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The door barely had time to slam shut before you were shoved back against it. Hard.

Your breath hitched, more from surprise than fear, as gloved hands caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. The impact echoed through the empty room; metal, cold, unforgiving, just like him.

“Careless,” Edward snapped, his voice low and razor-edged.

“Reckless, impulsive. Do you enjoy making my work more difficult?”

You tried to twist your hands free. It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t.

His grip tightened instantly in response, fingers digging just enough to remind you who was in control here.

“Don’t,” he warned, quieter now.

Your body stilled, his icy eyes gleaming down at you.

There was something dangerous in the way he was looking at you. His eyes looked sharp, but underneath that… something far less composed, unhinged even?

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” he continued, leaning closer. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And since when do I follow your plans?” You shot back, breath uneven but defiant.

His jaw clenched. In one swift motion, he shifted your wrists into one hand, freeing the other to grab your chin, firmly forcing you to look directly at him.

“Since your life started depending on them Y/N,” he said.

The room went quiet.

For a second, it wasn’t the Riddler standing in front of you. Not the showman everyone in gotham knew, not the ego maniac everyone saw, not the man who coated every scheme in theatrics.

It was just Edward. Frustrated, furious, yet also worried..

“You think this is a game?” he muttered, grip tightening just slightly. “Running into situations without thinking, drawing attention to yourself- god, do you have any idea what would happen if—”

His voice hitched, then he stopped speaking. He looked away from you momentarily, his eyes closing as his eyebrows furrowed.

You watched the thought die on his tongue.

“…if what?” you pushed.

His eyes flickered, something sharp cracking through the usual confidence.

“If someone else got to you first,” he finished, his tone lower now. Controlled again, but barely.

Your pulse jumped.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “So that’s what this is about.”

He scoffed but didn’t let go. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Edward,” you said, softer now, “you’re shaking.”

That did it.

For a split second, his grip faltered. Not enough to let you go, but enough for you to feel it.

You took advantage of it, tilting your head just slightly despite his hold.

“You don’t get to act like you don’t care,” you added.

He exhaled sharply and released your chin, but not your wrists. Instead, he stepped closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to something quieter…more dangerous.

“I care,” he admitted, almost bitterly. “That’s precisely the problem.”

Your heart stuttered.

His gaze dragged over your face, searching for something, like he was trying to solve something that didn’t have an answer.

“You make it very difficult to think,” he muttered.

He paused.Then, he quietly spoke.

“And I don’t like things I can’t solve.”

You let out a small breath, tension shifting into something heavier, thicker.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to solve me,” you said.

His eyes snapped back to yours.

For a moment, it looked like he might argue.

“Next time,” he said, voice steady again, slipping back into that familiar control, “you follow the plan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

A flicker of something dangerous crossed his expression.

“Or,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “I make sure you don’t have the option not to.”

Your breath caught.

Then,finally,he let go.

However, the feeling of his hands lingered long after he stepped away.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

You slowly lowered your arms, wrists tingling where his grip had been. The imprint of it,firm and unyielding, lingered in a way that was almost distracting. You flexed your fingers once, then twice, like you were trying to shake him off.

It didn’t work.

Behind you, Edward moved across the room, the sharp click of his cane against the floor breaking the quiet in measured beats. Like the moment from seconds ago had never happened.

Like he hadn’t just done what he did??

You pushed yourself off the door.

“Make sure I don’t have the option?” You repeated, incredulous. “You hear yourself, right?”

He didn’t turn around.

“Perfectly,” he replied.

That annoyed you more than it should’ve.

You crossed the room toward him, boots echoing against the concrete. “You don’t get to just grab me, throw me around, and then act like that’s normal.”

He stopped pacing, and the clicking stopped briefly.

Then his shoulders stiffened slightly before he resumed walking, slower this time.

“You forced my hand,” he said lowly. “Your unpredictability required…correction.”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Correction?”

“Yes.”

You stepped in front of him, cutting him off.

“Try that again,” you challenged.

His eyes snapped to yours, something sharp flashing behind them again, like before. You were clearly pushing him and he was trying so hard to control something inside of him.

“You’re pushing your luck,” he said.

“And you’re dodging,” you shot back. “Why did you actually react like that?”

His gaze didn’t waver, but you could feel the shift. That careful, calculated mask of his slipping ever so slightly.

“You compromised the plan,” he repeated.

“Not good enough.”

His jaw tightened.

“Edward.”

Your voice softened, not in a weak way, just steady.

“Why.” You asked again.

The question hung there, heavier this time.

For a second, you thought he might brush it off again.

“You were outnumbered.”The answer came quietly.

Like he hadn’t meant to say it.

You blinked.

“…what?”

He exhaled sharply, clearly irritated, with himself, more than you.

“I calculated the variables,” he continued, words more clipped now. “Four armed men, limited exits, no backup. You walked into a statistically unfavourable situation.”

“That’s not—”

“—a situation you would have survived alone,” he snapped.

The room fell silent, the ambience slightly dimming.

That… wasn’t what you expected.

Your expression shifted, something softer creeping in before you could stop it.

“…so you lost it because you thought I was gonna die?”

His grip tightened around his cane.

“I don’t 'lose it'.” He said stiffly.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Edward..”

He didn’t respond.

“You panicked.”

“I did not—” He retaliated.

“You did.”

His voice cut off.

You stepped closer, slower this time. Not challenging. Not pushing, not anymore.

Just..there.

“You didn’t care about the plan,” you said softly. “You cared about me.”

His gaze flickered away from you.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“You’re making assumptions,” he said, but it lacked his usual bite.

“And you’re bad at hiding things when you’re stressed, Ed.”

That earned you a look.

Not a mocking look, but an intense one.

“Careful,” he murmured.

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His voice then picked up quietly.

“You’re not expendable,” he said.

The words landed heavier than anything else he’d said.

“That’s your big confession?” you tried lighter,but it didn’t quite land.

His eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew exactly what you were doing.

“You’d prefer something more dramatic?” he asked. “A grand declaration? Should I draft a riddle about it my dear?”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “God, no.”

“…but you could just say it, ya know...”

Those pale eyes fell onto you again as he leaned on his cane.

“I just did,” he said.

You held his gaze.

“Not really.”

Silence filled the room once more.

His body shifted off his support and he walked towards you.

His hand caught your wrist again.

It wasn't as rough as before but it was still firm.

He pulled you a step closer, just enough to close the space between you, not pinning, not trapping...just there, like you were before.

“You have an extraordinary talent,” he said quietly, “for demanding answers you’re not prepared to hear.”

Your heart picked up.

“Try me.”

His thumb brushed over your palm lightly. Brows furrowing together once again. Lips open, yet no words came out. For once, Edward Nygma hesitated.

“…you’re a variable I can’t control,” he admitted, voice lower now. “And I don’t like what happens when I can’t account for something.”

You swallowed, your lips parting slightly after doing so.

“And?”

His gaze dropped briefly to where he was holding your wrist; then back to your eyes.

“And that makes you…” he paused, like he hated the word before it even left his mouth.

“…important.”

The word wasn’t dramatic. Hell, It wasn’t even poetic, but coming from him? It meant everything.

You didn’t pull your hand away.

“Was that so hard?” you murmured.

He scoffed lightly, but there was no real edge to it this time.

“Immensely.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Will you listen to me from now on then?" He asked, even though he wasn't going to take no for an answer this time.

"Yes Mr Nigma sir." You say, quietly laughing at the end.

He released your wrists, but he stepped even closer now, his voice low and pathetic.

"Y/N.... I'm being serious."

His hand came up to your jaw as his lips crashed against yours.

Heated, desperate and passionate.

A few seconds passed and you broke the kiss.

"If this is what I get for pissing you off Ed, then Im gunna do it more often." You say quietly.

He grinned, his thumb grazing over your red flushed cheek.

"You'll get a lot worse than this if you keep doing it, dear." His tone slipped between playful and warning.

"I was kidding.. but I have been wanting you to do that for a while." Your cheeks lit up even more, and your eyes darted away from his.

His other hand came up and turned your head to look at him and he placed a small kiss on your lips, then your forehead.

"I didn't know you felt the same way..." His eyes filled themselves with doubt.

Your head tilted into his large hand and you looked up at him.

"I thought it was obvious when I was flirting with you months ago when we first met." You laughed, smiling at him.

He let out a small laugh in return.

