lurking beneath his stoic exterior. You set your phone down, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

But even with Tsukishima’s brief distraction, the reality of your situation remains. You still have winter class tomorrow, and the fear of falling behind looms large over you. The holiday break that should have been a time of relaxation has become nothing but stress, pressure, and endless responsibilities. You’ve been trying so hard to keep up, but it’s clear you’re just not moving at the same pace as your classmates. They’re racing ahead while you feel like you’re stuck in quicksand, every step forward dragging you deeper into the struggle.

And then there’s the question you’ve been avoiding: what if you’re not cut out for this? What if no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to catch up? The idea terrifies you, but you can’t shake it. The doubt clings to you like a shadow, darkening every corner of your mind.

As the hours tick by, you find yourself caught between two worlds—the world of responsibility and expectation, and the world of escape, where Tsukishima’s texts linger in your thoughts, a small, comforting reminder that not everything in your life is about pressure and stress.

You rolled over in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. All you wanted was to sleep. To shut out the world and forget about winter class, forget about your mom, forget about everything except the warmth of your bed and the lingering memory of Tsukishima’s text.

But your mind wouldn’t let you rest. It kept spinning, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t afford to be distracted, not by Tsukishima, not by the game, not by anything.

Yet, despite your best efforts, his face kept creeping back into your thoughts. The way he’d glanced at you during the game, the teasing smirk he’d given you afterward. It was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you question why you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you panicked, thinking it was your mom. But when you glanced at the screen, you saw it was another message from Tsukishima.

Get some rest. You look exhausted.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stared at the message, your mind racing. He’d noticed. He’d actually noticed how tired you were, how worn out you felt. It wasn’t much—just a simple observation—but it meant more to you than you wanted to admit.

You typed out a quick response, your fingers trembling slightly.

I will. You too.

His reply came almost immediately.

Sure.

You smiled to yourself, the tension in your chest easing just a little. For a brief moment, everything felt… okay. The stress of winter class, the pressure from your mom, the fear of falling behind—it all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of Tsukishima’s words.

And for now, this moment is enough.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

[mykoreanlove]

my only one

Your engagement party was a full blast - the pittoreske venue was filled with the people you loved most. Everybody was dancing, drinking and celebrating your upcoming wedding.

You had been shaking firm hands and giving out heartfelt hugs all night long, so you snuck out onto the balcony to take a break.

The balcony was covered in golden fairy lights, slightly illuminating the breathtaking view in front of you.

You didn’t turn around as you noticed the door open, you had a gut feeling who it would be.

Strong arms hugged you from behind and a raspy voice whispered in your ear - your home had found you.

„Hey“, he whispered, „you okay?“

You nodded silently and grabbed his arm, squeezing lightly.

„Am now“, you smiled.

Namjoon chuckled and hid his face in the crook of your neck, resting silently for a moment or two.

„You know… you can still say no.“, he stated nervously.

You laughed out loud, filling his ear with the vibration of your amusement.

„Now why would I do that?“

Namjoon hugged you even tighter, merging into one once more.

„So you really mean it, huh?“

„Joon, you’re stuck with me. Forever.“

„Forever? Really?“

„Yes, you dumbass, forever. Were you really doubting?“

He let out a deep sigh, as if he was finally releasing the anxiety he carried in his heart.

„It’s just that sometimes I feel like this is too good to be true. You’re too good to be true, y/n.“

You pushed his head back gently and turned around, looking up into his saddened eyes.

„Listen up, big boy. I love you and you love me. It’s supposed to feel this good.“

You saw his cheeks redden, as he averted his gaze embarrassed. You reached for his big hands and squeezed them as tightly as you could.

„I’m not running away, Joon. I know you are the one for me.“

He turned to face you and smiled warmly.

„The one?“

Namjoon was a confident man, taking extreme pride in his talents and intellect but the slightest doubt could turn him into an anxious mess. Especially if the doubt was about you.

You nodded cheerfully, while making your point.

„When did you realize?“

„Pretty early on“, you said and turned around again, observing the beautiful landscape in front of you.

„Hey, wait. Tell me when! Please, y/n“, he whined into your ear as his arms found your waist again.

You let your head fall back against his broad chest and smiled, remembering those days fondly.

„Do you remember when we first met? How we used to be?“

He nodded.

„We were inseparable back then, always hanging out with each other or calling or texting. It felt like we were obsessed with getting to know each other“, you mused happily.

„That didn’t change“, he said as he left soft kisses on your neck.

„One time when we were on the phone we had a conversation that sealed the deal for me. From then on I just knew that I would marry you some day.“

„What did I say, baby?“

„Oh god, I can actually quote it. How lame am I?“, you laughed embarrassed.

„The lamest. But I love you for that“, he chuckled against your skin. „Now tell me.“

„You said you were proud of me. It was super random and I didn’t understand why. I had to ask for clarification.“, you reminisced.

„Wait, I remember that call.“

You stayed silent for a second, replaying the situation in your mind.

„I am proud of you because you’re doing so great, y/n. Eating your veggies. Drinking your water. Taking your vitamins. Going for walks. Taking care of your mind. Staying positive. That deserves all my proud, y/n.“, you quoted him.

Namjoon stood quietly behind you, already knowing where this was going.

„I didn’t tell you at the time but I was facing a lot of shit. A lot of heavy stuff that made my life a living hell. And I was not doing fine. At all. Taking care of myself, even the simplest things, were a heavy burden to me. But I was trying my best and yet somehow you caught that.“

You turned around once more and looked into his loving eyes, stroking his cheek as you exclaimed your love for him.

„You didn’t need me to articulate my pain. You just knew. It’s like you saw right through me and decided to stay anyway. To give me my time to come to you instead of pressuring me into telling you.“

Namjoon‘s eyes were filled with tears as he listened closely, this was the first time you ever spoke about it that candidly.

„You sensed the war within me and provided me with peace. To me, Joonie, there’s no greater act of love. And I promise to return that love every single day. If you let me.“

Namjoon wiped away the tears hastily, but you stopped him.

You reached up to him and kissed him, tasting his salty tears on his sweet lips. In this moment you were sure that this wouldn’t be the last time for salty kisses but you didn’t mind. As long as you got him by your side, you were good.

Your Joon. Your home. Your only one.

[liveyun]

you’re an idiot (so am i) | j.jk

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem oc/reader

rating. M

genre. enemies to 👀, university AU, neighbours AU, comedy, drama, romance, angst, slight smut

warnings. coarse language, crACK like lOTS OF IT, theyre both idiots. excessive bickering,,, gym related stuff,,, Medical school itself is a warning,, unhealthy amounts of protein mentions,, i’m Sorry if you’re a gymbro 😭🙏🏾, awkwardness, oc gets slightly injured, it gets slightly smutty 👀, unspoken feelings bc they both suck at communicating, some Cute stuff, that should be it but lmk if i missed any, its 4am

wc. 4.5k +

if this writing style flops, i’ll probably quit writing too 💀

it’s 7:04 AM

or is it really. what is the time again

unfortunately you are awake.

and it’s not by choice.

it’s because your protein 💪 PROTEIN 💪 MORE PROTEIN 🏋️ gymrat neighbour is up, doing burpees in his living room

and the walls between your apartments are criminally thin

and you’re convinced he’s trying to invent a new form of torture through burpees because the sQUEAKING OF HIS DAMN SHOES ARE JUST AS LOUD AS AN ALARM CLOCK!!

why is he even awake at this ungodly hour, you wonder for the 8293838th time since moving in

you feel like crying

for rEAL.

it was around 5:30 am when u finally had let out a sigh of relief at having finally completed your assignment

you roll out of bed, hair resembling a bird’s nest

what else is bed hair supposed to look like

“O YEA!”

here we go

again

you feel like ripping your already damaged hair bc why does he have to be so damn loud

has no occupant not filed a complaint against him yet?

so now u consider knocking on his door to complain... but you remember what happened the last time you tried

jungkook had answered the door holding two dumbbells liKe they were extensions of his arms, shirtless, smiling so brightly it could cure vitamin D deficiency

you knew you were cooked the moment smirked at you gawkinG at his physique and you felt your cheeks warming up

“oh, hey, Y/N,” he’d said, casually flexing mid-sentence with that stupid grin on his face “need something? Or just admiring the view?”

you haven’t known peace ever since

by 8:15 AM, you’ve surrendered to fate and shuffled into the kitchen for coffee

you swEar you hear Jungkook’s blender whirring as he makes another one of his infamous protein shakes

does he even eat anything which does not have protein powder

like ok you understand the value of protein

but anything which has that stupid thing in it automatically tastes like the Biggest Piece of Dogshit

and somehow that’s what you neighbour has 24/7

last week he had accidentally left one in the communal fridge

it smelled like death and regret.

absolute L

anyway u think u need to get something in ur system too and thats when u open your fridge

and sigh

it’s empty.

except for a jar of pickles and a, uh, questionable carton of oat milk

yea. you’ll have to get brunch today. no futher questions asked

10:32 AM

ur first class of the day

and guess what

u have made the mistake of sitting near Jungkook in the lecture hall.

again! 😍

u swear that u are trying to focus on the lecture but is it really your fault that jungkook looks extra,,,...,,,

beefy

his notebook is open, but instead of notes, he’s drawing a disturbingly accurate diagram of biceps

and the shading looks pretty accurate too

he notices you staring, oof “anatomy is about more than just books, Y/N.”

you feel a muscle near your eye twitch

“i really don’t remember asking.”

ouch

that came out a bit too rude. . .

you feel like u should say sorry or something but he just flashes you that golden retriever grin

and somehow, you’re the one who feels stupid

12:10 PM

you’d think a med school lunch break would feel like a break

but no

the first thing you hear is the unmistakable pop of jungkook’s tupperware lid. it’s like pavlov’s bell, but instead of a dog, it triggers your impending irritation

of course it’s chicken, broccoli, and rice. gymrat starter pack™

does this man even know other foods exist?

atleast it doesn’t look unseasoned so maybe you can take it

you’re not the one having it anyway

“bon appétit,” he says with that smug grin, shoveling a forkful into his mouth like he’s filming a mukbang

you side-eye your sad excuse of a sandwich. “don’t you ever get bored of eating that?”

he gasps like a victorian man having seen the ankle of his wife for the first time

“bored? of gains? never.”

the chewing. oh god, the chewing. it’s so loud you’re convinced he’s doing it on purpose

crunch. chew. sip of water from the world’s largest bottle. repeat.

“do you have to eat like a vacuum?”

he pauses, fork mid-air, and looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. then he grins. “do you have to be this cute when you’re annoyed?”

wha— cough!!

did you just choke at your sandwich infront of him?

-100 aura points

your brain just blue-screens

what the hell are you supposed to do with that information

12:22 pm

you haven’t touched your chips yet. you’re saving them for after jungkook’s food massacre ends

his tupperware is licked clean but he’s already eyeing your bag of chips like a hawk

“you gonna eat those?”

“yes, jungkook, i’m gonna eat my chips”

“cool”

c r u n c h

he’s already eaten half the bag.

u are genuinely considering homicide now

the girl from the next table suddenly waves at him, all giggly and twirling her hair like she’s auditioning for a romcom

“hey, jungkook! you should totally sit with us!”

he glances at you, one brow raised. “should i?”

“why are you asking me?” you snap, already annoyed (but like, annoyed in a normal way, not jealous. definitely not jealous)

you miss the way his lips quirk in the corners

“nah, i think i’ll stay here,” he says, smirking. “you’re better company anyway”

...

why is your face heating up. why. stop it

1:00 PM

you’re walking to your next class when jungkook catches up, sipping his protein shake. the smell is somewhere between expired yogurt and pure evil

“so, lunch was fun,” he says casually, like he didn’t commit multiple crimes against your sanity earlier

“for who?” you mumble, giving him the nastiest bombastic side eye

“for both of us,” he replies, grinning. “don’t lie, y/n, you’d miss me if i wasn’t around”

“i’d miss the peace”

he laughs heartily and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to both strangle him and maybe... smile a little

1:12 PM

ur phone dings

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bring more chips tomorrow

or don’t. i’ll just steal them again

>:D

you stare at your screen for a second, debating whether to respond or block his number

you type back

you : (1:13PM) touch my chips again and i’ll report you to student conduct

his reply is instant.

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bet they’d let me off for good behavior 😛

2:47 pm.

group project time!

otherwise known as “watch y/n slowly lose her sanity” time

you're hunched over your notes, trying to come up with literally anything for this cursed assignment while everyone else is glued to their phones

“guys, any ideas?” you try, for the fifth time, because teamwork makes the dream work, right?

wrong. dead silence. you can practically hear your soul exiting your body

one guy mutters, "we could... idk, make a powerpoint?" and goes back to scrolling on instagram. helpful king

you’re about three seconds away from making a powerpoint on why you hate everyone here when the door swings open

in walks jungkook, twenty minutes late, balancing a protein shake in one hand and a clipboard in the other

like he’s about to announce his plan for world domination

he slides into the chair next to you, annoyingly fresh, as if he hasn’t just already benched three cows at the gym

“did i miss anything?” he asks, sipping his shake and eyeing you with those boba lookalike peepers like he’s the main character

why are his eyes so

cute

“yeah, we solved climate change and made contact with aliens. you're late.”

he smirks. smirks. “nice. guess i’ll tackle world hunger next.”

one of your lab mates looks up from her phone just to whisper, “he’s so hot..”

my ass.

“he’s useless”

you’re about to drop-kick the clipboard out of his hands when he lazily stretches and says, “so what’s the plan, y/n? you always have the best ideas”

and just like that, everyone turns to you like a pack of hyenas waiting for their next meal

you might actually murder him. right after you finish this stupid project.

>:-)

midnight.

you’re staring at your notes like they’re written in ancient alien hieroglyphics. focus? yup, that’s a myth

through the wall, you hear it. again.

jungkook’s obnoxious gym playlist thumping loud enough to summon the gods of protein.

how about you just summon the reaper to maybe reap your soul or his

you try to ignore it. you really do. but then the bass drops, and you swear the walls start vibrating

ARGH

that’s it. you’ve snapped. you slam your pen down and march out of your apartment like a woman on a mission

by the time you’re at his door, you’re already regretting this decision

but sleep-deprived y/n? she’s not known for her impulse control

you bang on the door like your life depends on it

>:-(

after a moment, jungkook opens up, looking like he just stepped out of a gym rat rom-com. damp hair, earbuds in, wearing a tank top that shows off way too much arm.

good lord, those tattoos..

“what’s up?” he asks casually, pulling out an earbud, as if you didn’t just nearly break his door down

whats up? what thE hELL DOES HE MEAN WHATS UP??

“it’s midnight!” you yell, waving a hand in the general direction of your apartment. “some of us need sleep to survive!”

he blinks at you, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever. “but you’re awake now. want to do a quick set of push-ups?

you stare at him. you need to go to the store from where he bought the audacity. “push-ups?!”

“yeah,” he says, dead serious. “it’s a good way to burn off frustration. i do them all the time when i’m annoyed.”

“maybe i should start,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes. “because i’m annoyed right now.”

jungkook grins like the demon he is. “great! i’ll grab my mat.”

before you can stop him, he’s already turned back into his apartment. you briefly consider running, but it’s too late.

this is your life now.

five minutes later, you’re on the floor of his apartment, struggling to do one (1) push-up while he effortlessly does twenty in the same time it takes you to collapse in defeat

you feel like someone has bathed you in sweat

“this is humiliating,” you groan, face smushed into the mat

maybe you should’ve just slept

“nah, you’re doing great,” he says, way too cheerfully for someone torturing you. “just three more and you’ll hit... like, five total.”

you debate throwing a dumbbell at him but decide against it

jail isn’t worth it.

yet.

five minutes later you’re on the floor of his apartment, now two (2) push-ups deep and already regretting every decision you’ve made up to this point

you try again, your arms shaking with the effort, your brain screaming for mercy, when—

crack

“ow, ow, ow!” you yelp as your shoulder protests in a way that’s probably not supposed to happen

“that’s it, i’m dOne” you wince, face red from the sheer humiliation and pain

jungkook is standing there with a weirdly sympathetic expression that’s 90% amusement and 10% concern

he’s crouching beside you now, and you can't help but notice his Bambi eyes, all big and concerned, looking at your shoulder like he's actually worried for you

fml

this is so unfair

“u good?” he asks, voice unusually soft, and you can’t help but notice that barely there scar on his left cheek pulling slightly as he frowns and looks down at you

you glare at him, wincing a little more than you’d like to admit

does it look like ur good lol

“i think i pulled something” you mutter, still holding your shoulder, and mentally kicking yourself for agreeing to do this in the first place

you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to him

“mm,” he hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to your face, and then down to your shoulder with that gentle focus you didn’t think he was capable of

oUuu

“you should’ve asked for help, rookie” he says with that familiar cocky grin, but you catch the slight crinkle of concern in his brow, the mole beneath his lips almost beckoning you to stare at it

why is he so dumb but also so stupidly handsome?

and then his fingers are brushing against your shoulder again, carefully massaging the area in a way that’s too intimate for someone who’s just your annoying gym-obsessed neighbor

your heart rate spikes, and suddenly the injury doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore

“i’m fine, really,” you lie, trying to brush it off, but the way his Bambi eyes are looking at you—all soft and worried—has your head spinning

oh god

“i don’t think you are” he mutters, voice low, as he places a hand gently on your waist, pulling you just a little closer

god, stop being so touchy

the fact that he smells like musk and with some citrus-y notes underneath doesn’t help either

you feel your cheeks warming and lips parting

you feel yourself leaning in despite all logic telling you to stop, and then his eyes flicker down to your lips and back to your eyes, slow and cautious, like he’s waiting for your permission

you really cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat at how beautiful he looks. no like for real, his hair is slightly overgrown, curled at the ends which fall gracefully over his face

and how soft his lips look

your brain is too far gone, and the next thing you know, you’re kissing him, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer

his hair feels so silky soft

but his lips are even softer, but there’s a desperate edge to the kiss, and you don’t know if it's because of your injury or the fact that you’ve both been playing this weird tension game for far too long

you feel like u can finally die kissing him like this

his hand slides down your back, pressing you into him as if you might disappear, and you pull away, gasping for air

jungkook’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown and heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling quickly as he looks at you with an unreadable expression

“shit, i… i didn’t think i was actually going to do that” he murmurs, his voice rough and nearly trembling if u hear closely

you stare at his lips again, the mole under them, the way he looks so dumb but also so dumb handsome

his mouth parts to say something stupid again but you shush him with your pointer on his lips

“shut up and kiss me again, you idiot” you mutter, pulling him back in without a second thought

oH WOW

Jungkook doesn’t need any more encouragement. this time, it’s all teeth and heat, a kiss that feels like it might burn the air around you both

and your shoulder? completely forgotten, left in the dust

the kiss doesn’t end in some grand, romantic crescendo like the movies promised

you both were shamelessly making out on his mat

you were perched on his lap and both of u were busy eating eachother’s mouths (it sounds gross but that’s what exactly u two were doing) when suddenly you give his hair a tug

and you hear a moan spilling from him

his hips buck up and you gasp, but it ends with him abruptly pulling away

he’s breathing like he just ran an hour on the treadmill. cheeks all flushed, lips shining with saliva and eyes wide

and your heart is hammering in your chest like it’s trying to escape

jungkook stares at you, lips slightly swollen, eyes wide and wild, and for once, the idiot looks just as lost as you feel

“i—uh—” you stammer, the words tangling in your throat because what the hell are you supposed to say after something like that

“y- yeah,” he cuts in, his voice rough and strained like he’s been punched in the gut, “same”

same? SAME?!

you glare at him, more out of panic than anger, because suddenly the room feels too small, and his scent—something annoyingly musky and Jungkook-ish—is now overwhelming you

“i, uh, should go” you blurt out, scrambling to your feet and clutching your sore shoulder like a lifeline

jungkook doesn’t stop you, just sits there on the floor, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and an expression you can’t quite place

“cool” he mutters, dragging a hand through his messy hair as his jaw clenches

you don’t say anything else, don’t even look back as you practically bolt out of his apartment and into the safety of your own, slamming the door shut behind you

breathe, you tell yourself, leaning against the door, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling from his kiss

you won’t lie, you really didn’t think it would take just a tug of hair to have Mr. Muscle moaning under you

and that kind of inflated ur ego too

>:-)

but now

as u stand behind your closed door

the warmth that had filled your chest moments ago is quickly replaced by a knot of confusion and panic

because this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with Jungkook of all people

he’s my annoying gym-rat neighbor. this is… this is stupid

or is this really?..

no matter how much you try to convince yourself, your fingers keep brushing your lips absentmindedly, and your brain replays the moment over and over again like some kind of cruel joke

the next morning, you half expect him to blast his gym playlist at full volume to piss you off like he always does

but it’s quiet

too quiet

jungkook doesn’t blast music. doesn’t clank weights around. doesn’t do anything to make his presence known, and it’s driving you insane

you don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does

when you leave for class, you catch a glimpse of him locking his door, but he doesn’t even glance your way

just slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks off like you don’t exist

asshole

yea that hurt. a Lot. like a good amount, because you are sure that you felt that pain in the centre of your chest

but it’s not like you’re any better

you bury yourself in your textbooks, pretending the kiss never happened, even though your stupid brain refuses to let it go

your chest feels tight every time you hear his door open or his voice filter through the thin walls

and you hate how you feel disappointed every time he doesn’t acknowledge you

like you really are a stranger to him

:-(

it’s pathetic, but you can’t help it

the silence between the two of you stretches on like an invisible barrier

days pass, and the two of you become masters of the fine art of avoidance

there’s a strange art to it, like walking on eggshells in your own apartment

even if u two live in separate apartments, it just feels

weird

you are so used to him being so noisy and what not

but the silence is heavy, uncomfortable, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air

and it’s clEar neither of you know how to handle whatever the hell this is

you can’t figure out whether it’s a relief or suffocating

and every time you pass him in the hallway or see him through your apartment window, it’s like a silent conversation you’re not having

and that, somehow, feels worse than everything else

you want him to say something. anything.

but he doesn’t

and neither do you

and it makes you sick how easy it is to fall back into the rhythm of pretending he doesn’t exist

even when he’s right there.

you go to class and he’s there

sitting three rows ahead of you like he’s deliberately trying to ignore you

and with that girl who cannot seem to have her hands off his bicep

and you’re… fine with it

totally fine

you are just hoping that your glare is enough to burn a hole in her skull

it’s just that you can’t stop staring at the back of his head

like maybe he’ll turn around and say something but nope

the entire lecture passes and he doesn’t even glance over

and you try not to overthink it but you’re pretty sure jungkook is doing the same thing to you

ignoring you

on purpose

you’re not imagining it, right?

lunch rolls around and you sit down at your usual spot

jungkook’s sitting at the table next to you with his back to you

he doesn’t even look up when you sit down

normally, he would’ve sent you a little half-smile or asked about your day or whatever. .

but now? nothing

it’s like you’re invisible

and that’s fine. you don’t care.

but deep down, you feel this weird lump in your chest

because you didn’t expect this coldness from him

even after everything that’s happened

and you’d even unconsciously brought his favourite flavour of chips he especially likes..

:(

then you see him texting on his phone

and you can’t help but peek over at his screen

jungkook is texting someone

and it’s not you

for some reason, that stings more than it should, but you swallow it down and pretend you didn’t notice

the silence between the two of you stretches out for days

it’s like the entire universe is pretending you never had that moment together

the night when everything took a wild ass turn

but jungkook’s acting like it never happened

and so are you.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s better

maybe he regrets kissing you.

maybe you even made him uncomfortable?..

and maybe this is easier

you can’t decide if it hurts or if you’re just overthinking it

either way, you stop checking his texts, stop wondering what he’s doing in his apartment

you try your best to pretend it’s okay

but deep down, you miss the stupid moments

the ones where he wasn’t so distant where it feels like something ended between you two before it could even start.

it feels like it’s been over a decade

:(

and you hate it.

but you push it aside

it’s just… the silence is way too loud now.

you’re sitting in your room, trying to convince yourself that letting go of jungkook is the right thing to do

and perhaps ur failing miserably lol

but it’s hard because every five minutes you catch yourself staring at something that reminds you of him

your notes? he doodled on them during lectures

your hoodie? yeah, it’s his. he lent it to you one day and never asked for it back

your heart? yeah. he kind of stole that too

you’re spiraling between sleep and insanity when there’s a knock on your door

no, wait—it’s not a knock

it’s banging — like someone’s fist is about to break through the wood

WHO CALLED THE COPS ON YOU ONG

you jump up, your heart pounding, and open the door

and there he is

jungkook—standing there, looking like he just ran a marathon and fought a bear at the same time

hair all messy, slight bags underneath his eyes and kinda disheveled outfit

for a split second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat

oh

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and suddenly having him standing in front of you is making your heart race like crazy

“i can’t—” he stops, breathless, hands on his knees like he’s about to collapse

you’re standing there, eyes wide, totally taken aback by the sight of him, feeling a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place

yet

“i can’t take it anymore,” he says, looking up at you with that ridiculous face of his

you grab that meaty bicep of him, ushering him to stand up

“what are you talking about?” you ask, completely confused

“you. i’m talking about you,” he says, taking a step closer

hUH

the air around you feels like it’s being sucked out of the room

your head is spinning because after all this time, here he is, right in front of you

“i like you. i’ve always liked you. and i didn’t know how to tell you, so i…”

“i got all this gym equipment just to bother you. i’d turn the music up way too loud, and i thought that’d make you notice me. i sat next to you at lunch, even in lectures, doing everything to annoy you because i didn’t know how else to approach you, i really thought—”

“jungkook.”

you blink, processing everything in a blur, your heart still hammering in your chest

but he doesn’t quite listen to you. “i knew you liked my sketches we had during cardio lectures, so i always made sure to draw—”

“juNGKOOK!”

you cut him off, smacking his idiotic shoulders “you’re an idiot.”

jungkook stops, eyes widening a little, but there’s this look of relief on his face

like a huge weight has just been lifted off him

almost like when u get to pee after holding it in for hours

“i know,” he says softly, and for the first time, you realize how vulnerable he looks standing there

he somehow looks

small.

“then why didn’t you just talk to me like a normal person?” you ask, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement

jungkook smiles sheepishly, his pearly whites flashing. “i guess i thought this would be easier.”

easier.

only if he knew that each moment without him felt like the earth opening up and swallowing you

AND!!! HIS FAVOURITE ONION VINEGAR FLAVORED CHIPS!! which used to be your absolutely hated flavour but somehow you’ve caught a liking to them recently

how ironic

the room feels heavy with tension as you both stand there, unsure of what to say next, but his gaze is so intense, it makes your heart skip

“say something,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “please.”

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, still flustered, but there’s something about his earnestness that makes everything else fade into the background

and the way his caramel brown eyes nearly sparkle underneath your dimly lit apartment lights

you shake your head with a smile.

“you’re an idiot.”

but you're smiling like a total fool because what else are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve been in love with just confessed to you?

jungkook’s face softens, and then he smiles too

a smile which looks so adorable you feel your heart will burst

and it’s over for you

“so, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck, looking bashful. “does that mean you like me too?”

you roll your eyes, your heart racing all over again, and grab the front of his shirt to pull him inside

“kiss me already”

the door slams shut behind you.

and the rest

as they say, is history

:-)

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVII. “Luminol”

parts: previous / next

plot: the Batman investigates a string of murders. Bruce gets protective attending the first rally for Gotham’s mayoral election.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, blood, description of injury (crime scene stuff), anxiety, rumination, sexual content

words: 14k

a/n: a chapter entirely Bruce’s perspective 🤭 y’all are gonna like this one 👀 getting to dive into his mind was so fun 🦇

His body lit up like a string of lights. His body, your hands. Up his stomach to his chest, down his shoulder and arm…

He couldn’t shake the look in your eyes when you’d grabbed his hand, panicked, searching him for comfort. God, he was used to people seeking him out for solace, safety; he was used to being made into a symbol of reassurance, even hope. But when you looked at him that same way, it was different. Like somehow the weight of the world rested in it.