"Yeah, well, you kept sabotaging my puzzles and jesting me, so forgive me if I got the wrong impression."

"Well, when you put it like that, then maybe I was a bit of an asshole.. but if I hadn't done any of that, then we wouldn't be here right now, would we?"

He let out a slight laugh again and he started walking out the room.

"And don't call me Mr Nigma in that tone missy."

You snorted to yourself.

"Sorry, Mr Nigma, sir." You said as your grin grew.

Edward half turned to look at you and he shook his head grinning.

"Such a minx." He mumbled under his breath.

----

Ts had me GIGGLING MAN😭😭

I might write a Smut part 2 for this because honestly I love this whole scenario.

While you were at Arkham, you shared a cell with some other crazy inmate.

You didnt know her name, however because of her, you had to be moved into a different block.

She had pretened to be ill and a guard came in; spoiler, she was obviously not sick at all, physically anyways...

The poor guard got beaten black and blue, and your shared room got absolutely destroyed.

After that incident, the warden at the time moved you to a different part of the asylum with a new roommate.

Hopefully he wont be as bad as the one you'd previously had.

-A FEW HOURS LATER-

“This is temporary,” the guard had said, unlocking the reinforced door with a bored expression. “Try not to kill each other will ya? Already got enough shit to deal with here."

Then he shoved you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you with a heavy, final clang.

Then, you felt it; eyes on you.

You turned slowly. Half hoping that whoever it was wasn't some cannibal or someone who has a thing for...harassing women.

Edward Nigma sat on the edge of his bed, posture perfectly straight, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked… interested.

Like you were a problem he’d been hoping to receive.

“Well,” he said at last, voice smooth, and measured. “They’ve finally given me something new to occupy my mind.”

You frowned slightly. “I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“Oh, but everything is,” he replied lightly, tilting his head. “The question is whether you’ll be worth the time.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to the opposite side of the room, dropping your things onto the spare bed. “Been here barely five minutes and you’re already insufferable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back immediately. “Dismissive tone, defensive posture, refusal to engage. A classic opening move.”

You paused, glancing at him. He certainly has a way with words..

He was watching you like he already knew the next five things you were going to do.

It was..irritating to say the least.

“Do you ever stop analysing people? ” you asked.

"You've been staring at me all morning.."

“Do you ever start being interesting?” he countered.

You scoffed and turned away.

That should’ve been the end of it.

You should've just ignored him for as long as they'd keep you there with him.

Although you didn't.

Living with Edward Nigma was like living with a storm that refused to break.

His mood swings were certainly something as well..

He filled the room with energy; sharp, restless, and constant. Even when he was sitting still, his mind was clearly racing, eyes flicking across invisible patterns, fingers tapping out silent equations against his knee.

And the riddles? God, the fucking riddles.

They almost drove you to insanity honestly.

If it was once a day or twice, you wouldn't mind honestly, but with this guy? It was a constant thing, and you couldn't take it anymore!

“At night they come without being fetched,” he said one evening, not even looking up from the scrap of paper he was scribbling on. “And by day they are lost without being stolen. What am I describing?”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed dramatically. “Really? Not even an attempt?”

“I’m not playing your games,” you muttered.

“They’re not games,” he said, finally glancing at you. “They’re tests.”

“Of what?”

He smiled slightly. “That depends on whether you pass.”

You ignored him.

At least, you tried to.

Edward had a way of getting under your skin, not by force, but by persistence. He didn’t stop. Didn’t get bored. Didn’t move on.

He just…waited? Watched. Then learned.

“You’re not like the others.”

The words caught you off guard.

It had been a few days, maybe longer. Time blurred in Arkham. The lights never changed, and sleep came in fragments.

You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Edward was leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, studying you.

“It means,” he said slowly, “you haven’t tried to manipulate me, threaten me, or impress me.”

“Should I?” you asked dryly, as you sketched an image with your charcoal.

He considered that.

“…You could try.” You could feel his eyes on you now.

You snorted. “I’d rather not waste my time.”

Something flickered in his expression; brief, but noticeable.

You looked up at his pale eyes for a moment.

There was the faintest look of interest.

“See?” he said, almost to himself. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re weird.” you laughed.

“And you’re different,” he replied. “Which, in this place, is far more valuable.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

So you didn’t respond at all.

-A few days later-

It changed slowly. You didn’t notice it at first, but one day, you found yourself answering one of his riddles; half-heartedly, just to shut him up.

“Stars,” you muttered. “The answer is stars.”

Edward went very still. Then his thin lips spread into a smile.

Not the usual smug, self-satisfied grin.

It was something softer.

Which surprised you, understandably.

“…Correct.”

You blinked. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“But it is a big deal,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone here has actually engaged with me on an intellectual level?”

“Probably because you’re annoying,” you said.

“Or because they’re incapable,” he countered.

You rolled your eyes again, but there was less bite to it this time.

Then after that…it became a habit for you.

“Forward I am heavy, but backward I am not. What am I?”

“…Ton.”

“Correct.”

“What gets wetter the more it dries?”

“A towel.”

“Good. Very good.”

“What has keys but can’t open locks?”

You hesitated.

“…A piano?”

Edward’s grin widened. “You’re learning.”

Somewhere along the way, the conversations shifted.

Less testing. More talking.

You learned that Edward hated being underestimated more than anything. That he remembered everything; every slight, every failure, every moment he wasn’t recognised for his brilliance.

He learned that you didn’t trust easily. That you preferred silence to pointless noise. That you’d seen enough of the world to stop expecting much from it.

“You’re cynical,” he said one night.

“You’re arrogant,” you replied.

He tilted his head. “And yet, here we are.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Here we are.”

It happened during one of the bad nights.

Arkham had those a lot.

The kind where the noise got louder. The walls felt closer. The air heavier.

You sat on your bed, staring at nothing, trying to keep your breathing steady.

You didn’t notice Edward watching you at first.

“…You’re distressed.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said calmly.

You clenched your jaw. “Drop it.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he stood and walked over slowly, deliberately, like approaching something fragile.

You tensed and your brows furrowed.

“Don’t—”

“Answer me this,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

His voice softened; just slightly.

“What runs but never walks, has a mouth but never talks?”

You stared at him blankly.

“Again..what?” you ask puzzled.

“Just answer.”

You hesitated.

“…A river?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once.

“Good. Focus on that.” his voice whispered.

You frowned. “On what?”

“The process,” he said. “The logic. The solution.”

Your breathing hitched slightly.

He crouched down in front of you, Blue eyes sharp but steady.

“When your mind spirals,” he continued, “give it something structured. Something solvable.”

You swallowed.

“…You’re giving me riddles to calm me down?”

“I’m giving you control,” he corrected.

There was a pause.

“…Give me another one.” you said reluctantly.

After that event, you noticed that Edward was warming up to you so to speak.

He started sitting closer to you.

Glancing at you more, admiring you.

His tone softened too; only with you.

Then you stopped pushing him away as much

“You trust me.” He spoke, not questioning for once.

You looked up from where you were lying on your bed. “What makes you think that?”

“You sleep,” he said simply.

You frowned. “So?”

“You sleep deeply,” he clarified. “In the same room as me.”

“Still don't get how that means I trust you?”

He leaned back against the wall, watching you.

“You wouldn’t do that if you thought I was a threat.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Then stopped.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

“…Don’t read too much into it Nigma,” you muttered.

“Oh, but I always read into things my dear,” he said lightly, grinning at you.

“Yeah, I noticed.” you smiled back at him, laughing under your breath.

The more weeks that went by the more comfortable you got staying with Edward.

You were sitting side by side on the floor, backs against the wall. It wasn’t unusual anymore. Just…something you two now did.

Edward was mid-sentence(something about pattern recognition)when he stopped.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not,” you said automatically.

“You are.”

You sighed. “Fine. I am. So what?”

He studied you carefully.

For once, he didn’t have an immediate response.

“…Why?” He questioned.

You hesitated. Then shrugged.

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely true.

But you weren’t ready to say it.

Edward didn’t push.

He just nodded slightly.

“…Fair enough.”

You noticed that you were catching slight feelings for Edward too.

It had been months now since you were moved to his room, and honestly? You forgot it was suppose to be temporary, but now you were praying the warden had forgotten about you, so you could stay with Ed a while longer.

The first time your hand brushed his, it was accidental.

You both reached for the same piece of paper.