You texted him a picture of frozen carrots, joking about the additional vitamins. He responded with a joke about peas being more effective, before blinking back into his environment and staring at his phone in disbelief. This was what was taking up his time? He was still on patrol. Not only that, but he was half in the suit, in public.

He clicked his armor back in and donned the cowl. The rest of the night was spent in near-total isolation, with Gordon unable to be contacted besides the brief run-in at the subway station. He wondered how he had time to respond to a call like that, but not to return his messages. Must’ve already been in the area.

All he had to do was drive in the area near vandalists for them to buckle. He never found much joy in things like that—it felt routine. Droplets of rain peppered his windshield, giving him more attention than anyone in Gotham the entire night. It was like the city was asleep. Not right. He drove, and drove, and tried to contact anyone on the GCPD to no avail. Something really wasn’t right; they hated to hear from Batman, that was evident, but they never declined a late-night call, just as desperate to get their hands dirty.

What started as a usual patrol dissolved into a hunt for any officer. Just as the first streams of dawn were peeking behind the clouds, he spotted a patrol car in front of a diner. An officer was fishing something out of their vehicle, and he squinted at the incoming headlights, throwing a hand over his eyes. He didn’t recognize the man; he looked young, a new hire. GCPD hadn’t hired anyone new in ages. The last time had been right after the flooding.

Once he realized the Batman was approaching, the man choked on something, knocking his chest to catch his breath. He made his voice gravelly, a movement so instinctual he never thought about it; when he entered the suit, he entered the voice—until you came around, apparently.

“Where’s Gordon?”

The man’s eyes flashed, and he swallowed back the last of his spit. His eyes were red, strained. He’d been up all night. Not unusual for new hires, a sort of hazing. He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. He wouldn’t make eye contact, staring at the bat’s leather boots.

“Haven’t met him yet, I don’t know. I can ca—”

He growled under his breath, turning on his heel to return to his car. He slammed into the driver’s side and jammed on the gas, ripping past the officer. He’d already cleared the area near the subway, trying to uncover any cleverly disguised patrol cars, had the scanner blasting through the speakers, but nothing revealed itself. It didn’t track, leaving him drowning in an unsettled, ruffled headspace. Were they intentionally hiding something from him?

When he arrived back at Wayne Tower, he was wired and unsatisfied. He worked through the morning, searching every index, newspaper, and engine for leads. Whatever this was, it was under wraps.

But if it was big, why wouldn’t he be clued in? Gordon never failed to elicit his support for a gruesome, intense, or mysterious case. It had to be one of those, because menial crimes didn’t have all hands on deck like this.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

He got up to put on his hoodie and jacket again, head to the station, bike around town, but Alfred had a sixth sense; already walking out of the elevator with a mug of tea that spread the scent of lavender about the basement. Bruce smelt him before hearing the clip of his cane.

“You need some shuteye.” The soft slurp of the drink eviscerated his eardrums, irritability coating him like flaking skin.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll focus better.”

Bruce pressed on, the pit in his stomach sinking deeper. His brain was crowded, but empty. Filled with nothing real, nothing tangible. Exhausted from scrolling, searching, driving, looking, with no information to chew on. He wouldn’t rest until he got an answer on why the GCPD was freezing him out.

“You need to take care of yourself.”

Need this, need that. He hid his balled fists in the baggy clumps of his jacket, grabbing the scarf from the bench with a snap. He wasn’t halfway through wrapping it when Alfred cleared his throat. Bruce wasn’t looking back, instead rolling his eyes to the ceiling. They’d have another argument if the old man kept this up. He wasn’t a child, and the events of the past week hadn’t changed that.

“Bruce.”

He still refused to look, tying the scarf at the back and flipping up his hood. The weather today would be cloudy, the cloudiest it’d been in months. He finally had the backdrop to get work done during the day. Something to busy him—shit. He cast his eyes down and slammed past Alfred, all but punching the button to the foyer. Trying hard not to think about it, he rushed to the cabinet closest to the sink and took his meds, lowering his head to drink straight from the spout. As the water glided the olanzapine into his stomach, he thought how the only reason he was taking it was to alleviate your suffering. It hadn’t been pleasant having the hallucinations, but every pill taken felt like a deeper acceptance of his decaying mind. He did his best to force dissociation.

He grabbed an apple off the table and was met with Alfred blocking the elevator doors.

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll take the stairs.”

“Look at yourself, boy. You’re worn thin.” Bruce’s frame was turned in, shoulders slumped, bags under his eyes. His voice was thick with exhaustion, frayed. Red flag after red flag. Alfred wouldn’t let the boy be so careless without a fight, if that was what this came to.

He needed to keep moving; every moment of stillness, of silence, felt like nails scraping his skull. He took a hard right and walked through the kitchen hallway, frustrated to hear footsteps following. “Alfred, that’s enough.” He tried to keep his tone leveled, not tip off just how frustrated he was, how close he was to turning and ripping Alfred a new one, or breaking down into tears. The feeling of grief hadn’t left him since the cemetery, save the fleeting blip of time where you’d careened into the alley, panicked. He wanted to stop thinking about that, too.

Alfred called after him. The man was fast when he wanted to be, and he heard him pick up speed. He said something else Bruce ignored, shoving through the door to the staircase, rushing down flight after flight, his chest starting to burn as he got closer to the ground, dozens of stairs slipping under the sole of his boots every few seconds. He tripped on the last stair and fell out the door, grating his palms against the cement. The stairs led to a side exit not viewable from the front or back, with a cloak of trees lining his escape.

Thankfully, he thought ahead for circumstances like these. In case the tunnels ever flooded, or the ceiling collapsed, or Alfred was being particularly obtrusive, he kept a car and motorbike stowed a quarter mile away. Every step made the tower less loud, creating space for him to prioritize, hone in on the mission. Figure out what the hell’s going on. What’s keeping the GCPD locked up.

The bike took a second to start, requiring some finicky tinkering before it would do more than rev up and die. Soon enough he was speeding into downtown, wanting to stake out the station in the central city. Gordon’s office resided there, though he often vacillated between there and the east side. If his personal car wasn’t parked in the garage, he’d ride east.

And there it was. Good as gold. A beat-up old Honda. Ice had crusted over the windshield from the chill the night before. Pulled an all-nighter. He rarely did that on weekends, opting to spend it with his family unless… Christ, what the hell was going on?

He didn’t expect Gordon to walk out right then, and cursed himself for not having the suit. Gordon got in the police car closest to the building doors, Martinez trailing behind looking beat. He held a lidless paper cup of black coffee in his left hand, his badge stretching out the pocket on his jacket. Might’ve even been the second, or third day on patrol. Running on fumes. The lip on Martinez’s coffee was worn and soaked, the paper uncurling and soggy. Far from his first cup.

Waiting a few seconds after they pulled out, Bruce dallied in front of the police doors on his bike, pretending it wouldn’t start to take a quick peek through the windows. It was empty, save the security and receptionist. He sped off a few seconds later, following the glow of the taillights through the fog.

Tailing cops was easy, tailing Gordon wasn’t. He had to stay further back than he wanted, take turns only to turn back, cut the lights, either far enough removed to turn a street before, or close enough to their bumper he had to keep on past when they stopped. This drive was quick and dirty. Not long, very specific. Turns he didn’t think he would take, every time.

They landed at a house that looked like it was still recovering from the flood—the beige paint had faded into a peely pink, shingles broken off the roof, windows patched together with duct tape. He watched as Gordon and Martinez entered, the door opening off only one hinge. A small child was in the doorway holding a raggedy stuffed bear, and someone who looked like their sibling stood above them, holding their shoulders. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of binoculars, seeing on the zoom that their faces were blotchy and red, eyes puffy. Someone had died there.

That was when he noticed a flash of yellow tape in the kitchen, before the older child pulled the door shut. Unable to see through the taped-up front windows and no more being visible on the bottom floor, he pulled out his phone and searched the residence. Current renter was Raina Altruss, who appeared to be a lunch lady at the elementary school nearby. No arrest records, not even a speeding ticket. It couldn’t have been anyone else, unless she was so moved by grief that she’d let her small children open the door for the officers. Why weren’t they being taken to the station? Was a social worker already on the way, or were they letting that slip, too?

Murders took a decent chunk of time to investigate, even in the acute phase. Especially so if she’d had an abusive partner, less if it was a suicide, but that wasn’t typical for single mothers here; too attached to their children and desperate to protect in a city so dangerous, but who knew. Certainly he didn’t.

There wasn’t much he could get done outside of the suit, and he couldn’t very well get into it during the day… and he didn’t know how much longer Gordon would be on shift. His gait was dragging across the mangled porch, eyelids heavy. She was listed as having two children, now orphaned. He hated the thought of going back home so soon, but saw no way around it. He needed to get working on the emergency planning, nap, and have a bite before heading out tonight. Days that were this uneventful meant trouble would soon follow, and going to a murder scene in broad daylight wasn’t an option. Restless, kinetic energy climbed through the trees on his drive home.

He slept down in the basement, not wanting Alfred to know he’d arrived. He kept a makeshift cot tucked under the desk; whenever Alfred noticed it was out, he complained that Bruce would ‘break his back’ on it, but he was tired enough between patrols to not notice. This time was no different, drifting off the second he’d set his alarm.

He slept hard, without dreams.

Only a few hours of sleep later, he was back to prepping. No more info came up about Altruss, or much else for that matter. He was left staring at the emergency planning document with weary, tired eyes, mind blank. He tackled what he assumed was the easiest one first, but he couldn’t come up with an orienting item. He looked around the basement, felt the weightiness of different tools, pens, and other miscellaneous items, but nothing felt tethering. Only after working through the dusty bottoms of old cardboard boxes did he find one: his old cufflinks, the W loud and proud. The surface just smooth enough, just rough enough. It felt significant in his fingers, cold, heavy, hollow.

As he rolled it between his finger and thumb, heat pricked his eyelids, and his breathing shallowed before he could register it. Memories of his father’s first campaign rally, the bend of his knee as he crouched to hand Bruce a small package with a blue velvet bow. His mom was putting in earrings by the door with one hand, the other wrestling on her heels. She always had trouble getting them over the heel of her left foot, and he never knew why. His dad helped him attach the cuffs to the wrist of his jacket, and ruffled his hair as he stood. He clinked Bruce’s wrist with his own pair, and Bruce grinned, pulling his smile into the one he’d rehearsed in the mirror that morning. “Your father’s going to be on TV, honey. We all have to look our best.” She’d pulled a tight smile in the mirror, and he mimicked it.

As he was pulled back to the gray concrete around him, he thought miserably that his orienting item could be the throbbing ache in his chest. His eyes swept around the room, and he swore he could hear the echo of his breathing in the emptiness. His stomach began to clench and twist, the sensation that never failed to precede a guttural cry and blurry, fragmented vision. He pocketed the cufflinks and walked back to the computer to check it off the list. His mouse squeaked against the metal as his fingers slipped to the edge of the desk, head hung as he winced, feeling like he was breathing through a straw.

In a tinny blur, he shoved his weight into his elbows to push him upright. Ignoring the cues in his body to slow down, to sit, to feel, he grabbed the ear of his cowl.

It was still light, so he found refuge in the watchtower. He sent a message to Gordon about being available, and needing to discuss something urgent, intentionally keeping it vague. The suit felt heavier tonight, as the wind whizzed around the edges of his towering frame, staring down the interweaving streets. Every time a thought threatened to form, he focused on another pedestrian, another street. In secret, trying to hide from the parts of him with a screaming conscience, he begged for violence. Someone to throw a punch at someone smaller, someone vulnerable. An arsonist to light a house so he could run inside, grab the kids, usher out the parents, feel the weight of the held door on his hip, let his mind quiet.

His prayer was answered with the rattle of the elevator’s ascent. Gordon walked through with a rush, his shoulders slumped more than before, his footing unsteady. “Hey man, sorry. Had to book it from the subway last night. Been swamped.”

“Too swamped to return a call?”

Gordon sighed, the end of it hoarse, depleted. “I only have a minute, thought to tip you off.” His glasses were smudged and fogged. “String of murders, same as the John Doe. Strung up by knives.” He made a face and pulled his glasses off, cleaning them on the bottom of his jacket. When he put them on, they weren’t much better.

Batman had to clench his fists, slam his tongue to the roof of his mouth, as his thoughts flew to the handles. Gordon motioned for him to come over, pulling a folded packet out of his breast pocket. He held his gaze at the ground a second longer, thoughts spiraling over if they’d have the owl insignia. Gordon was already beginning to fold them up as quickly as he took them out, so he was forced to glance over—

—empty, undisturbed handles on the same knives. He let out a breath as Gordon walked over to the elevator, motioning for him to follow. “Headed to another right now, last stop for the night. Only a few blocks.”

Consumed by more crushing confirmation that he’d lost his mind, he was grateful Gordon was barely standing, without reserve to perceive him. There’d never been marks on the knives. His mind had put them there. The creature hadn’t attacked him, he’d been alone. He stared at some graffiti by the CALL button, ruminating on its outline to create more distance between him and his thoughts.

He paid attention to the puddles of light from the streetlights on the short drive. Would’ve counted the cracks in the windows he passed if he’d been going any slower. This house wasn’t as dilapidated as the last one, but still disheveled. Another vehicle had already arrived with the officer from the diner. He felt the weight of his cape tugging on his neck with each thudding step.

Walking into the scene, the first thing he noticed was the victim strung up in the same fashion as the John Doe. Knives peppering the outer edges of the body, outlining the frame with throwing knives. The handles were smooth and unaffected. The Batman stepped closer, moving his breathing from his nose to his mouth. He sidestepped the forensics team beginning to work across the kitchen, moving to see the areas of impact on the victim’s body.

Everything was clean but the puncture areas, and their blood fallout. On immediate notice, his eyes followed the passive pattern of the stains across the victim’s body–whoever had done this had done it fast enough that the stains were strictly linear, undisturbed. He overheard Gordon talking to the lead, murmuring something about the victim ‘strung up like a dartboard’. “If it weren’t for the blood stain in the corner, it’s almost like the assailant stuck him there in space.”

His gaze analyzed the drip pattern in the stains down the victim’s body–they fell behind the woman toward the wall, though she was upright. She was on her back when it happened. Blood in a steady, linear stream. On the ground long enough for it to dry. His eyes trailed down to her ankles, where the blood was moving backwards, curved and zigzagged against her brown skin. She was lifted up by her ankles. The blood was darker and more clotted than the stains on her shoulders. Those wounds happened first. He leaned his head down to peek at her fingernails–clean, manicured. Hadn’t put up a fight–at least hadn’t gotten a hand on them, or anything else.

His eyes caught next on a hoodie placed on the dining table to her right. The table was clean, at least without visible stains. His gloved fingers picked up the hoodie. Static stain. Even, circular edges. He flipped the hoodie over–no transfer to the textile. Whoever did this stuck around a while.

A soft movement of air from his left side, an analyst approached with a ruler, donned in a white coverall and mask. After she snapped a few photos with her camera, her gloved hands lined the ruler through the brown dots on the glass countertop. Long axis. He squinted. Four millimeters. He waited for her to move to the width. Two millimeters. She grabbed her pencil beside her and jotted the measurements down. Four over two: point five. Arcsin of point five is thirty. “Thirty degrees.” He kept his voice low, but she still startled. He repeated himself. “Convergence is thirty.”

He stared down at the ruled lines as she double-checked his work herself. His eyes roughly mapped the distance from the edge of the stain to the convergence. Twenty-two. Tangent of twenty-two… “Origin’s fourteen point four two.” Whoever the perp was, they wanted to experience it. Close to the victim. Possibly personal. Possible bludgeoning.

Just below the tabletop, he noted a small cluster of droplets pooled on the wood floor. Spiny outer ring, pooled closest to dining room door. Drag marks faint toward the wall. She’d been dragged up to it after being attacked by the dining table. The analyst finished writing down the same number as he had, stowing her calculator in the front pocket of the coverall.

He stepped a few feet back from the body to see if any stains dripped to the floor, but found nothing. A tingle shot up his spine. Numerous knives jammed through the perimeter of victim’s flesh. Some blood trailed down around the punctures. Nothing on the ground underneath. On the quick sweep of the room, he didn’t notice anyone else calculating splatters. Nothing appeared on the ceiling, either.

Not enough blood for the stabbings to have finished it.

Gordon wandered over with his notebook, noticing the rapid movement of Batman’s eyes across the room, waiting until it lingered on the floor in front of him before speaking. “What do you think?” Gordon noticed the sweatshirt placed alongside the blood splatter, having watched him remove it a minute earlier. “Not very smart. Thinking someone wouldn’t check underneath the hoodie.”

He grunted. “It’s no amateur.” Gordon followed as he did a sweep around the room, nothing catching his naked eye. He wondered if they’d do Luminol on this one, or if they didn’t think a layperson important enough. The only discernible bloodstains were on the table, just underneath, and painting the skin of the victim. Strange. “Killer knew just where to hit. Avoided major vessels. That many knives, it’s purposeful.” He walked to the victim and the table again, keeping his eyes wide with slow, sweeping looks to further analyze once he got home. He paused with Gordon on his way to the rest of the house. “Wanted us to discount them. Cheapened their work.”

“You think they placed the sweatshirt there on purpose?”

“Look at the blood patterns on the victim. Stains on the ground. She was dragged by her feet, strung up after. Shoulder wounds happened on the ground. No signs of struggle or aspiration. Tell the team to use Luminol. Swab and test it.”

The lead had heard Batman, looking at him apprehensively before rustling through a bag at the entryway. He followed Gordon’s step back for the analyst to compute the convergence and origin of the ground stain, and another assistant to snap photos, grab samples. A few minutes later the liquid was being sprayed, the analyst moving to dim the lights.

Absolutely nothing.

He felt a chill underneath his suit, his heart rate quickening. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, excitement stretching from his core to the tips of his fingers. Interesting. Either they’d died from blood loss and the killer was a professional, or they’d died from less visible, traceable means, and this was some kind of performance art. Whatever it was, it was intentional, and they knew what they were doing.

“Victim needs a full internal exam. Not enough blood loss, likely killed by something else.” He looked to see a window cracked in the far corner of the adjoining living area. Open floor plan. Carbon monoxide? But a cracked window would give the method away. He looked to the oven, seeing no brown or yellow stains. Likely coming from a water heater, furnace, or dryer. He walked through the living room to the window, his gaze lingering at the sill, the same analyst following in tow. She pulled out a duster and black powder, and started searching for prints.

He walked through the hallway to the laundry room, where he found nothing. He followed the door it went through to the garage, but there was no car. He checked the heater, but nothing was out of order. Clean, well-maintained, no scent anywhere in the house besides the copper sting of blood around the victim. If it was poisoning, must’ve brought in a generator.

He passed through to the windowsill again, the black powder picking up a single half-print on the left-corner of the sill. Unusual gripping point to lift. Half, but clear–left like a gift for even the most novice crime-scene investigator. Suspicious.

A remote was placed underneath the sill; after the assistant came to photograph the analyst’s work, the Batman grabbed the remote, flicking on the television.

Channel 5 news. Looked live. Nothing of note, talking about the weather. Nothing on the chyron at the bottom of the screen. Volume set to five. The five on the keypad was worn-in. Could be coincidence. Popular news channel, especially living on the east side. Volume kept low. Or maybe they heard an intruder coming and lowered the volume. He held the remote out to look for any marks, and sure enough, there were faint oils from a fingerprint on the VOLUME DOWN arrow. He handed the analyst the remote, gesturing with his eyeline to her duster, and made his way out the front door.

Walking the perimeter of the house gave nothing away. No tracks outside the window where anything was laid or rolled, and no visible impressions in the front, sides, or back yard grass to establish any sort of intrusion. The killer entered through the front, and left the same. Everything itched all the right–and wrong–spots in his brain, feeling the gears in his head begin to turn. It could take days for the print’s results to come back, the same for the coroner’s report.

He walked back in and surveyed the living area again. Nothing out of the ordinary outside of the haphazardly placed remote, placed just so that it could have fallen off the arm of the couch—if the investigators were idealists. Batman wasn’t.

He did a last look around the kitchen, noting everything in place. Not a single item or square foot in the house glared back at him. The killer didn’t mess around. In and out, but long enough for the blood to dry. Disturbing nothing save what they wanted to—the window, the table, and the body.

As the forensics team cleaned up, a medical examiner walked in with trainees in tow. Their eyes were wide and bright, and they fiddled with their gloves and masks like they were worried they weren’t on correctly. Lot of newbies today. Didn’t sit right, not at all.

He followed Gordon out, and stood between their respective vehicles to give report. “Same as the last three.”

Three? “Why wasn’t I called to them?”

“It’s been a long night, man. It was either call you, or eat.” He flipped through his spiral again, flipping past the front pages where Bruce had given his statement earlier. He wanted to push him harder, make it known he needed to be called into these crimes. Did they not realize he’d pieced together more for the GCPD in the past year than the decade they’d been left to their own devices? Gordon didn’t leave space for him to push. “Same situation. Victims strung up by knives, little evidence otherwise. First time we recovered a print, though.”

“None on the knife handle?”

Gordon shook his head. “We’ll get the print looked at ASAP. Should only be a coupla hours, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Batman tucked into an adjacent street and accessed his computer via phone. The hum of the police scanner in the background tugged at the outskirts of his attention as he pored over the victim’s names of the past few days. Gordon had given him the names of the victims, in order.

Ulysses Ecuatorro

Bradley Yates

Raina Altruss

Elizabeth Weiss

Hours of searching later, he couldn’t pin a golden thread between them. None in related fields, no glaring convictions. Yates had a speeding ticket, Ecuatorro a DUII three years earlier. They spanned age groups, and were scattered across town in a way he couldn’t find a pattern in. That in and of itself was a pattern. An observation.

Altruss was a lunch lady; looking at her social media, news of her death had already reached friends and family. Messages of love poured in, with varying other Altruss’ family members commenting on how great they would take care of her children, ‘in her honor’. He moved away from Altruss quickly.

Weiss had a kid too—he blinked, typing that into a different tab. Each person had children, that was a common thread. How had he overlooked that? Weiss was recently divorced, with a daughter who’d just celebrated her tenth birthday not two weeks earlier. One of the comments stuck out to him: Many blessings, Lizzie. Babygirl is in good hands. Could be a normal message, could not. According to her socials, the divorce process was speedy; in the span of two months, she’d filed, and it’d been completed. Her name had been changed the next day. Desperate to escape him? Most of her posts regarded ‘mental health awareness’. Gaslit her? Manipulated her? Abused her? Records showed joint custody. No big halts on either party’s end. Seemed to be in agreement. If it had been that easy to agree, why’d they get divorced at all? The man was an ex-cop. Propensity to violence. Marvin O’Lander. Graduate of GU. Degree in business. Failed business venture? Took it out on his family? Police work appeared to be a second-choice—such celebration at graduating, plans of a business, then… nothing. Bruised ego. Lots of opportunity in that. Then why the appreciative comment from his side of the family? Was it appreciative? Threatening? They were mutual friends on socials. An ally? Double-crosser? All of the kids were under the age of ten, but no further discernible pattern. Varied income levels. Varied neighborhoods. Varied cultural backgrounds. Varied ages at time of death. Varied relationship status. Varied interests. Varied social presence. Though… everyone was being mourned in droves. Ecuatorro, Yates, Altruss, Weiss. Valued community members. Engaged in their communities. Serving others in some fashion. His eyes fuzzed staring fixedly at the small screen, his shoulders, back, body tense. Where’s the tension stemming? Stomach? Chest? Throat? Stomach. Cinch in stomach. Tight, coiled, like a spring ready to bounce. Tingles again, up arm and shoulders. Altruss. Ecuatorro. Yates. Weiss. Yates, Ecuatorro, Altruss, Weiss. Weiss, Altruss, Ecuatorro, Yates. Any pattern in the names? Order of their deaths? Ecuatorro. Yates. Altruss. Weiss. Raina, Elizabeth, Bradley, Ulysses. Four victims so far. Channel five. Volume five. Five victims? One left to be found? Did the names—

Gordon rang. “Print’s back. Tech said it was one of the clearest they’ve ever run.” Prints never came back that fast, no matter how clear.

With calculated speed, he arrived to the residence of Cecilia Natividad, a woman who lived as far North as the city stretched. He got there before any officers, cutting through back streets and jamming the gas with what was perceived as reckless abandon; in reality, he noticed the color of every tree that passed, the name of every street corner, could re-identify each pedestrian that (rarely) appeared with a nearly photographic accuracy. He felt electric, alive.

The residence was quaint, single-story. A cat peeked up from the porch, blinking sleepily while they stretched. The door was already open. He pressed his back to it as he slunk in, the cat slipping behind him, making a beeline to a closed door to the left of the kitchen doorway. The TV was off, the house silent. He opened his palm, making sure the taser was accessible on a fast grab. He held his breath, his chest puffing, as he peered around the corner… to an empty kitchen. The house was smaller than it looked on the outside; one bedroom to the left, with a closed door, and one to the right, wide open. The cat was lingering by the closed one, going so far as to meow for him to pay attention. He ignored the animal, and crept into the open bedroom first.

Nothing. Undisturbed bedroom, undisturbed bathroom outside of it in the mini hallway. He felt his shoulders squeeze in as his eyes scanned the entirety of the space. Not much room to walk, low ceilings, stuffy carpet. The carpet held heavy track lines from the front door to the couch, the couch to the kitchen, and the kitchen to the far bedroom. The person who lived here liked routine; whatever child he assumed they had was either too small to walk.. no, no baby toys. No toys at all. The bedroom looked neutral, nondescript. The child was old enough to be done with fairytale and spontaneity. Old enough to be out of the house for the time being. Another divorcee? Joint custody? Full custody? His hand hovered above the doorknob; the putrid stench of thick, fresh blood revealed itself as a mural on the wall with two letters: C N, with an exclamation point. The C was separate to the N, which was almost flush to the exclamation. His eyes hung there, the sensation of dreadful realization washing over him before his mind caught up.

C _ _ _ _ _ N_!

The woman was stamped to the wall in the same way. No blood pooling beneath, blood spills across her skin in the same pattern. This was the same killer, beyond the shadow of a doubt. He walked closer to the mural, noting the indent in the blood on the dot of the punctuation mark. He spun around to the click of a gun, Martinez and Gordon the first to enter the house. He scowled, never failing to be frustrated at their attachment to lethal means. They tucked their guns into their holsters with a disheartened sigh, Martinez containing his eyes to the floor, swallowing back what he assumed was bile. His nose scrunched to confirm his evaluation.

“Jesus.” Gordon adjusted his glasses and drew a breath, his cheeks expanding as he held it to walk closer. “Same damn thing…”

”Prints in the exclamation point. Have the investigators pull there.” The Batman huffed, his mind suddenly foggy. Her initials, not a next victim… He mapped the spaces between the letters by the width of those already there, and judged the word’s length. C_ _ _ _ _ N_!

Martinez squinted as his eyes adjusted to the room’s bright lighting. “CN? Her name’s on the house. Identifiable.”

C……….N…….

A pattern. In the names. Cecilia Natividad. Bradley Yates. He envisioned a game of hangman, dropping letters into the air. BY. UE. RA. EW. CN.

Bruce Wayne. Fuck.

He bolted out to his car as forcefully as was possible without drawing too much attention. The letters were placed too transparently. It was too obvious. Writing the letters out like that. Too obvious when everything else wasn’t. Hiding in plain sight. The killer wanted to send a message to Bruce Wayne, an unmissable one. He careened back to Wayne Tower while he furiously rung Alfred. Miserable flashbacks hit him like bombs as he shouted for him to answer, voice going hoarse. He picked up, and Bruce had never been so grateful to not hear Dory’s voice.