Your fingers touched.You froze. So did he.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Edward then pulled his hand back slightly.

Not abruptly.

Just enough to give you space.

But he didn’t look away.

“…You didn’t flinch,” he said quietly.

You swallowed.

“…Neither did you.”

Something passed between you then.

Unspoken, but it was real, and you started to question if he maybe felt the same way about you...

“You’re a riddle you know?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

"That’s such a random thing to say."

"Even for someone like me?" He replied.

Edward was watching you again; that familiar, intense focus.It was softer now. You didn't reply to him because you knew he already knew the answer to that.

“I can’t solve you,” he said.

You huffed lightly. “Good.”

“No,” he replied. “Not good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Because I don’t want to solve you.”

That caught you off guard.

“…wait what?”

“I want to understand you,” he said. “There’s a difference Y/N..”

Your chest tightened slightly.

You looked away.

“…That sounds dangerously close to something sincere.”

“It is,” he said simply.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Both of you were sitting closer than usual.

Your shoulder brushing his. Neither of you moved away.

Edward glanced at you.

He reached out to you.

Just…placing his hand over yours. Waiting.

You looked at it. Then at him. His expression wasn’t smug for once. Or teasing. He looked a bit uncertain.

Which was rare for him.

“…You’re overthinking this you know,” you said softly.

“I overthink everything.”

You huffed a quiet laugh.

You titled your head against shoulder, not fully but enough that you could smell his scent; antiseptic, old paper, ink, and bergamot.

You turned your hand slightly.

Interlacing your fingers with his. He stilled himself completely.

Like his brain had short-circuited.

“…Oh.”

You smiled faintly.

“Yeah. Oh.”

For once, Edward Nigma didn’t have a clever response.

Didn’t have a riddle to blurt, nor did he have an answer.

He just sat there, holding your hand.

𑣲⋆ EDWARD... thinks it's gross! you're not an idiot (kissing idiots is not a habit of his) so surely you know how much bacteria the human mouth harbours. seriously, get it off, get it off — hey why aren't you kissing him anymore?

"...get back here."

someone tell this brat that he can't have his cake and eat it too.

might compromise by carrying make up wipes on him at all times — for him and you. who's to say he isn't an attentive lover? he'll even fix up and reapply whatever lip combo you were wearing. insists he does a better job anyways.

the only time he'll keep the marks is when he's jealous. you might think that jealousy would be impossible for someone as self-obsessed as edward, but the minute he's feeling it, he'll practically demand you to give him kisses. this happens more often than expected.

"for tangible proof, of course," he'll reason, pulling you in with a smug grin. "give them some concrete evidence. they need to be reminded."

𑣲⋆ you can have waterproof, smudgeproof, life proof lip products — nothing will ever be HARLEY-proof. the most obnoxious, most exaggerated "MWAH" and it's over. do not expect it to be a brief kiss either. more often than not, she's leaning in fully open-mouthed, expecting a full blown makeout session.

"listen, i love you," you say, trying (and failing) to discourage a very enthusiastic and affectionate harley, "but we're in public." you're not ashamed of her, but her capacity for pda was something you'd never get used to. your face is burning just thinking of it. she frowns like you just told her you'd never kiss her ever again. "one! just one!"

it will never be "just one." which is fine — you can never find it in your heart to blame her.

it'd be impossible to count the times she does this, smearing your favourite shade all over your mouths. and she's always happy to match!

whenever you leave a lipstick stain, she never complains. wiping it off doesn't even seem to cross her mind. hell, she might even ask for a couple more. she just finds it cute, being able to have a little piece of you this way. cue more kisses!

𑣲⋆ press a kiss on both cheeks and HARVEY and HARV will be happy!

HARVEY really doesn't mind that much. of course, he tries to be somewhat professional as a crime lord and being intimidating is difficult when you're covered in evidence of a makeout session... so most of the time, he'll let the marks linger before politely taking them off.

"sorry, sweetheart. i've got some stuff to take care of."

he still is appreciative. you can give him more once it's all over, promise.

...however, HARV is the one who wants them everywhere. he truly doesn't care — he loves you. that's that.

anyways, intimidation isn't exactly an issue for him. he's found that most people seem to act just fine while staring down the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol. so go ahead, love on him as much as you want.

𑣲⋆ JERVIS, as he so frequently insists, is a GENTLEMAN!!! and while, yes, he adores every single part of you, getting lipstick on him and keeping it there does seem rather improper, don't you agree? this guy mind controls people. this CAN'T be the fucking line.

he'll be overly apologetic if he ends up smearing your lipstick. in less private settings, he might even stick to kissing your hands and cheeks when you're wearing any sort of pigmented product on your lips.

will get flustered if you insist it's fine anyways. it's adorable how quickly he caves to what you want. you barely even have to ask.

and if you want to leave lipstick stains on him? jervis is dead. he's dead. he's passed out, his soul has left his body — can't blame him for being in love!

"...are — are you alright?" you ask, stifling a laugh. jervis is absolutely, positively dazed, stuttering and stammering incoherently. when you cup his face in your hands, cheeks reddened and covered in the little lipstick stains left by your flurry of affection, you notice how warm he's gotten. "p — perfectly fine! never better, dearest! not a complaint in the world, not from me, not at all—" he's already leaning in for more.

𑣲⋆ OSWALD doesn't exactly know what to make of it at first, but he's proud to recieve any sort of affection from you. he lives for having you hanging off his arm, so naturally he'll want other ways to show you off.

he ends up very, very into it. in fact, try every lip product you want. oswald will happily take time out of his busy schedule to help you test which ones actually last. gotta make sure you get one that's good quality and everything, no?

you discover eventually that pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose will make him melt. it's the quickest way to calm him down, win an argument, or get what you want — so be responsible with your power.

𑣲⋆ IVY is much more interested in leaving kisses all over you, if anything. non-lethal, normal lipsticks which will not kill or hypnotize you. this sort of results in your lip colours blending together after the two of you make out. very cute.

"i'm almost jealous. you're wearing it better than i do, sweet pea."

and while yes, she's willing to kiss you anywhere, she especially likes wrapping her arms around you from behind and trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. chuckles when you squirm and tightens her grasp in response.

"be good and hold still," she says, her voice soft and low in your ear. when you relax, stilling as requested, she rewards you with a gentle squeeze of your waist and a few more kisses along your shoulder.

it looks like ivy doesn't need mind control to have you wrapped around her finger.

𑣲⋆ ROMAN is a NASTY motherfucker. he prefers opportunist. if you want to kiss up on him, he'll definitely give you the chance — he'll pull you into his lap and everything — but he wants something a bit more.

"liiittle lower, sweetheart." "what." "head out the gutter, doll. the shirt collar."

not like he's not down for that. but if you wanna leave your mark, you're more than welcome. the shade does compliment his suit nicely, don't you agree? having a lipstick stain or two around his collar is a nice statement for watching eyes. roman sionis is possessive — but he likes being yours just as much as he likes having you. this is just one of the many ways he shows it.

𑣲⋆ being outwardly affectionate with WAYLON makes him feel happiness that he thought he'd never know. when a kiss is pressed against his scaled skin, leaving a little stain of your favourite shade… well, he's definitely in no rush to wipe them off.

might even complain if you try to get rid of it for him. (gently) swats your hand away and everything.

it's less about the kiss mark itself and more about the idea that somebody loves him to the point of smothering him in affection — much more, in a way that shows the world "this one's mine." he is a GONER!!!!

waylon also happens to be a bit of an affectionate biter. nothing that'll hurt you bad and nothing you don't want, but little playful nips between kisses are to be expected as he peppers you with them. let him return the favour.

𑣲⋆ the minute your lips make contact with SNOWFLAME's skin he gives you a contact high. have fun with that one.

“Where are they?!” Edward stormed into your warehouse, frustrated. You were supposed to meet with him hours ago for a necessary scheme to kill the Dark Knight. The audacity to be late. You’re wasting his time. Steve, one of your lieutenants and his least favorite one, looked up. He was relaxing on a crate and it appeared that he was the only one here. Normally the warehouse is packed with your goons and loud rambunctious noises. How odd.

“M-Mr. Nigma!” He stammered, eyes widening. He leapt off the crate, slipped, and fell on his face. Edward stared, unamused, as Steve scrambled to get back on his feet and give him a salute. “What… What can I do for you?”