“Bruce?—”

”Are you okay?” He couldn’t cover the strain in his voice, or the crack at the end of it, or the tears forming in his tear ducts in the milliseconds between his question and Alfred’s answer.

“Yes,”

“There’s another serial killer. I’m his next target. Don’t let anybody, or anything in or out. Tighten security.”

Alfred agreed, and the few minutes between hanging up and driving into the basement felt like purgatory. He resisted the urge to compulsively call Alfred every fifteen seconds, his counting never going past that. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Pulling onto the wide road into downtown from the industrial district, he fixed his attention to the top of Wayne Tower. Searching for fumes, fire, anything. At one point a cloud had moved to obscure the top levels, and he felt like he might faint.

He could’ve dry-heaved with relief when Alfred stood at his desk with another mug of tea in hand, moving out of the way as he parked the car at his work station. “Killer targeting you? I read your notes after alerting security.” Bruce pulled off his cowl and sank onto the bench, dragging a towel across his face and hair to soak up the sweat before it rendered him sightless. “Why?”

“There’s a theme. Everyone murdered was a single parent. Only victim with a partner on record is Weiss. Orphaned. Under the age of ten. Initials spell out my name. In full.”

“Do the police know about this?”

“Not yet. Unless someone put the pieces together.” And judging by the level of sheer exhaustion in every officer… unlikely. He got to work straightaway, sending a message first to Gordon about getting that print out of the blood as soon as possible. Would it be a print of his? Someone else? The number ‘five’ swirled in his head. If the killer was declaring another victim, wouldn’t it be six?

Second-guessing himself, feeling his gears turn but doubting his judgment more than ever, he wrote out the names and their initials, plugging in the contacts and pulling up the blood mural on the wall. He motioned for Alfred to come closer. “What do you make of it?”

“Appears to spell out your name. Pretty exactly.”

So he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t paranoid. Not everything was in his head.

The electrum tab jolted back into view as he revved up his computer for the night ahead. He sent another message to Gordon, who hadn’t yet responded, about checking the victim’s mouth for metal. Alfred hummed behind, wanting to convince the boy to rest his mind while knowing it was a fruitless endeavor, a task that would only strain. Bruce didn’t even hear him leave.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but he knew the smell of Alfred’s afternoon tea. “You’ve been up all night? It’s midday, Bruce.”

Sunday. Midday. Almost time to ready the car, don the suit. He clicked around the various documents littering his screen, his mind on the same loop as before, with no new information. It was grating him. Gordon had responded an hour after the fact, letting him know he checked, and no such luck. No visible fillings or caps, nothing except dead mouth. The autopsy would be given priority due to the sheer scale of the situation and its ongoing nature, but not fast enough. If they were any less invasive, he’d learn how to do them himself and sneak into the coroner’s office to perform them. Couldn’t be that hard, right? At minimum he needed toxicology. What was in each of their systems? What had killed them? He had a few theories, none of which seemed particularly promising. He had such a feeling that this would become more unusual as time went on. How much could he trust that feeling? Could he trust any of his instincts now? How would the medication affect them? Was he useless? Could he attune to his intuition no longer? Was this threat empty, or was it dense, packed, full, stuffed, overflowing, waiting for the one lead that would take him there, the one thing he was overlooking, the piece that was the rug to pull; the diagram-exposing, secret-message encoded video before the bombs went off, that he was too late to catch, what if he was too late now, what if there were more being murdered as he thought this? He needed to call Gordon again, needed to get someone to patch him in—

“Bruce.”

His strained eyes felt like sandpaper with every blink, his eyelid sticking to his inflamed, bruised eyes. He’d made the text of the documents larger, easier to see. Still nothing on electrum. Really? Nothing? Must not be finding it. Looked in all the papers Alfred has, the entire archive of papers from the Gazette and the Times… but only searched until the hundredth page of results. Could search more. Haven’t seen them all. Need to. Three hours ‘til sundown. Might be able to get that done. Need to stake out the residences. Check on Weiss’ husband. Everyone’s so unusually normal. Nothing stands out. Only things that stand out are relevant to the Wayne family, to their murder. Everything had been so uniform. He blinked as he pulled up the images from his contacts and the faxed photos from Gordon of each of their bodies, right next to each other. Placed at the same height against the wall. Same placement on their bodies. Same dragging puncture wounds on their calves—up. Stains down everywhere else. No sign of aspiration. No sign of struggle. If only Gordon got better pictures of their hands. Had any of them struggled? No signs of it. No signs of anything now matter how long he looked at them, no matter how close he got to the screen, how much he zoomed in, out, left, right—

“Bruce!”

What the hell was it? What had killed them? Why hadn’t they hit a single artery? Why no signs of struggle? No fight? No one home at time of death. Able to stick around long enough to wait for blood to dry, just how they wanted it to. Luminol wasn’t foolproof though. Could’ve been a professional; again, which professional? He’d scoured the lists of forensic analysts in the state, students studying forensics, history of discharges at different government agencies around town. Who wanted to threaten him? They couldn’t know he was Batman, right? That thing that attacked, it felt so real… that was something adept at fighting. Knowing their enemy. But that wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Was it related to his parents? The Riddler? He’d already ruled that out. He was still in Arkham, rotting where he belonged. He’d checked. Everything was in place. Nothing had changed, but this. He’d had to confirm with Gordon that the letters had been correct. That the mural was there. Even confirming with Alfred, he was worried his infected mind was contagious, that Alfred and him were living in some sort of surreal state, that the walls of the, maybe the walls, the walls of the building, maybe they had mold. He needed to follow up on that. Mold poisoning, that fucks with people. That kills people. Maybe the appliances were leaking something. Alfred could check that. Would he check it well enough? He needed to check it himself, and pulled out a notepad to add to the to-do list.

His pen dragged a jagged line on the yellowed paper when Alfred placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. He jumped, cricking his neck with the turn toward him. “What?” He looked down at the list, thinking he might be able to get them all tidied up by tonight. Tonight’s patrol would be busy, and hopefully not boring. Hopefully there was something. Anything. A crumb. A whisper. Something fake to follow, even. No. That would distract from the real lead he needed to uncover; why couldn’t he see it? Why was every direction leading nowhere? He’d had more stuff on the Riddler, Joker, Penguin, even Annika and Selina. On the Falcones. Maronis. He always had somewhere to go. But this had absolutely fucking nothing.

“If you won’t sleep, eat. I made an early dinner.”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“You need rest, and you need food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten all weekend.”

“I had an apple.”

“It’s not funny. Come.”

As much as he didn’t want to follow him up, he needed to take his meds. He needed to bring them down to the basement, keep them handy on his desk. Replenish his snack drawer so he didn’t have to leave. Maybe he could install a toilet down there, or get an outhouse. His mind didn’t quiet down as the elevator rose, or he walked to the kitchen; not when he took his medication, or when he forced himself to sit in the chair for precisely one minute while he slammed a bowl of soup, or when it burnt the roof of his mouth, felt the heat sliding down his chest. Alfred had barely sat down before Bruce put his bowl in the sink and descended the elevator, going this time right to his suit.

He’d programmed a button on the hidden screen in his sleeve in bright yellow—bright red was already taken, the color of blood, impossible to miss. Yellow was annoying, much as he felt about needing to even do something like this. If he ever felt supremely distressed, he’d press it. If he was dizzy, he’d press it. If his heart was beating much too fast, he’d press it. He sent a message to Alfred about picking up those calls with urgency, programmed to be received as DISTRESS - CHECK IN, different from the DISTRESS call that let the man know he was in physical peril.

If anything was awry, he needed to press it. No ego. Ego could cost him this whole endeavor, the entire mission. In the message to Alfred, he’d let him know the protocol was shifted from the previous distress call: in this one, he’d answer the call, and triage if he needed support. He hoped, agonizingly aware of how naive it was, that most of the time he’d only need a breather. Alfred would see if he was oriented to person, place, and time, and decide from there if he needed to be rescued. That was all he was doing tonight, outside of pocketing the cufflinks in his tactical pants after pulling them on.

The first stop he made was to Ecuatorro. The house was surrounded in caution tape, but the door was clear. He slipped inside, getting a peek around. Living room’s normal. Kitchen. Bedrooms. Bathroom. He looked at the toilet paper roll—almost unused. Only a few squares removed. He hadn’t planned on dying. The same was true in the kitchen, where all the dirty dishes were in the wash, and a day-old smoothie was just starting to turn in the fridge. There was an outfit folded on the dresser of the man’s bedroom. Keycard beside it for a gym nearby. Who plans to go to the gym if they suspect they’re in trouble?

He couldn’t linger too long in one place. After doing the same across the next four houses, finding nothing, he swore he could feel the top layers of his teeth shedding from being ground so hard. Nothing tying them to him, nothing tying them to each other, no traces, nothing. His black light picked up nothing, he checked every corner, perimeters of each house and every room, what channel the televisions were on (all channel five; again, why not six?), but nothing besides. Channel five. What if that was a clue? His mom had worn it—it was still sitting on top of her dresser in their bedroom. Chanel number five. How would they know that? Couldn’t be related to the perfume. Nonsense. He was thinking nonsense, mind swirling, circling, full. His brain was looking at every thought that passed, inspecting it for a holy realization, some divine intervention. Nothing!

He had to wait for the results of the print to come back, or the autopsy. Waiting was miserable. While he was here, his mind was partially at home, panic treading just below the surface thinking about Alfred being blown to smithereens. Any second could be his last. Any minute, any breath he took, could be one breath more than Alfred. Between each house he circled back to a road with a view of the tower, searching for smoke again, for tendrils, for bright lights, even S.O.S. painted on a window. It never changed. Nothing.

He went back to the watchtower after staking out the houses of each of their known family members. He had a list stuck in his pocket with their names, affiliation, and addresses. No one was coming out at this hour; that was why he’d developed the drifter. He’d decided: at the end of the night, he was going back out. When daybreak hit, and the world shed Batman, he’d see what they were truly up to; he’d find something. Something existed, it had to. Murders didn’t happen without a trace. Or the only trace being a single print muddled with blood. God they were good.

Sunlight streamed through the clouds. It stung his eyes. His mouth matched them now, his saliva abandoning him as his body begged for water, yowling to be taken care of. He trudged back to the basement with bleary eyes, grabbing a stale bottle of water from weeks ago on his desk and wetting his mouth before passing out on his cot, his breathing ragged and deep. Only for an hour. Or less. Need to get back out there. They need help. The city needs help. City needs. Needs. Help. Saving…

“Finally got some rest. Good.”

Bruce gasped awake, springing to his feet. All the blood left his head and he staggered to his desk, his fingers cold on the metal. Alfred was in a new outfit again. He clicked on his monitor and could’ve collapsed; his tone was biting, sharp, almost a scream. “Eleven PM?!” He rushed to his suit, thankful he’d slept in his padding, desperate to get out. So much wasted time, could’ve been out for hours already—

“Slept all day and all night.”

Bruce’s face fell. What? What?!

Alfred watched him scramble along the desk, patting his pockets, likely looking for his phone. His face was contorted tight, scrunched. “Like I’ve told you. If you don’t let yourself rest, your body will force it. You’ve hardly slept in weeks.”

He found his phone, nearly dead, his heart slamming into the ground below his feet. Tuesday. Fucking TUESDAY? “You didn’t wake me—”

“If you’re too exhausted to set an alarm, I won’t interrupt it. Your body needs to recover.”

Bruce struggled to ignore the implications of that, feeling like he’d unknowingly been sentenced to time-out for twenty-seven hours. Twenty-seven hours? TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS? He turned to berate Alfred more, but he’d already zipped up the elevator by the time he formed a thought callous enough to get his point across, but not unnecessarily cruel. He checked his messages for any updates but was rendered empty handed.

Until one popped up right under his thumb.

Report back on the prints. Suspect in custody, just left interrogation. Lookout tonight, nine.

Shit. Already? With those muddied prints? How sure were they?

Alfred sent him a text.

Lieutenant’s here. Says it’s related to the murders.

So they had figured out the letters spelled ‘Bruce Wayne’. He didn’t like sitting across the table from Gordon, but it was easier with his crowded head. Left no space for unrelated thoughts to form. Left no space for him to be passive aggressive over what had happened the last time they’d sat there—the nights, the days, they all rolled together when things got heated. When they didn’t, too. Martinez looked more awake. They both did. He assumed he did, too. The goddamn coma-level nap needed to be worth something. Fuck, how had he let that slip? Why couldn’t Alfred ever see the importance of sharing his priorities? Someone could’ve been killed. Maybe Gordon was about to say so. Maybe he was about to say that the entire city was in flames, Martial Law was put into effect, FEMA was back. Maybe another flood had happened. Maybe—

“Mr. Wayne.” Gordon cleared his throat. Martinez stifled a yawn. He fiddled with papers sliding on the tabletop. “It has come to our attention that a credible threat was made against your life. Last week, a string of murders occurred across the city, details of which we don’t need to engage with at this time. Fingerprints found at the scene matched the profile of Matthew Risou. Does that name ring any bells?”

Risou. Matthew. “None.” MR. Did that stand for anything? Could that shift the meaning of the others? Was that a pseudonym, like the Riddler had gone by? Hidden meaning? He’d scramble up the letters later and dig into it the second Gordon left.

“It appears he was a big fan of yours.”

Martinez laughed under his breath, rolling his eyes. His hand tightened on his belt loop. “Had whole social pages dedicated to you.”

Gordon continued, giving a sideways glance to Martinez. “Yes. Very preoccupied, disturbed. Found a letter at his residence detailing the plans. Thought if he killed people with your initials,” he peered out over his glasses, and Bruce kept his face concerned enough, cloaking the confusion soaring through him. The killer admitted it? Admitted the initials? Thought what? “You might ‘manifest’ into his life.” He shrugged, his pen clicking to the table with a clink.

“Where’d he get that idea?”

“Risou underwent a psychological evaluation after intake. Psychiatrist believes he was hallucinating. He’s enroute to Arkham Asylum as we speak.”