“Your buffoon of a leader is late,” Edward snarled. Steve flinched at the venom. “They have been keeping me waiting for hours in my hideout. What, precisely, is the reason for this delay?”

“Ah,” Steve’s eyes shifted around, “uh…Boss… They’re, uh…”

“Spit it out, Steven!” Edward snapped, “you have already squandered enough of my time.”

“R-Right, sorry, Mr. Nigma,” Steve gulped, “they’re in the office! Outta commission!”

Edward paused. Out of commission? He stared at Steve, who was shifting on his feet. Can this idiot be more specific? What does that even mean? For half a second, Edward considered the unfortunate idea of asking Steve what that even meant, but realized he wouldn’t even get the necessary information from Steve.

“You are of no use to me,” Edward began walking towards your office.

“Wait! You can’t just go to the boss’s office!” Steve panicked. Edward whipped his head to look at him.

“You are telling me, The Riddler, where I can and can’t go?” He said offended. Steve shook his head rapidly.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant, Mr. Nigma!”

“Then, I am glad you are up to speed on the situation,” Edward continued to walk, surveying the place. Destroyed wooden pallets, bent pipes, torn sandbags. A mess. He hated coming here.

After a moment, he marched to your office and slammed open the door.

“Where have you been!” Edward frowned, eyes scanning the room. Bulletin boards hung up on the walls, a calendar with a bunch of marked dates. Your desk was a mess. Papers. Papers everywhere, scattered all around your desk. Your desk has been buried by so much paperwork he can’t even see the surface beneath it anymore. His frown deepened.

Then, he saw you, slumped over your desk. Your head was resting on folded arms, breathing slowly and steadily. Quiet for once. Edward walked closer and looked at your face. Relaxed. You weren’t tense or battle ready. He had never seen you look this calm before.

“Hm.” It was unexpected. Edward stood there for another moment, adjusting his glasses. His gaze drifted to the desk lamp still casting a harsh light across the scattered paperwork. His hand hovered over the switch. Edward hesitated. Then, with a soft click, the office fell into darkness. Edward turned and walked out of the office, quietly pulling the office door shut behind him. There was no point in discussing plans with a sleep deprived idiot. You could easily mess up the plan due to impaired judgement.

Edward walked back to the entrance of the warehouse, seeing Steve on the crate again, his eyes were at the front door. At least he was competent enough to keep watch.

“Steven,” Edward called out. Steve’s head snapped over to Edward, hopping off the crate again. This time he did not fall, but he did stumble.

“Yes, Mr. Nigma?” He did the stupid salute again.

“Tell your boss we are rescheduling the meeting,” Edward walked past him, exiting out of the warehouse. “And tell them not to keep me waiting again or there will be consequences.”

“Of course, Mr. Nigma,” Steve blinked. “Uh… When do you wanna reschedule?”

Edward stared blankly at him. He did not trust Steve to be competent with scheduling.

“Tell them to reach out to me.”

“R-Right…” Steve scratched the back of his head. “I’ll let them know.”

No worries about friends, uninvolved family, the stupid holidays that stretch on far longer than they should that never seemed to leave you alone, the overwhelming intrusive thoughts that continued to urge you on. Said thoughts sent you closer to the edge than you ever thought possible.

You'd never have to worry about anything, ever again. You'd never have to wake up, wondering if you'd die that day. Gotham would cease its relentless havoc, allowing you to just... rest, if that's what truly happened once you passed.

But an inkling of something in the back of your mind seemed to make you pause. It wasn't quite your mind; at small intervals, you could have sworn it was him, scolding you for your insecurities, telling you to cut it out, knock it off.

Is all this truly what you wanted?

You wanted to die. To have your life stripped away in a matter of minutes.

Just behind you, thousands of people were preparing their gifts and making final additions to the holiday season. Many were lighting candles, fixing ornaments, or prepping their meals for a joyous feast. 

It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

Not your job, your boss, your dear friends. Zsasz.

You left him a letter in the middle of your dining room. He'd find it soon enough, and when he did, you would be long gone. You wouldn't have to face him, and that made things a little easier. If you had to look at him, if you had to face his disheartened features (because god knows you'd have to), you weren't sure if you could do it.

Who could say no to that cheesy, disco-loving assassin?

Could you really leave him with a note that confessed your love, instead of telling him in person? 

Yes. 

Yes, you could. You had to. You had it already prepared. This was it.

The murky depths of the water lay just beneath you. What a terrible way to go, huh? Drowning. But you knew it would work in a matter of seconds if you just... breathed it in. The cold around you would help to numb the side effects. 

But then... your feet wouldn't move. Your mind screamed at you, begging you to do something before some freak came out to the pier, looking for something to do—for someone to kill, or worse. 

You couldn't do it.

Tears rapidly formed in your eyes, your hands coming up to dig your fingers into the flesh of your cheeks as you tried to ground yourself. 

"Shit," you breathed out. "Shit, shit, shit."

It hadn't even been that loud, but your voice echoed across the dock. A sob escaped you and you buried your face in your trembling hands—your skin was ice cold. 

In your constant dolefulness, the sound of footsteps came from behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Fuck. Too late. Head jerking in the direction in which it came from, you sucked in a deep breath. Your eyes landed on the shoes of the culprit, and it only took a second for you to figure out who it was based on the shiny leather of his dress shoes. 

Zsasz.

Your eyes slowly trailed up, from the crumpled letter clutched in his trembling—yes, trembling—hand, to his disheveled clothing, and finally, to his face which showed far more emotion than you were used to. 

He scrunched his nose, taking yet another step forward.

"Are you insane?" he spat, disdain lacing his words.

"What?"

He scoffed, waving the ridiculous letter around. "You really leave something like this? You're even more stupid than I thought!" He was pissed—furious. You said you loved him in your letter. If you were leaving like this, was it even true? 

Death followed Victor Zsasz no matter where he went. A comforting friend that found pieces of memory etched into the scars on his skin. But your death? No. No, it couldn't happen. It wouldn't. You were going to live forever. He made sure of it.

"Victor," you began, but to no avail.

"No," he interrupted. "No, I'm not done," he said, jaw clenched. He stuffed the crumpled letter in his pocket, pulling out his trusted gun from its holster. 

He lifted it, pointing the thing directly at you.

The chill that had already found you was replaced by something knew—a freezing dread, seeing his gun pointed at you instead. What was he doing?

"Isn't this what you wanted? To die? Why so scared, now, hm?"

You said nothing, hands trembling by your sides.

"You'd just leave? Without a word? Leaving without telling me. That's a new low, even for you."

"I told you why—"

"—shut up! It's not your turn to talk," he snapped. "You don't get a chance to talk right now. Not when you go and do this bullshit!"

He stalked closer to you, barrel of his gun now at eye-level. He stared you down, never once wavering in his anger.

You ignored his order—his demand that washed over you like a cold shower, inching its way up your spine. 

"Are you going to kill me?" Your words were barely above a whisper. You had been prepared to die, but now... you didn't know if you could. Not when he stood in front of you.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, finger on the trigger. The safety was still on. He'd never moved to fix it. He wasn't about to tell you, either.

You slowly shook your head, hot tears forming in your eyes once more.

"Then why the fuck are you out here?" 

You averted your gaze, body trembling under his glare.

"I thought you loved me," Zsasz said, voice hard yet gaining that small, tell-tale quiver of fear. His anger wasn't alone. He was terrified of losing you to the one thing that comforted him most. He would find no comfort knowing you were six feet under. 

"I do," you blurted. "I do love you." You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

"Then what the hell are you doing?" he repeated the same sentiment, though it seemed to do little to spur you on. 

You loved him. Love. You love him more than life itself. But was that enough? To keep going. To continue on, knowing that you tried to do this, even if you loved him. 

"I just—I can't do it anymore, Vic."

"Do what? Be with me?" he blurted, question heavily settling between the two of you. You weren't together, and yet, he couldn't help himself. "Live in Gotham?"

"No! No, I just—I just can't live anymore," you sobbed. "Every day is a waking nightmare in my mind! I can't escape it anymore. Can't, can't just like you can't escape the fucking Penguin. It's so—it's so—"

Victor dropped his gun, slipping it into his holster with practiced ease, finally closing up the distance. He wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you away from the edge of the pier as you broke down in his arms. 

You don't know how long you cried for, but your assassin crush held you the entire time. 

He knew.

He knew exactly how you felt. Hell, he felt it daily before you came into the picture. Hell, had he known—if he could have taken that pain away from you, he would have.

The big, bad Victor Zsasz held you close, his chin resting against the top of your head. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the way you eventually relaxed in his arms. 

"Let's get you home," he said, not waiting for you to reply. "Get you comfortable. Maybe get some takeout. How's that sound?"

You gave a small nod, but then shook your head. "Not—no, not my apartment. I can't—"

"—okay," he interrupted. "Mine, then."

You did not refuse this time, letting him lead you off of the pier and to his car, waiting for your return. You turned your head toward the pier, eyes flickering to the water.

"Look away," he snapped, and you immediately did as told. "Don't be looking at the water. You're never coming back here. Ever again."

Zsasz helped you into his car before he jumped into the driver's seat, staring at the dashboard for a minute too long. He turned to face you as you put your seatbelt on.

"I mean it when I say you're never coming back here. Even if it means I have my eyes on you at all times."

You frowned softly at him, not quite meeting his gaze.

He reached forward, fingers gently grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him. "I will keep you alive, even if it means you hate me."

Your eyes softened. "I... I could never hate you, Victor."

The chatter amongst the regular patrons continued on. No one was paying attention. No one of importance, anyway. 

He stepped closer, grabbing onto your wrist. "What the hell do you mean?" he asked, grip tightening ever-so-slightly. "You know I don't lie."

"Do I?" you snapped instantly, jerking your wrist away. "I thought I knew a lot about you, but even now, there are things you bring up that I've got no fucking clue what you even mean. How do I know you're not lying just by saying that?"

His hardened expression faltered. "Wait."

"No. I'm not going to sit here and listen to you bullshit me. It's not the first time and it's certainly not the last. I—"

"—wait," he repeated, grabbing your wrist once more. This time, it wasn't as rough. 

He eyed the lounge around you, tugging you toward the exit. He wouldn't have this conversation here. 

"No, you don't—"

"—shut the hell up," he said brusquely, attempting to quell his anger as he burst through the front doors, jerking you closer to him.

The two of you walked until you rounded an empty corner and he all but pushed you up against the grimy brickwork, looking down at you with indecipherable air to him. 

"First, you do not get to tell me what to do," he said, voice no louder than a growl. "Second. What the hell did I lie to you about?"

You looked away from him, frowning deeply. You did not speak.

"How am I supposed to figure things out if you won't fucking talk?" he grunted, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb. "Tell me what I lied about."

The feeling of the accusation washed over him, quickly followed by the subtle bite of guilt he only felt when you looked at him like that—a brand of contriteness he only felt with you. 

He hated it.

"You said you hated me. Talked a big game in front of the Penguin like I had no business even being in the same room as you."

It was Victor's turn to pause. He blinked owlishly. "What?"

"Do you tell everyone that I'm not good enough for you?"

His dark brown eyes widened imperceptibly, but it was there. Your name left his lips in a whisper, but you shook your head.

"No. I heard enough. I don't want to—"

"—stop it," he interrupted.

"No! Stop doing that. Let me talk—"

"—stop it," he interrupted again. "Stop. I didn't mean it. Not like that."

"Then what the hell did you mean?"

Victor scrunched his nose and let go of your chin, letting his hands drop to his sides. He itched to grab something—you, his knife, a gun. He stayed still, staring you down.

"I..."

Speechless. You had rendered him speechless. 

"Victor, just l—"

"—you heard me wrong."

You frowned.

"I didn't say I hated you. I said I used to hate people like you. So... so good," he said, disgruntled that he was even confronting the truth. "I said that I would never be good enough for you, but I guess you have a tendency to only hear what you wanna hear, huh?"

It was your turn to stare at him, blinking owlishly in a way that Victor wished he would never see again. It made his insides crawl with a nervous energy he knew wasn't his own. 

...or was it? 

You brought things out of him that he didn't even know existed. 

"Why... why would you tell him that?"

"Who?"

"Cobblepot."

He groaned softly and rolled his head between his shoulders, a quick pop resounding through the street. 

"He was asking too many questions about you. I told him we weren't together because you are too good for me. Shit of luck that did, seeing as I dragged you out while he was watching everyone like a hawk."

You stared. Your heart hammered in your chest. It did not feel like protection—it did not feel like deflection, either. 

"So... so you were just being weird to your boss?"

He scoffed. "Sure."

"No, seriously. Who just says shit like that?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm going to wring your neck if you don't stop."

A burst of laughter escaped you as you looked up at him. "I probably would've let you earlier if you tried."

He narrowed his eyes as he watched you, the implication of choking you out hanging precariously on a tightrope stretched thin.

"Watch it."

You slowly grinned, crossing your arms over your chest. The anger you had felt, the sad little pieces of your reality had melted away, leaving behind a genuine interest in what was running through his mind. Now was not the time to ask, but you'd find out eventually. 

"Should we go back in then, since neither of us look like we just fought each other?"

Victor thought for a moment before he shook his head. "Nah. We're going home."

"What about—"

"—he can fuck himself for all I care," he said, grabbing your hand instead of your wrist this time. He tugged you forward, guiding you to where he always parked his sleek, black car. "Besides. We've got shit to do. Got to see if you really meant it."

"Meant what?"

"Choking."

Your attempt to hide your laughter failed miserably. "What?!"

adrian doesn't know how to shut the fuck up, ever. he can't help it though, especially when he's been missing his special girl all day and you finally walk through the door. in typical fashion, he misses the deep furrow in your brow and bags under your eyes earned from a hard day at work, promptly beelining over to you to tell you how many grams of protein is in an ostrich egg.

"over 140 grams! that's like, 50 regular eggs babe do you know how much stronger i can get from that ??" he beams, bouncing on his heels as you make your way through the doorway. 

he rambles on about ostriches, how big they can get, how long their legs are, and what they sound like. you fix yourself a glass of water as he continues, wrapping his arms around your waist and stopping very briefly to place a kiss on the top of your head.

work had not been kind to you today, but adrian is, even though he's very selfish when it comes to occupying your attention. wordlessly, you guide him over to the living room couch, pushing him down to straddle his hips while his words don't even falter. he's looking up at you, grinning even wider while he's moved on to his one sided discussion about flightless birds as a whole. he's trying to list them in descending size order, but you're positive there's a huge size difference between ostriches and penguins. 

you lean forward to nip at his neck, carefully applying the right amount of pressure to respect adrian's sensory preferences. you don't even think he's taken a breath yet during his whole monologue, but you can feel him starting to get hard under you. you grind down on him a few times, finally earning a small whine mid sentence. 

"some penguins are venomous, you know," he continues, "they're so cute but if you touched one you'd probably keel over." 

you aren't in the headspace to correct him on that one, especially now that he's got your hips locked in an iron grip. you're humping each other through your clothes, your head buried in the side of his neck as he holds you close through his babbling. if you two keep this up though, you know he'll bust right in his pants and you definitely need more than that right now.

adrian is still going as you fling your pants off and pull his down to his ankles, straddling him once more as you grind your bare pussy down on his cock. he finally gives the flightless birds speech a rest, opting to beg you to put it in instead.

"aren't you gonna put it in babe, what's taking you so long??" he whines, "are you trying to make me cum like this instead?"

you take him up to the hilt quickly, reveling in the way he stretches you as he finally stops talking for about five seconds. his cheeks are flushed and his jaw is slack at the sudden feeling of you wrapped around him. 

luckily the couch is pretty big and your able to plant both feet on either side of him as you lift yourself up almost all the way off him.

"nononono please don't goooo, you feel soso good i need this, need you," you barely even got started with him and his lashes are already fluttering, glasses foggy as he looks up at you pleadingly. 

"you're gonna be a good boy for me, yeah? let me use you to feel better after the day i've had?" you're still hovering over him, his eyes bulge suddenly as if he's had some sort of epiphany.

"ohmygod i'm so sorry i never even asked you about your day!! i should've know by the look on your face i should've --" you clasp your hand over his mouth right as you sink back down on him, riding him furiously as his cries leak out from the crevices between your fingers.

"it's okay baby i just need this right now, need you," you sigh. adrian is moaning even louder into your palm, his tongue lapping at it from the inside. you place your other hand around his neck and he finally goes silent.