Arkham. So many roads leading there—need to answer them. Can’t be suspicious. Need to be scared, but not too scared. Need to think Bruce Wayne is untouchable. That Risou is below. “Wow…” He shook his head, performing a full sigh. He swallowed a glob of spit for good measure. “How long will he be there? Do I need to worry? I’ll be at a lot of public events the next few months.” Good. Focusing on public image, perception, some level of safety concern. So Gordon didn’t think he was even more suspicious.

The officers shook their heads in unison. “No need to worry about that, Mr. Wayne. Confession on file, prints at the scene, at minimum he’ll be inpatient. Long-term. At least a few months.”

“And you’ll be the first to know if anything changes.” Martinez nodded strongly at him. What is he gonna do next, salute? “Technically, the second, because we would, uh.” He trailed off, moving his hands to awkwardly adjust his hat. Gordon got up from his chair and pushed it flush to the table’s edge.

“Bottom line is: you’re safe. Wanted to let you know.” Gordon nodded at Bruce, then Alfred, then Martinez, and Alfred showed them to the door once more. Deja-vu.

He didn’t like how simple this was, how straightforward. Had the victims really been murdered due to their initials? Had that been the depth? Is that why when Bruce slammed into the deep end, scoured the internet, excavated his mind to poke and prod and measure each passing thought, he continuously came up empty?

Risou had worked in forensics in his youth, which explained why the scene was so clean. His social platforms were loosely related to Bruce, tweeting a few times a week about how much he wished Bruce would be his friend, tagging Wayne Enterprises in dinner invites, but outside of that—he retweeted extremely normal things; memes that were a half-decade expired, even he knew that much. Photos of animals, political content unrelated to Gotham and not otherwise fringe. Must’ve been a delusion.

He thought of how Martinez scoffed, laughing under his breath, all but outright mocking the man for being deluded. It felt like a bruise. The delusions weren’t the problem, the violence was. Nothing about the situation was laughable, or worth something as cheap and dismissive as an eye-roll. He needed help. He needed help before he became a murderer, before the parents were taken from their children, before he’d be subjected to a life sentence at Arkham, confined to the stale walls, harsh lighting, rehearsed smiles, cutting restraints, spoon-fed applesauce, having to request sips of water, have people staring at him through windows, assessing his risk, his safety, his body, his mind, what if he would eventually be a danger to people around him? What if he already was, but too deluded to know it?

He forced his eyes to the motorbike by the tunnel entrance. He wasn’t about to sympathize with a murderer. He wasn’t about to think about his time in Arkham. He hadn’t hurt anyone yet. He wouldn’t. This was the bullshit that started happening when he slept too much. He knew his thoughts tended toward the ruminative, and that it wasn’t a problem if he was working.

“Dory’s heading out for the evening.” Alfred startled Bruce again. “Wants to know if you need anything pressed for tonight.”

Tonight? His eyes widened. The rally. “Uh,” Didn’t even have time to research March. If Alfred hadn’t let him sleep so much, he could’ve gotten everything done. This falling through the cracks… unacceptable. What are the people of Gotham supposed to think if their vigilante can’t follow through on meager research? What was he even doing at the meeting tonight? He needed to work on the case. Who had declared Risou mentally unstable? The prints were ‘the clearest they’d ever run’? For someone likely unfit to stand trial? Sure, he was in forensics, but—

“Bruce?”

“Whatever, I’ll find something.” This was what happened when he didn’t have time for his responsibilities. This was what happened when he let his body get the better of him. Why hadn’t he set an alarm? Shake it off. Dory was leaving, meaning it was five. Rally started at six. He needed to get ready now so he could arrive with fifteen minutes to spare; he needed a shower. That would take five minutes if he hurried. Find an outfit, do his hair, find the watch. Warm up the sports car. Would Alfred have let him sleep right through the rally, too, if the prints hadn’t surfaced?

All Bruce could think about as he handed his keys to the valet was that he hoped the rally didn’t run long. He’d stowed his suit in the trunk, hidden behind a cleverly-placed bag of Alfred’s old golf clubs.

His clothes felt too tight on his body. The sweater was itchy round his neck, scraping on a scab on the small of his back. Sweat tickled the skin under his chest, creating a terrible grating feeling against the shirt. The cameras were too intrusive; flashing bright, white lights to disorient him, making him have to watch each step he took. The watch caught on the hair of his forearm, his cologne was giving him a headache, and god, he just wanted to go home.

March walked straight to him when he entered, though it wasn’t a far walk; he’d positioned himself far enough from the entryway to be polite, close enough to greet people on arrival with warmth. Bruce stomached a grimace as the chandeliers exacerbated the pounding in his skull. He had to blink a few times before he could read the politician’s face. March wasn’t… eager. Looks afraid. Nervous. No, sorrowful. Concerned? His eyes traced the slope of March’s, the downturned angle on his mouth, the way he held his hands clasped in front of him rather than going for another hug. “Bruce! Didn’t know if you’d show tonight.”

“I’ll be attending as many campaign events as possible.” Force a grin, force a grin…

March’s brow furrowed, then relaxed, and he laughed. Was he going to bring up the accident? Hadn’t he heard the speech he made at the beginning of the meeting last week? He was sure it made some paper somewhere; at the very least, people had gotten pictures of him arriving. March gave his arm a reassuring slap. What? “Trying to show the masses you won’t be bullied into submission?”

“I’m unsure what you’re referring to.” Seriously, what? He glanced over March’s shoulder and noticed everyone was looking at him, occasionally shuffling closer. Some looked away when he noticed them staring, some waved, but regardless, his presence was noticed beyond anticipation.

He laughed like Bruce was making a joke. “That’s an informed angle to take. Serial killers like to be known, heralded. Not giving them power.”

Christ, it went public? He remained measured, hyperaware of all the eyes on him, and how illuminated he was in this obscenely well-lit room. The meetings weren’t this well-lit, were they? At this point, people might’ve started thinking he was cursed. The accident, then the ‘scandalous’ interview, now a superfan-turned-serial killer was attached to his name. Speak—he needed to respond. He needed to get it through his head that this was his life now. Of course it went public. “I feel tremendously sorry for the victims.” He didn’t have to act saying that, as he felt the guilt seep into his bones, gnawing him to gummy shreds. A thought pierced through him, one that was familiar, but sharp as ever; the guilt of being alive. If he hadn’t survived the attempt, Risou would’ve had no one to manifest. Ecuatorro, Yates, Altruss, Weiss, Natividad… they could be at a park with their children right now. Part of him knew his mind was simply running with anything it could get, that it wasn’t true that X followed Y; he knew that things happened without purpose, unfolded without special fanfare, but it didn’t make his nausea any more palatable. Just gave it a different shape.

March nodded. “Glad he’s getting the support he needs. Support he needed before.” He sighed. “Donating a portion of the funds tonight to the victim’s families.”

In truth, Bruce had forgotten that was an option, and wrote a mental note. Send a check to each of the families. He hoped it would stick in the middle of the spirally muck that was his crowded, guilt-laden mind. Had that guy truly been the killer? Said he worked in forensics, but his name hadn’t come up in any of the databases, past or present, for the entire state of New Jersey. Forensics was one of the few careers people moved to Gotham to pursue—did he commute out of state? Why? Did he move here after his career ended? Why? Would Gordon have anything new to add tonight? If crime was slow, he needed to check if there were other Risous, people so obsessed with celebrity they’d be driven to violence. Was he a celebrity? Was this what celebrity felt like? Like ants crawling over his skin? Like the entire world was analyzing him, staring at him, poking, prodding, pushing… could he get out of this room? Pretend the GCPD were wanting him down at the station? If he would’ve known he’d had an out…

“Welcome! Press are clustered left of the stage, but feel free to break from the herd if you so please.”

He spun around at the tenor of your voice before he was consciously aware of it. Your hair was down tonight, and you had on pants and a sweater rather than your usual dress. Shockingly fitting. Your eyes flit to his for a brief moment, but didn’t linger. In the mess of the weekend, he’d forgotten you’d be here. Thank god for the prints.

“Reminds me: need to make an announcement to the press. I won’t be accepting press questions until the last half hour. I want to give priority to people who aren’t paid to be here.” March winked at you before striding across the room, and Bruce’s gut tightened.

“I hope you and Alfred were able to stay safe this weekend.”

When he looked at you next, he saw your eyes skimming his exposed skin. Looking for injury. Each time it felt less and less painful. Swore he could feel a touch in every glance. Whatever eye makeup you were wearing had the slightest shimmer, the light hitting it in such a way his eyes kept coming back to it. Oh, SPEAK! He opened his mouth to reassure you they’d been fine, but he had no air in his lungs. He’d forgotten to breathe; when he did, your perfume took up all the space, and his thoughts left him again. Completely, entirely empty.

Your waiting is so patient. He managed a nod only when he looked to the ground, the words tumbling out without particular attention paid to them, or even awareness of which ones his lips might form. “Never got in contact. Wish I would’ve known sooner, maybe some of them could’ve been saved. Probably would’ve.”

You shook your head with such seriousness it consumed him, gave him no leeway to berate himself. “It’s not your fault, if that’s what you’re taking from it.” He held a strange feeling in his body, like talking to you was going to confession. Like you had the authority to release him.

His eyes caught on the glimmer again. It made your eyes brighter than they already were. Your hair framed your face so softly. His stomach lurched when he noticed a glint by your ear, but it was just earrings. Matched the necklace hanging down your sweater, and the ring on the pointer finger of your left hand. The fingers that dragged along his torso were being fiddled with hard enough they left a blush of lightness whenever you shifted your touch. He put his hand in his pocket to keep it from grabbing yours.

March tapped on the mic, causing a bleating sound to screech from the speakers. An interesting choice to hold it in the foyer—until he looked away from you and noticed a sizeable crowd had formed. The occupancy had tripled in just the few minutes he stood with you. At least he thought it’d only been a few minutes. Could’ve been an hour, or only a second. He followed your eyes over to the throng of press, and nodded. As if you needed permission from him to do anything. “I’m good. Join ‘em.”

You grinned, and he felt a bubble of air expand in his chest. “Trying to get rid of me?”

It popped, immediately. “No, I didn’t mean—no.” He felt himself turn scarlet. He swallowed hard, and almost choked on his spit, now taking up far too much space in his mouth. “I meant I’m fine, I’m,”

“I’m teasing.” Your grin spread to the other side, revealing your teeth. His limbs felt tingly. You looked… you looked so…

“Welcome, everyone. It’s about five minutes to six, and there’s lots to cover tonight, so we’ll be starting on the dot. Feel free to take a quick trip to the restroom, or check out our caterers: Mr. and Mrs. Lindel from Lindel’s Bakery on the east side. Thank you.” March gave a small wave, then stepped back from the podium.

“I’d better get situated.” You sighed. Your breath smelled minty. “Skating on pretty thin ice.” You pulled out the recorder from the small bag on your hip. “Glad you’re good.” With that as your salutation, you walked through the crowd toward the stage side.

All the air left his lungs in one enormous huff. He’d been holding his breath, and hadn’t even known it. In the same fashion, he felt a decayed throb from his stomach, suddenly screaming at him. He was starving.

The ham and cheese croissant was stunning, and a needed distraction from the incessant pull he felt to engage you, but it wasn’t enough. He scooped up a plate of rolls and doughnuts to tide him over, but by the time he’d walked to the gathering area of the stage, he’d finished it all. He was hungry, a bit exhausted, and his brain felt like it’d gone through the wash. None of which he’d been the least aware of prior to your conversation. Hmm. You felt grounding. Tethering.

When he walked to the trash he was intercepted by Gavenstein, accompanied by all his cronies. Ugh. “Wayne!” God, his voice is aggravating. “Couldn’t help but notice you playing favorites.” The men around him snickered. Bruce had about two seconds to fix his face after discarding his plate. His voice was light with mischief, and a piss-poor attempt at humor. “Is she someone you’d recommend?”

Whatever cloud you’d left him on was gone in an instant. He straightened his spine and flexed his shoulders wide, his mind running away with what to say—more specifically what not to. He kept to the least of it, not wanting to put more heat on you. “Not a good look to talk about journalists that way.”

Gavenstein scoffed, a slick smile turning up his eyes. “I’m not talking about journalists, I’m talking about that one.” The man nearest to him, McKinley—a name he only knew from the first day’s introduction—thought he had any right to chime in, sneaking a comment under his breath to the men beside him. “The broad no one’d give a second glance if it weren’t for Wayne.”

Don’t react. Bruce’s throat caught on fire, he was sure of it. Goosebumps peppered his skin, his abdomen tensing, crunching down on the words he couldn’t say. Don’t react… but they kept chuckling. They think this is funny? Fuck. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Gavenstein laughed again, performing a stage whisper to the gaggle of men strung to his hip. “Wants to keep it for himself.”

Oooh… he wanted to get you OUT of this room; away from the harassing, invasive, disgusting, FUCK! “Did you not hear my speech last week at city hall?” He didn’t hear any of the men’s responses, too busy imprinting the precise shade of Gavenstein’s rolling, dismissive eyes to memory. For later. “Or were you too busy flirting with every woman but your wife to notice?”

His eyes flashed, and he released a short puff of air. “You’re pushing it, Wayne. Know your limits.”

Bruce was already tightening his hands into fists, choreographing how he’d slam him by the collar of his shirt into the edge of the wall. “I do. Do you?”

“Alright folks, it is six on the dot and we are ready to get started! Thank you all for showing up this evening.”

Bruce stepped forward in the crowd, knowing if he stayed back there he’d disrupt the entire event. The walls were closing in on him again. Too many people. Too many lights. Too many reporters. Everyone was touching him as he walked through; a tug on the shoulder, caress on the arm, a touch on his hip. Low, sultry whispers echoed on the same trail, but he couldn’t have cared less if he tried.

Maybe he wanted to disrupt it. Maybe he wanted to be the first to throw a punch, bring some pain to the lofty businessmen of the city. Maybe then they wouldn’t fuck with you. Keep their smartass comments to themselves. He could walk back there, and get him right in the jaw. Take a few hits so everyone just thought he was lucky. Yeah…

“Questions from the press will be saved until the end. I want to hear from all of you first, who took time out of your workweek to hear my campaign.”