"shhhh baby just feel it, you're filling me up so good right now," you soothe. "love feeling this close, love using you like this." 

adrian is teary eyed at this point, curls bouncing in sync with you. his hands are hovering over you like he's too overstimulated to think about where to put them. you're getting close though and you know you both need to be practically merged in order to feel truly satisfied. 

"hold me closer sweet boy," you rasp. "wanna be pressed up against you while you fill me up."

adrian loses it at this point, and you opt to take both hands and pin them above his head instead. he's actually wailing now, like his orgasm is taxing for him, and this makes you cum right along with him.

you're both staring at each other while he's still inside you, taking each other in as you're calming down. the corner of adrian's mouth quirks upwards.

"can i tell you about emperor penguins now?"

"Just friends," he said, somewhat convincingly, "although I think that's a stupid nickname." He leaned back in, his hands around your waist, gloved fingers pressing into your own tactical suit.

"Adrian, it's not a nickname, I just need you to understand what's happening here."

"Fuck, fine, friends, whatever, can we go back to kissing now?"

"Sure," he pushed you back, lips locked together and breathing heavy even when you could hear the rest of the 11th Street Kids running back towards the van.

"Adrian, they're coming back."

"So — I — don't — care." He punctuated his words with kisses, turning even closer into your body, "we're not doing anything wrong."

He looked completely at peace with the possibility that any minute your friends and colleagues could walk around the end of the van and see you tangled together like teenagers.

"We are because we're supposed to be friends!" You hissed.

"Well…it's a good job I told them you're my girlfriend then." He grinned before ducking down to keep kissing you.

Dividers @/diviniyae

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m getting surgery on my foot,” you announced. Jonathan stopped writing in his notebook, setting his pen aside on his desk to look at you.

“You have finally listened to me about getting a consultation for your flat feet?” His brows raised just enough to show some surprise. You rolled your eyes.

“I know, I know,” you smiled, “the world’s ending.”

“...When is the surgery?” Jonathan clasped his hands together.

“In October,” you answered, “it was the soonest they could get it done.”

“Hm,” Jonathan looked away for a brief second.

“...You could still do your plans for Halloween,” you awkwardly smiled. You hated talking about his extracurricular criminal activities, but you recognized Halloween was his month, “I’m probably still gonna be drugged out of my mind, so I wouldn’t notice.”

His lips twitched downwards, “I am aware of that. However, I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone while you are on high doses of pain medication,” Jonathan paused, his lips pulling into a frown, “I am not fond of the idea that Batman may foil my plans and throw me into Arkham, leaving you alone.”

“Oh,” you stopped smiling. You didn't realize he'd be thinking about rearranging his plans. In all honesty, you expected him to nod.

Jonathan sighed, standing up and walking towards you. You craned your neck to look at him. He smoothed out a wrinkle in your blouse.

“Did you really expect me to go along with my plans after hearing about this?”

Oh, he read your mind.

“Well,” you scratched the back of your head, avoiding eye contact, “I know your work is important to you, even if I don't like it.”

“It is,” Jonathan admitted, but then his tone grew firm, “but it can wait.”

You moved your gaze down to his hand, and you took it, slowly running your thumb over his knuckles.

“Thank you,” you muttered softly. You met his gaze once more, “...Last time I got my other foot done… My mom kinda treated it like I was being inconvenient because she had to take time off… so I didn’t want to bother you.”

For a moment, Jonathan stared down at you and took a deep breath, “from what I understand about the procedure, you went through a highly invasive surgery to reconstruct your foot. You will be bedridden for six to eight weeks and on strong pain medication,” he slowly tightened his grasp on your hand, “expecting you to manage this alone is unreasonable.”

You smiled softly, the anxiety within slowly dissipating, “...that’s true.”

You chuckled and shook your head. Right. He’s not like your mom.

“Thanks, Jon,” you squeezed his hand, “Love you.”

“And I you,” his thumb rubbed slow circles on the back of your hand. He cleared his throat, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some rearrangements for my plans in October.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes with mock annoyance, letting go of his hand, “have fun with that.”

Edward Nygma/The Riddler:

It was ridiculous. 

Absolute nonsense. 

He was jotting down riddles and puzzle traps away in his journal. You were only a few feet away on the other edge of the couch. Your face glued to your computer screen. 

Everything was fine…until you started laughing. 

Your little giggles, and the sweet small smile that lingered after your giggle fit. The way your face’s natural glow was tinted by the blue of the screen…

Ludicrous, outrageous, unbelievable. 

“Y/N…”

“Hm?” 

“C-Could you perhaps take yourself…anywhere else but here?”

You scrunched up your eyebrows in confusion. “Uh…yeah I could, but I don’t want to. I want to stay here with you, Ed.”

“I…appreciate that, but it’s rather hard to focus.”

Your blinked and shook your head. What? “I’m not even talking to you, I’m only like three feet away from you!” You shot your hand up going from right to left, gesturing the distance between you and Edward. 

“Yes, yes, but y-you’re distracting…”

“How?” 

“You’re laughing, smiling, beaming…” Ed drifted from stern to swooning.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You scooted closer to him on the couch, catching him off guard. 

“Eddie, are you saying I’m distracting you because…I’m pretty?” You grinned. 

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes, beautiful even, so can you please go somewhere else?” 

You doubled down. “I don’t know sounds like a you problem…”

“Please Y/N!” 

“Okay, okay, just tell me again how beautiful I am…”

Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin:

You were just helping Oswald out in his office. You enjoyed helping him stay organized. He may be a criminal but it was in organized crime.

Oswald was going over invoice statements and you were checking inventory for the lounge’s food and beverages. However, you were proving to be rather…distracting. 

Your legs were crossed, you leaned back in the leather office chair, slightly rocking yourself. You bit the end of your pen between your teeth while your eyes intently scanned the contents of the papers in front of you. 

The gentleman of crime found himself not thinking so gentleman thoughts about you. All previous work and tasks that needed to be done was slowly slipping out of his mind. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Y/N, dove…”

“Yes, Ozzie.” You looked up at him with a sweet smile. 

Oh, why’d you have to do that?!

“Uhh, do you think you can help the girls downstairs? I recall they needed some assistance with the new uniforms.”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, that’s the first I heard. They seem to be getting along well with them, Oz.”

“That’s not what they told me earlier, love.”

“Oswald, I spoke to them and they said they were fine!” You insisted. 

Oswald cringed, clearly not taking the bait to leave. 

“Is there something else that’s wrong? Something bothering you?” You inquired. 

“Ah…it’s just me, love. Well, more you than me…” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“And how is it more me than you?” 

“Dove, you’re far too gorgeous, you always are, but more so now, and it’s distracting me,” Oz admitted.

Your eyes widened, but you felt your throat bubble up in soft chuckles. “I’m distracting you?”

Oz gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s the truth, love…I should be checking this numbers and adding and subtracting, but all I can think of is you…”

You felt your face warm up slightly, as a soft blush rose to your cheeks. “Ever the charmer, Oswald.” 

“It’s the truth, Y/N. Once I finish these papers, I’ll come get you, okay?”

“You better, Cobblepot!” You shot a finger at him, trying to act serious, but you both could tell you were only teasing him. 

Oswald laughed. “The sooner you leave the sooner I can get this done!”

You were halfway at the door when you looked over your shoulder. “You owe me, Ozzie!” 

Oz kept laughing, waving you off. “I’ll make it up, I promise!”  

Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow:

This wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t fair. 

How can he resume his plans as the Master of Fear and the Lord of Despair when you’re sitting right there. 

You looked so cozy and warm. You were cuddled up in one of Jonathan’s old Gotham University hoodies and a long fleece blanker. You were reading one of your novels while he was on the other side of the room; recording certain chemical reactions, wrote down further hypothesis to test later for a new toxin. 

You assured him you wouldn’t say anything or bother him, you just wanted to be near him. Jonathan figured it would kill two birds with one stone, he can get work done and you two get to be near each other. 

However, you were still so enthralling and enchanting to the ex-professor. Seeing you so content in his presence. It made a warmth bloom in his heart he had never felt in a long time, he was sure he had long lost the capability to feel this warmth. This love, dare he say. 

“Uhh, Jonny…” You start. 

“Hm?” 

“Sweetheart, you’re staring…”

Jonathan immediately shook his head and blinked, as he broke whatever spell you unconsciously put him in. 

“Oh, um, I-I apologize…” Jonathan’s face slowly turned red at his cheeks and the tip of his nose. 

You giggled. “It’s fine, Jonny, do you want me to read in another room?”

Jonathan really didn’t want you to go, but he didn’t see himself really getting any work done. 

“I promise I’ll come join you soon, darling…but if…if you don’t mind?” 

You got up from your chair, giggling, wrapping yourself in the blanket and leaving your index finger in the pages of your book to mark your spot. You bent over and gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek. 

“I don’t mind, Jonathan. Just don’t be too long, okay?” 

“Y-Yes, darling…”

Jervis Tetch/The Mad Hatter:

Okay, okay, the tea party was almost ready. 

Jervis was setting up his next tea party for the Batman. He had the tablecloth laid out. All the plates and tableware was set. Y/N sat in their chair looking radiant as ever…

Y/N sitting in a reclining chair smiling away at some handheld device. Jervis thinks he remembers you called it a Switch or something like that. You seemed to enjoy playing on it, and it gave you something to do while Jervis was plotting and scheming.

However, he didn’t notice until just now, just how ethereal you were. Your eyes lit up, your cute little hums of satisfaction, your giggles. Gosh, your giggles were quite infectious even for him and he is the Mad Hatter. 

“Is there something wrong, Jervis?” You noticed he stopped pacing around and mumbling different ideas and tasks he had going on in his head. 

“Oh, um, no nothing at all…” Jervis darted his eyes away from you and tried to resume setting the traps on the chairs surrounding the table. 

There you go giggling again, gosh you were as cute as a white rabbit. 

WHAP

Jervis yelped in pain as the rat trap he had placed on the table was triggered when he placed his elbow down on it. 

“Oh my God, Jervis!” You jumped up and immediately helped pull back the mechanism, freeing his arm. 

“Aahh, ah..” Jervis whimpered. You began softly rubbing the joint, hoping the pinching sensation will fade away. 

“U-um..my dear, Y/N. N-Not that I don’t enjoy having you here with me…but perhaps it may be best if you went somewhere else while I finish up here.” 

A puzzled look showed up on your face. You titled your head when you asked, “but why, Jervis, everything was going fine…did something distract you?”

“Well…yes…a certain something..someone did..”

“Someone? Oh! Aww, Jervis…” You couldn’t help the small smile that grew across your face. 

“I’m afraid you’re far too enchanting for me, my dear. You’ll have to make haste elsewhere.” He shrugged nervously. 

“Well, if it’ll keep you from hurting yourself, I think I can oblige you just this once.” You poked the tip of his nose. 

Jervis giggled at the gesture, causing you to laugh in return. 

Harvey Dent/Two-Face:

You had no reason to look that alluring. 

He’s trying to plan his next trial at the kitchen table but nooo. You were sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing your new dress. You were steady scrolling on your phone, probably laughing at some cute animal videos. 

Dent would absolutely kill someone if they got in the way of your smile. He wouldn’t even need to flip a coin on it. 

Harvey would look down and try to focus on his list of defendants he had lined up, and some places he planned to raid. Those will probably have to happen next week, he found a quite a few rats in his gang. Plus his boys caught one of Penguin’s higher ups that could spill some hot info…

You laughed. You tried to cover it up, but failed pretty miserably. You started typing away on your phone. Your award-winning smile still plastered on your face. 

Damnit…who did his boys catch?

Harvey got up and leaned against the beam that separated the kitchen from the living room. 

“Hey…gorgeous…” 

You immediately perked your head up. “Oh, hey Harvey, how’s work going?”

“Ah, it’s going, could be going a lot faster though…”

“Really? How so?”

“If you could maybe go to the bedroom and hang out there…” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, not sure how else to tell you to leave.

“Oh, am I annoying you?” 

“No, no, far from it, doll.” He went up to you and got down on his knees. He took your hands in his and placed them on top of your knees. 

“You’re just, you always look so beautiful, but today you look…particularly…well gorgeous. And it’s really hard for me to focus…”

“Harvey Dent are you accusing me of being too pretty?” You jested, teasingly shoved him in his chest. 

“Afriad I am, doll. Luckily for you, I’ve already got a plea deal to offer you.”

“Even for a repeat offender like me?” You coyishly inquired, pretending to be worried about actually being charged with a crime. 

“Especially for you, if you can spend some time alone in another room, and it can be anywhere, but where I am…I won’t have to charge you for distracting me.”

“What do the charges entail, Mr. Dent?” You crossed your arms. 

“You don’t wanna know, doll. Just take my advice and I’ll make it worth your while.” Harvey winked. 

“Hm.” You stood up, almost knocking Harvey back on his haunches. “I suppose I’ll take your advice…this time, but I’ll hold you to that offer of making it worth my while.” 

Harvey laughed. “Sure thing, sweetness. Just please, I can’t be a victim to your radiance for much longer…”

You didn’t argue often with Jeongin. You both were on the same wavelength most of the time. You both weren’t big on touch, you know, when he wanted to cuddle or to hold hands. He knew when you needed to link pinkies or when you wanted to be held. You both respected one another a lot. You didn’t disrespect one another. Sure, you poked fun at each other, you could joke, but you both knew where the line was, and neither of you crossed it. 

Jeongin was on live one morning, Chan was in the living room, watching some show he promised Jisung he would at least try to get into. You were in the kitchen making coffee, ready to start your day. It was a day off, Chan was planning on gaming later, and you and Jeongin agreed on doing a live before just chilling. 

Jeongin looked at the door and let out a small sigh. “Where is she? Why hasn’t my girlfriend brought me my coffee?” He let out a huff. 

Jeongin sat up in his seat. “Woman! Where’s my coffee!” He called out.

Woman, he never called you woman. So when the bedroom door slammed open, Jeongin’s head whipped to the door before looking right at the camera. The colour drained from his face. He knew he had messed up. He looked like he was ready to live his last moments. 

“What did you just call me?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest, your Aussie accent was strong. 

Jeongin cleared his throat. “I was joking.” He needed to save his life somehow.

You scoffed. “Woman? You think you can just call me that and expect I’ll bring you some fucking coffee? Did you get bonked on the nogging? Woman! Blahh! That’s not what you call me.” You weren’t happy, and that was very clear in your tone. 

You were always Sweetheart to Jeongin. Sweetie, Jagiya or simply your name. Hell, you accept being called ‘Demon Baby’ or ‘Demon Child’. But just woman? 

Jeongin stood up and walked over to you. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You let out an annoyed huff. “You can make your own coffee.” You told him, your voice stern and slightly angry. 

Jeongin took your hands in his and nodded his head. “I will. I’ll make you some coffee too.”

You nodded your head slowly. “You’re doing the dishes, and Channie won’t do your laundry.” You spoke with a grin on your face. “And you’ll sleep on the couch tonight…or share Channie-Oppa’s bed.” 

Jeongin’s jaw dropped. “Nooooo! Don’t make me share a bed with Chan-Hyung! He hogs the covers. Besides, you can’t make me do my own laundry. Channie-Hyung loves laundry. You can't take away his only joy in life.” He whined out, making you smirk. 

You turned and walked out of the room. Jeongin followed after you, with promises of making coffee and begging you not to make him share Chan’s bed. ‘He’s clingy when he sleeps.’

In the background, the live could see though the open door, where Chan could be seen with a grin on his face, and it looked like he mouthed something like ‘I’ll set up the best sleepover ever!’

Thank you for supporting me.

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Home is a Person Taglist: @skzhyejin

Your hand shook as you raised it to knock on your boyfriend’s door. Well, your soon-to-be ex boyfriend. 

You received a text yesterday from your friend, the one that no girl ever wants to receive. She was out at a bar and saw your boyfriend kissing another girl. 

Suffice to say, you were pissed the fuck off. You were not the type of girl to let something like this slide. You didn’t care if it was a ‘mistake’ or just a ‘one time thing’ or whatever other excuse he was sure to give you. You knew your worth, you knew you deserved better than this, and you were going to stand up for yourself. 

He’d been getting worse lately, anyway. When your relationship began, he was so sweet. He was thoughtful and caring; he was really just the perfect boyfriend. That faded within the first few weeks as he reverted to what you learned to be his true self—not mean or anything horribly bad, just a bit uninterested and less caring than you were led to believe. 

You’d been dating him for a few months now, and it was getting worse. This news was just the icing on the cake. You had to dump him.