Bruce glanced over heads and shoulders to see you in the middle of the pack of reporters; the only one without a flashy camera or tablet, your hair falling into your face as you wrote something on your notepad. His shoulders relaxed. You took care to be here. Probably spent the weekend researching. He wasn’t about to fuck that up for you.

He maintained that rhythm through the rally’s end. Each time he felt his thoughts melt toward vengeance, he’d peek your direction. The flames would dissipate to a gentle mist. Though for all your diligent notetaking, none of the press got a chance to speak, even going past the stated runtime. The people had come in hot, drilling March on topics from environmentalism to if he’d uphold the death penalty. The crowd seemed to lean progressive, with not a lot of naysayers. He wondered how that ratio might shift with Grange and Hady. He hoped you wouldn’t miss another rally, because he was barely staying afloat at this one; reminiscing how he used to stand on stage beside his parents, and how tightly he’d squeezed his mom’s hand. Crowds had always made him anxious.

He hung to the back and let people pass him, though many wanted to stop and chat. He pretended to be answering an email, keeping his eyes to the ground to—found you, and stepped in line with your footsteps. Though he’d tried to be inconspicuous, he did it for your sake; he didn’t give a shit what Gavenstein had to say, or how he wanted to spin it. Being in your orbit, safely, was all that mattered.

He spoke first, bursting with energy. “What are you thinking?” The crowd leading toward the exit was stalled, with a large group hogging the doorway. You and him were some of the last people in the pack… he glanced behind him to see if anyone was taking the back exit. So far, no one.

Jesus, your voice was like a salve. “It would be blasphemous for me to take sides,”

“But?” He liked how your cheeks went pink when he egged you on.

“But… he seems about as stellar as a politician can get.”

Bruce smirked. “Told you.”

“What did the billionaire think about all the taxes?”

He thought about how willing he’d been to hand over his card under alcohol’s haze. Oddly, he still felt that way. “Might take some of the funds away from our housing mission.”

“I thought I’d dreamt that.” You laughed, and it made his stomach flip. You liked it that much? It was a dream of yours? A flutter of blinks and you stared at the floor, biting your lip. Why hadn’t he wanted to come here, again?

The line still wasn’t moving, and he got a pit in his stomach thinking about you getting into another rideshare. Or worse, walking. He was certain your leg still hurt, maybe your head too. He was pretty sure Miller hadn’t escaped, but he hadn’t checked since the weekend. He lowered his voice, though he didn’t think the geriatric couple behind you were gossips. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

He tried to not make it seem like he’d fall through the floor if you declined, and tried to stifle his relief when you accepted. After instructing you to wait five minutes before walking out back, he slipped through the line and snuck between the family holding everyone up. The steps were slippery, but he jogged down them well enough. The shouting and flashing barely resonated as he took his key from the valet and sped down the avenue. Paparazzi usually followed him until Orville, where he hung a right and took a half dozen more. Maybe one day they’d catch on, but it wasn’t today.

You’d just slipped out of the back door when he pulled up, lights cut. On approach he’d anxiously inspected the chair for dust, crumbs, or defects, none of which he found. The collar of his undershirt was choking him. Was the cabin too cold? Too warm? You slid into the passenger seat, and all was quiet again.

You were the first to break the silence, him being perfectly content to share the space. “You really want to do the housing thing? That wasn’t a binding contract.”

“I’d never thought of it before. Everyone talks so much about the housing crisis, I never thought there were enough empty apartments.”

“Be good to get it rolling before winter. Shit kills people.” Shit likely being the thick, hard blankets of ice and snow that coated every available surface in the city from November to February. He nodded in agreement, pinning the conversation for Thursday. It got him thinking…

“Does it snow much where you live?”

“I don’t know, downtown gets so much less than the rest of Gotham.”

Your sarcasm used to be so grating; now he felt lucky to receive it, his cheeks pained from squishing against endless grins. Is that all it took? One drink, once, and now he was talking to you like a friend? “Your hometown.”

“Have you been to the west coast?”

He shook his head, trying not to pay attention to the gong of nostalgia rattling through him. His parents had continuously put off travel until the campaign’s end. You looked out the passenger window, only able to see the slight reflection of your face in the glass. “The winter’s more mild there, for the most part. We live in a valley, so we don’t get much snow. Fall’s pretty there, though.”

“What do you like about it?”

“The trees are gorgeous. Like,” you shook your head, and he had to intentionally focus his eyes to the lanes of the road or his eyes would wander. “Seriously. Stunning. Used to bike there a lot, especially in October.” It was impossible to miss the wistfulness in your tone.

He was caught between two sides: pulling himself into the conversation, or keeping the focus on you. He gripped the steering wheel and took a chance. “You’ll have to send me some photos.” His brow furrowed. Why had that felt like taking a chance, exactly?

“I can pull some up right now.” The light blasted you in the face when you pulled out your phone. The streets were wide and empty, no one visiting the industrial district past sunset. He cut the lights again and pulled into an empty recycling plant’s compact parking. He unclicked his seatbelt and leaned toward you, and you did the same, transfixed by whatever was on your screen. Whatever it was had your pupils dilating, even in the bright light, and your smile huge. You held your phone between the two of you, your shoulder pressing into his to fill the gap.

Could you feel his heart pounding? The flush of his skin? Was his breathing too loud? He didn’t move away, didn’t react. You swiped to a photo of a cat playing in a bright red pile of leaves. He hoped you would speak, he didn’t trust his voice not to shake as his chest and arm pulsed everywhere you’d touched. He didn’t have padding now; you could feel his skin, he could feel your fingertips…

“This is Walter.”

Bruce’s lips parted in alarm when you spoke, his eyes moving from the fingers cradling your phone to the video of the leaping cat running around a side yard. “Walter. Is he yours?” Thank god his voice didn’t crack like he thought it would. He was coming back into his body, looking at the gray cat frolicking, focusing on the blue of the sky. You startled him when you turned to face him, so close he could see every pore on your cheeks, every line in your lips. Lips that had just asked him a question, one that he couldn’t recall over the glow in his chest. What were you doing to him?

“Do you like cats?”

He nodded, his body going on autopilot. You swiped again, showing another landscape with no building that wasn’t a barn. He drew a steadying breath. “Looks quiet.” Like the physical manifestation of being around you.

“It is. Too much sometimes, but, yeah.”

Whatever tension his body had become confused navigating, it was fading the more he focused on the images, and less on the you of it all. Getting this window into another life, life outside the city walls, was fascinating. “Is that your neighborhood?” You nodded and swiped again, showing an endless dirt road with vineyards and a disheveled barn in the distance. Some birds flew over you, your bike tires rumbling against the separated, dry dirt. It wasn’t just quiet, it was silent. Gotham had never been silent. What would it feel like to be somewhere like that?

He noticed the time just as his heart slowed to a light jog. 8:49. Gordon. He sighed, getting caught up in yet another startling amount of disappointment, and put the car in gear. “Need to be somewhere at nine. Sorry.” Sorry didn’t cut it, and for the next five minutes of driving he overthought how simply he’d put it. You hadn’t complained, tucking your phone away and chatting pleasantly while juxtaposing the two climates, but he was aching with dread.

When he pulled into the parking garage (you’d ducked, and he’d waited until the street was relatively empty), he squeezed as close to the door as he could before braking. Stay. Please. “Thanks for showing me the pictures.” Don’t leave. “Looks nice. Walter’s fun.” Let’s watch another show. Get snacks. Talk. “See you on Thursday.”

You waved before getting into the elevator, and he waited for the doors to close before pulling out. His body felt hot, sweaty, tight. Putting on the padding, the armor, the cowl… it sounded horribly irritating. The driving, the elevator up, the strain on his esophagus when he spoke. The pictures Gordon would inevitably share, full of blood, and guts, and dead, dead eyes.

He winced, intrusive images of that overlaid with your neighborhood. Bloodied, mangled leaves, animals and bodies strewn about, a constant scream heard from another assault, another fist, tooth, blood running down his shower drain at six in the morning. He wasn’t even mad when Gordon called him minutes later to postpone, and he didn’t care why. The drive home was monotonous.

Bruce dragged his heavy body up to his bathroom, shedding first the sweater, then his undershirt, his hands tiring as they unbuckled his belt. He turned the water hot, waiting for steam to fill the room and fog the glass before forcing the last of his clothes off. He let the water pummel into his tired muscles, the soreness becoming one dull throb. Being around you lowered his tolerance for this, he was becoming conscious to that phenomenon of yours. But he didn’t know why.

The water droplets stung as they hit his shoulderblades, cooling just slightly but not enough as they slid down the back of his thighs. Steam thickened the air he breathed in, deep and slow. He let his eyes fall shut, let the weekend pass over him, slip through like the water falling from the tips of his fingers. He pressed his palm against the shower wall to release the tension in his lower back, struggling to grip against the slick, fogged glass as he dropped his shoulders and opened his hips. His eyes fluttered and he let out a reflexive sigh as the hand lingering at his side moved to slide down his abdomen, following the flow of the water.

He hadn’t masturbated in awhile, not having enough energy while balancing the two identities. He was tense, strung out, his dick already hard, pulse hammering. He leaned his forehead against the glass, soft moans coming out in exhausted sighs as he built closer to climax. God, his body needed this… his strokes stuttered as the water fell out of perception, his body tensing, tensing, yes—until his hand became yours. His eyes flashed open and he gasped, yanking his hand back as he slammed onto the shower floor. What the, what the fuck?

He scrambled out and threw on a towel, unimaginably tense, driven straight to the edge. He pressed his palms to his temples, struggling to stop their shaking. No. No. No!

[atzaurora]

급격한 복통-𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒔

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ᥴᥲrᥱ іᥒ 𝗍һᥱ ᥴ᥆m𝖿᥆r𝗍s ᥆𝖿 һ᥆mᥱ

𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: Yunho

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fem!idol!reader x idol!yunho

𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (fluff)

𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: group members, good friends, (crushing?)

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: none

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: y/n is on her period and Yunho makes sure to help her out to ease the pain.

𝒘/𝒄: 909

𝒂/𝒏: another small imagine I had in my drafts and felt like posting ^^ enjoy and feel free to request!

here's my 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!

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The day had started like any other for Y/N, but soon a familiar ache settled in her lower abdomen, signaling the arrival of her period. She tried to push through the discomfort, but the cramps became more insistent, and she knew she needed to take a break. As the ninth member of Ateez, she didn't want to seem weak or burden the others, but the pain was becoming too much to ignore.

Yunho, ever perceptive and caring, noticed her discomfort. During a break from practice, he approached her with a gentle smile.

"Y/N, you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

She hesitated but decided to be honest. "It's just... cramps. I think I need to lie down for a bit."

Yunho nodded understandingly. "Let's get you back to the dorms. You shouldn't push yourself too hard."

Grateful for his support, Y/N allowed Yunho to escort her back to their shared living space. As they entered the dorms, Yunho led her to the couch, helping her get comfortable with a blanket and some pillows.

"Do you need anything? Painkillers, maybe?" he asked, already moving towards the medicine cabinet.

"That would be great," Y/N replied, wincing slightly as another cramp hit.

Yunho returned with the painkillers and a glass of water. "Here you go. I'll be right back; I'm going to run to the store to get you some other things."

Before she could protest, Yunho was out the door. She sighed, touched by his thoughtfulness. She took the medicine and curled up on the couch, hoping the pain would subside soon.

At the supermarket, Yunho moved quickly, determined to gather everything Y/N might need. He picked up a heating pad, her favorite snacks, and a variety of teas that were known to help with menstrual discomfort. He also grabbed some extra sanitary products, just in case.

As he approached the pharmacy section, he remembered to get some more painkillers and vitamins. The pharmacist gave him a knowing smile as he asked for recommendations.

"Taking care of someone special?" she asked kindly.

Yunho nodded with a smile. "Yeah, just trying to make sure she has everything she needs."

"That's sweet of you. Here, these should help," she said, handing him a small bag with a few additional items.

Yunho thanked her and hurried to the checkout, eager to get back to Y/N.

Back at the dorm, Y/N was dozing lightly when Yunho returned, arms full of bags. He set everything down and began to unpack.

"Hey, I've got some stuff that might help," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

Y/N sat up, eyes widening at the sight of all the things Yunho had brought. "Yunho, you didn't have to do all this..."

"Of course I did," he replied with a smile. "You're important to me, Y/N. Now, let's get you feeling better."

He handed her the heating pad, which she gratefully placed on her stomach. Yunho then made her a cup of tea and brought over her favorite snacks. As she sipped the warm tea, she felt the pain start to ease.

"Thank you, Yunho," she said, her voice soft with emotion. "I really appreciate this."

He sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug. "Anytime, Y/N. You know we're all here for each other, right?"

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging. In the world of K-pop, where every day was filled with challenges and hard work, it was moments like these that made it all worth it. Surrounded by her friends—her family—Y/N knew she could face anything.

As the evening went on, Yunho stayed by her side, watching movies and chatting to keep her distracted from the pain. His presence was a soothing balm, and Y/N felt a deep sense of gratitude and affection for her friend.

For now, she was content, knowing that no matter what, she wasn't alone. And with Yunho by her side, she felt ready to take on the world.

The next few hours passed in a comfortable haze. Yunho's presence, combined with the heating pad and painkillers, worked wonders on Y/N's cramps. They laughed and talked about everything and nothing, the weight of her discomfort slowly lifting.

At some point, the rest of the Ateez members filtered back into the dorm, their practice session finally over. Seonghwa was the first to notice the cozy scene in the living room.

"Y/N, how are you feeling?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

"Better, thanks to Yunho," she said with a small smile.

The other members quickly gathered around, offering their own words of comfort and support. It was moments like these that reminded Y/N just how lucky she was to have such a caring group of friends.

Hongjoong, always the leader, clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's make tonight special for Y/N. Who's up for a movie marathon?"

The idea was met with enthusiastic agreement, and soon everyone was settled in for a night of fun and relaxation. Yunho stayed close to Y/N, making sure she had everything she needed and more.

As the first movie started, Y/N leaned her head on Yunho's shoulder, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over her. She knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, she could face them with her friends by her side.

And with Yunho, she felt especially safe, knowing that he would always be there to take care of her, no matter what.

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[gadriezmannsgirl]

Hi, I've got a request for Gavi where reader tells him that she's pregnant. That's pretty much all I thought of sorry

Also known as Gender Reveal (10)!

Blessing - P.G6

Summary: Two small lines can change the world for you and your husband, Pablo.

You were throwing up once again, it was the five day in a row and the third time today you visited the bathroom to let all the content of your stomach out.

"¡Amor!" You heard your two years husband, Gavi before you felt him burst in into the bathroom pulling your hair up and pat your back softly "Let it out"

"Don-ugh!" You lift your hand but quickly cut yourself off and grabbed the end of the toilet. You waited for a few minutes and after you had let everything out, you sighed and quickly shut the lid and flushed the toilet.

With the help of Pablo, you sat on top of the lid as you wiped your mouth looking down at your lap.

"Amor" Pablo crounched down and you looked at him feeling embarrassed and not wanting to worry him "Hey, hey... Look at me"

"I'm fine" You whispered softly

"Don't lie to me straight to my face, please" You looked away and sighed "You throwing up daily these past days and you throwing up three times today while it's barely even 2pm is worrying me. This is not just a stomach bug anymore"

"Don't worry, please" You whisper

"How could I just not worry? You're my wife, I'm always worried that something may happen to you and the fact you're just dismissing this is worrying me even more"

"I honestly don't feel bad" You look into his brown eyes "I'm just really tired lately and I feel really hungry out of nowhere"

"But then you throw up" You nod wanting to cry

"I don't know what's happening to me" You hid your face into your hands and start breaking bit by bit

"Hey no, don't cry"

You feel Pablo's arms tightening around your frame and soon you are feeling his lips on top of your hand, exactly where your cheek is, you quickly push that hand away to allow him to kiss your skin as your hand mets his cheek lovingly.

"I know you don't like doctors" He starts as you turn to face him as he wipes your tears away "but I think it'll be good if we check what's going on, if its the flu-"

"Baby" You cut him off shakking your head

"-maybe you have a low value, platelets? hemoglobin? what do I know, but we can discard anything. Please" His eyes pleaded you "I just don't like seeing you like this, I want you healthy. Always"

You also didn't like feeling like this and after a few seconds, you nodded.

"Okay" You nod

"Okay?" He asks with a small smile as you nod softly "Okay" You kiss his ear softly

"Can you pass me my toothbrush, please?"

"I will kiss you right now"

"Ew, no" You shook your head

"I will" He leaned in as you leaned back "Y/N"

"No" You laughed

"Gimme a kiss" You shook your head

"I will give you a kiss after I brush my teeth"

"I really don't care about it, you can give a kiss now and a kiss after"

"No!" You laugh and soon he joins leaning in to kkiss your cheek before he removes himself from you and goes to the sink to look for your toothbrush

"Al cabo que ni quería, que te huele la boca horrible" (After all, I didn't even want to, because your mouth smells horrible) His tone let you know he was teasing you

"I just threw up!"

"¡Fua, que horrible!" (how awful!)

"¡Pablo Martín, ven acá que te beso de una!" (come here and I'll kiss you!)

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"So, you already went to the doctor?" Aurora said as you nod softly drinking from your ice coffee "What did it say?"

"I'm good, everything's good" You say "but I'm still taking some vitamins just in case" She nods

You had gone to the doctor with Pablo, two weeks ago and did every kind of tests, to make sure nothing was out of place or had some kind of virus and stuff. Nothing, absolutely nothing was wrong.

"And the throwing up?"

"It's not often now" You shrug "I think it was some burrito I had" You say not minding it but then you yawned

"You feel tired?" You nod

"I don't know why. I mean, I took a nap before coming here but I guess work has been hetic and I guess I was just catching up on it" You look at her smiling softly when out of nowhere you felt hungry and looked confused "I'm hungry" You said "I want an avocado with chocolate ice cream"

"You what?"

"I'm craving some avocado with chocolate ice cream" You said simply "Do you think they'll sell it here?" You looked around "Maybe with a cracker too"

"Y/N" Aurora said but you didn't heard her, too busy looking for a waitress "Cariño" You looked at her waiting for her to speak

"Can I have some of your ice cream? I'm really hungry and I don't think they will sell that here, the most I'll get are weird looks from everyone" She only handed you her ice cream to see you dig into it

"When was the last time you had your period?" You hum inserting two full spoons of ice cream into your mouth

"I don't know" You shrug softly "I can't remember very well right now... I think it was the 25th?"

"Month?" You stopped eating ice cream and got serious knowing where she was getting into, you look around for your phone "The last time I got my period was two months ago" You looked at Aurora "Aurora..."

"Are you regular?" You nod "We need to do a test"

"But it's impossible, I already did blood tests nothing came out of it"

"Maybe they didn't do a pregnancy test? I don't know but there's a possibility of you being pregnant"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Does it look like I'm kidding you?" You whined starting to eat once again the ice cream "I feel so happy right now"

"What if he doesn't want it?" You asked "I mean... We talked about it but we never started trying for it"

"Pablo's crazy for you, he loves you and he talks about a future with you, he would love to have a baby with you"

"We don't even know if I am pregnant or not"

"And that's why I'm here for. Let's buy a test"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Ok, one minute left" You said sitting on Pablo's side of the bed "Two lines pregnant and one line not pregnant" You say and Aurora nods going over to hug you "I'm so nervous, I don't even think I peed right"

"What?"

"I don't even know what I'm saying"

"Calm down"

"How can I calm down if there's a possibility of having a half Pablo and a half me inside of me right now?" You ask standing up "Is the minute done, now?"

"It has gone barely five seconds" She looks at her phone

"Why time goes fast in some things and slow with ohters? I need this already" You whine as Aurora laughs

"Babygirl, don't worry too much. If it is, it'll be the most loved baby in this world both by its parents and by its whole family. And if it's not it'll be a false alarm"

"A false alarm I kinda want to be true" You said "After you told me about that, I have been thinking and thinking of it and I just- I don't know" You lift your shoulders "I want to be pregnant" You said softly looking at your sister-in-law

"Your time will come, Y/N/N. And if the time's now, it'll be the right one" And as if it was by magic, the timer went off "Are you ready?"

"I'm nervous" You said

"You want me to watch it?" You doubted for a few seconds before shaking your head

"I go" You went inside the bathroom and grabbed one of the three tests. You sighed deeply before looking down at your hand.

Two lines.

Your breath got caught in your throat, you quickly grabbed the other two and the answer was the same.

Two lines.

Pregnant.

You were shaking and feel your heart full, you smiled and teared up before crossing your hands around your yet non-existent belly. "Dear lord. I'm pregnant" You whisper looking down at yourself with a big smile

"Y/N?" You hear Aurora ask and went out "What is it?"

"I think you need to help me get some ideas on how to tell Pablo, he's going to be a dad" Her mouth opened and screams, from both of you were heard.

"I'M GONNA BE AN AUNTIE"

"AND I'M GONNA BE A MOM"

"A sexy one, by the way"

"Oh shut up" You laugh "That explains my sudden mood changes, my weird cravings, the throwing up, everything"

"You're having baby Páez inside of you. If it's a boy like Pablo, he'll suck the energy out of you" You both laugh "I remember mom being drained out after putting an annoying Pablo to sleep"

"Shit. I'm pregnant" You say once again "How do I tell this to him?"

"Right, we gotta find the way to tell my brother"

Three days have passed since you knew that you were pregnant and you couldn't hold back the news anymore and almost messed up the surprise you and Aurora, prepared.

The doorbell rangs and you instantly run towards the door.

"It's mine!" You announce watching how Pablo was already standing up to get it

"Careful, amor!"

"I got it! I'm alright!" You said opening the door to find the package Aurora left for you a few seconds ago on the floor. You picked it up, turning around "AH!" You yell scared, you didn't expected your husband to be behind you "Joder, amor. Me has asustado" (Fuck, baby. You scared me)

"I'm sorry" He smiled softly coming over to side hug you "What's that?"

"I-uhm... A little something I bought"

"Uhm" He said with his lips pressed to your cheek "May I ask what?"

"A little something for you, well us but you'll see soon"

"I'm curious. Let's open it?"

"This is just like the invoice of the purchase, what I bought comes around eight? seven? months" You said a bit unsure

"What did you bought? Something handcrafted? Why it takes so long to arrive?" You smile

"You can say that. It's in the making" You nod

"Now, I'm hella curious" He smiled "You know, you didn't have to gift me anything, amor"

"Well, it's something that just came up, it was unexpected but yeah... it's done already"

"What did you bought? And why is the invoice in that big box? Why did it came earlier and not with the package?"

"You're asking way too many questions, Pabs" You laugh nervous "but this has the answers" You gave him the white box

"You didn't killed anybody, right?"

"Oh dear god, just open that box" You say wanting to eat your nails

"Ok, I will" He said shooting you a smile before he undid the bow and opened the box "What...?"

After learning you were pregnant, you and Aurora went to the hospital and asked for an ultrasound, in there you found out you were one month and three weeks into the pregnancy. You bought small baby socks and a small barcelona jersey with the iconic GAVI 6.

You also did a small note that read "Hola papá. ¡Espero conocerte pronto, te quiero mucho! Att: Baby Páez Y/L/N" (Hi daddy. I look forward to meeting you soon, love you!) along with the pregnancy test you did

"What does this means?" He asked, his eyes lighting up with hope. "Is this...?" You smile to your husband and softly nod

"We're pregnant"

"Joder, Y/N. Thank you so much, mi vida!" He said hugging you tightly "You don't even know how happy I am, right now" You laughed "I'll be a daddy and you will be the most amazing mom, ever. Thank you so much, amor, thank you, thank you" He kissed you several times around your face "Joder, we are pregnant"

"We are" You said smiling

"Thank you for this blessing, mi vida. My little but perfect familia. Los amo a ambos" (I love you both) His hand caressed your flat tummy as you peck his lips smiling

"Y nosotros a ti, guapo" (And we love you, handsome)

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[voikiraz]

Lover ; sunoo 선우 .

Lovers . bf!sunoo x fem!reader w. None step ? #848 M.recordings ! [ sunoo ver is so adorable ]

Syn. Lover sunoo and actions he does that makes you fold every time

ꕤ sunoo would be one of those boyfriends that would act like your best friend a lot, and with that comes stuff like doing your hair for you even if it's just a simple ponytail, he loves to do it, you’d be brushing your hair and you’re used to putting it in a ponytail when you’re around the house, but since your amazing boyfriend is around, you will definitely ask him to do it for you, just to see his concentrated face.

"Sunoo" you called for him, sitting in front of your big mirror as you put on your skin care.

"Yes" he dragged out the word, still busy in the kitchen as he made some popcorn for your movie night.

"Can you help me tie my hair?" You entered the kitchen, standing in front of him and giving him a sheepish smile.

He just smiled back as he wiped his hand from any stuff on it before coming closer to you, "of course I can, love"

You gave him a hair tie with a lovely grin as you turned around.

You can't look at his face right now, but you definitely can imagine the look on his face, brows furrowed as he lightly holds your hair, you can't even feel his hands on you.

And just like that he was done, giving a little kiss to your cheek once he was done, and casually going back to what he was doing, leaving you staring at him in awe.

ꕤ i know for a fact he WILL do this.

You'll be having a normal convo while laying on bed and then he just screams, informing you that it's 11:11.

It was almost midnight, you were hanging out at your boyfriend's place and talking about the movie you watched a few days ago when his phone started ringing, he checked it like he normally would, then he let out a gasp.

You look at him with a confused face, then he blurts out.

"Omg y/n it's 11:11, we should make a wish" he says, a big smile on his face, then he closes his eyes for a few seconds, thinking of his wish as you copy his actions.

"What did you wish for" you ask him, and he frowns.

"This is the only thing I won't tell you," he replied.

"Hey that's not fair" you pout, and an endless childfight starts.

ꕤ he will definitely do your nails.

I can rest my case here but you're lucky I won't.

And he's like so good at doing ur nails as well.

Like date night was over and he's staying over at yours and you did your skincare together and had some snacks while watching some videos on YouTube.

Now what.

"Color." He says randomly "pick a random color" he says and you give him a what the fuck look, he almost snorts at that.

"Umm pink?" you say, sounding more like a question. You see him storm to your drawers and getting out some nail polishes.

He comes back to lay on his stomach on the bed, and you don't know how you trust him so much to let him apply nail polish on you, On The Bed.

But you still let him.

"Give me your hand" he says. You following along with a big smile.

You noticed that he definitely brought more than just pink, but you let him experiment on your nails, you always do anyways.

And best believe, he is the best nail artist you even worked with.

[ He lets you do his nails as well. ]

ꕤ sunoo is a busy man. Wbk. But he never fails to text you like all the time about anything and everything.

So expect voicemails ALL the time.

"Goodmorning love, I already went out for practise, but I made you breakfast it's covered on the kitchen counter, and please remember to take your vitamins and have your water bottle next to you, I know how forgetful you can be"

"Hi cutie, I might be out a little late, I missed you so much, words cant express it, please don't wait for me, go get your beauty sleep and you will find me next to you in the morning I promise"

"Hi y/n he chuckles my mom just said that she misses you very much and she wants you to visit again, I told her I would tell you when we meet but she insisted i tell you right now, I hope you're thinking about me sweetheart, I love you, text me okay?"

"Y/n omg I can not find my new sheet masks, please tell me you didn't already finish them, I'm desperately looking everywhere, and you're not picking up my calls, please text me back"

"I am so sorry for not replying to your messages earlier baby sigh I was just a little busy with my manager, the tour is stressful, but I'm coming home soon I promise, just coming back a little late, I love you a lot, mwah"

© voikiraz 2O24