You should’ve just sent him a text, you thought as you nervously waited at the door. It would’ve been so much easier. But you always criticized the people who broke up with their significant others over text, and you were not about to be a hypocrite. So here you were, outside his apartment door, a little bit anxious and a lot angry. 

You hadn’t even told the boys you were coming here today. You hadn’t told them about the text yesterday. They never liked your boyfriend very much. They didn’t even see him often, but they still always had something to say. Now, it seemed, they were right, but you weren’t ready to admit it quite yet. 

After what felt like years, the door in front of you finally opened. You were met with your boyfriend’s taller figure, wearing pajamas and ruffled hair. 

It was late. You’d come here right from practice, which ended late. He was probably getting ready for bed. He was not expecting you. 

“Y/n?” He asked, confused. “What are you doing here?” 

You took a steadying breath. You were sure about this, of course, you knew it had to be done. It's just that you weren’t the most confrontational person. Hell, you were probably one of the least. But you had to do this. 

“Can I come in?” You asked, not wanting to stay in the hall for any longer. You didn’t need his neighbors hearing your shit, and it wasn’t good for you to be in public for long anyways. You didn’t want to be recognized. 

“Sure,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “What’s up?” 

You shut the door behind you. “I got a text yesterday from my friend,” you began, “she was at a bar.” You looked for any recognition in his eyes, but there was none. So you continued, “she saw you there.” This time, there was a flicker. He stayed silent. 

“She saw you kissing another girl, Joshua.” Now, a spark.

“She’s fucking lying,” he replied immediately. 

“I don’t think she is,” you said, gaining steam. “There’s no reason for her to lie to me.” 

“Of course there’s a reason, she hates me! All your stupid friends hate me. God, y/n, you seriously believe this? I’m not fucking cheating on you,” he spat. 

“Well, if it’s a lie, then you seem awfully defensive.”

“Oh, fuck that–” 

“We’re done, Josh,” you cut him off. You didn’t need to hear him yell any more. If he wasn’t going to admit it, fine. Just let it be. 

You turned to leave, but before you could, Josh pushed you back into the wall, your back and shoulder colliding painfully with it. You looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Are you kidding me? You’re breaking up with me? You don’t get to fucking do that, y/n. You can’t break up with me,” he yelled, aggressive now. He wasn’t touching you, but his looming presence kept you in place. 

You weren’t expecting this. He’d never acted like this before. You’d had a few fights, but nothing near this level. 

“Fuck you, Josh,” you said. “I can break up with you, and I will. You cheated on me, you asshole!” 

He grabbed you this time, fingers digging painfully into your left shoulder, pushing you into the wall as his other hand braced on the wall behind you. He got in your face, expression twisted up in anger. “Fine. I kissed her, but that’s it. Nothing else happened. I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me over a fucking kiss.” 

You needed to get out of there. Right now. 

Using all the strength you had, you pushed at his chest. Surprisingly it worked, and he let go of you and took a step back. 

“We are so over, Josh. Don’t you ever fucking touch me again. I don’t ever want to see you,” you yelled, swinging the door open and bolting. 

He let you go, but the last thing you heard as you bolted down the hallway was an echoing, “you’ll regret this, y/n.” 

You were still shaking, but now for a different reason. You never thought it would go like this. You could feel your back and shoulder aching already. There was definitely a bruise forming. 

You couldn’t tell the guys now. It was bad enough that you hadn’t told them about the text or the breakup plan—they would have wanted to know, to go with you in case something like this happened. But now it had happened, and that was so much worse. You didn’t want to see their faces when they found out. Angry, and hurt, because you hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them. 

You trusted all of them with your life—this was only a secret because you didn’t want to hurt your stupid pride—but that’s not how they would see it. It would be a betrayal. Not to mention, they’d want to come and beat Joshua up themselves, and you couldn’t have that. You just wanted to be done with him. 

So it would stay a secret, you decided. It was better that way. 

–

Thankfully, as the only girl in the group, you had your own dorm to yourself. So you didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing you come home late or treating to your bruises. You just needed to cover them for practice tomorrow.

Just as you expected, light purple bruises were already beginning to bloom up the back of your shoulder and down the top of your arm—right where you’d collided with the wall and where he’d grabbed you. If you looked closely, you could almost see the outline of fingers in the bruise. You knew that in a day or two, it would look much worse. 

You touched the discolored area lightly and hissed at the pain that responded. Yeah, that wasn’t great. You’d need to be more careful with yourself the next few days, especially during dance. 

In the morning, you meticulously applied a mix of foundation and concealer over the bruise, blending until the purple was so light you could only see it if you were looking for it. Then you made sure to put on a shirt that covered the area for double protection. 

Practice, surprisingly, went off without a hitch. All the boys were none the wiser about the events of last night. Which really shouldn’t be surprising, because how could they possibly know? Still, you were worried. 

You felt a bit guilty. You hated hiding things from them. But you pushed it aside. This was for the best. 

The next day, you did the same with makeup and a long sleeve shirt. 

During practice, Jeongin accidentally moved the wrong direction and walked right into you, hitting your side. 

“Ow,” you yelped, clutching your shoulder. Then, realizing where you were, you quickly let it go.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Jeongin asked, eyes wide and concerned. He definitely hadn’t run into you hard enough to warrant that much of a reaction. 

You tried to laugh it off. “Sorry, I’m fine. You just… surprised me, is all.” God, that was such a lame excuse. A few of the boys eyed you, suspicious, but thankfully let it go. You kept dancing, and were careful to pay closer attention to your surroundings for the rest of practice. 

By the third day, you were starting to feel really guilty. You hadn’t really given yourself any time to think about what actually happened. Usually, you worked best by talking out things like that with your friends. But now, there was no one you could talk to. You felt all welled up inside, ready to burst. Maybe that was why you forgot to put on makeup, simply slipping on a t-shirt and a hoodie that morning. 

The choreography for your new comeback was hard. It was very cardio heavy, especially now as you learned it and had to keep starting over. You were sweating buckets and decided to take off your sweatshirt, throwing it off to the side. You were left in just a baggy t-shirt and leggings. 

Minho called for a break when he saw half the group ready to keel over. Felix, Hyunjin, Han, and Changbin left the room, promising to be back in ten minutes. Chan grabbed a towel to wipe his sweat, and Jeongin and Seungmin sat down against the mirror, drinking from their water bottles. 

You went to do the same, walking by Minho when he stopped you. “y/n. What’s that?” He pointed to your arm. 

“What’s what?” You asked, distracted. You were really thirsty. 

“That,” he said, pointing more aggressively at the same place. You were about to laugh, to joke that he couldn’t expect you to understand without explaining more, when you looked down and saw what he was talking about.

Oh. Oh, shit. You’d forgotten to put on makeup this morning, and the shirt you had on just barely didn’t cover the end of your bruise. Now three days in, it was bright and fully colored, a sickly mix of purple and yellow spanning your arm and shoulder. You quickly pulled your sleeve down just a bit more.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, grabbing your water from the ground and sipping it. You hoped they’d drop it. They didn’t. Chan and Seungmin were looking at you, now, and Jeongin had hopped up from the ground to see what Minho was pointing at. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” you replied. Though it seemed your voice was a little too defensive, because all that did was convince Jeongin that something was wrong, and he took a step toward you. 

He moved faster than you could react, crossing the distance between you, grabbing your shirt sleeve and lifting it all the way up. The boys gasped as the large bruise was revealed, clear even from across the room. You froze as the other three boys quickly moved toward you, previous activities abandoned. 

“Y/n, how did you get that?” Chan asked. 

“It nothing, I just fell–”

“Are those fingerprints?” Seungmin asked, and you finally gained the sense to pull your sleeve back down and move away from Jeongin’s grasp. 

You backed yourself into the wall. “No, it’s nothing, so please just stop.” 

“Y/n–”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, tears welling in your eyes, threatening to fall. You weren’t sure if it was from the frustration of them not listening, or the stress, or the events of the past few days finally catching up to you now that the cat was basically out of the bag—it was probably a mix of all three. You turned around to face the wall, not wanting the boys to see you blinking away your tears. 

“Y/n,” Chan said again, gently. “Please just tell us.” 

He sounded so soft, so concerned, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to push it down anymore. You turned back to them, eyes glistening. You took in a shaky breath.

“Josh was cheating on me.”

A series of gasps from the boys. 

“And… and I didn’t tell you because you guys always said you didn’t like him, and I never believed you. I knew you’d make fun of me, and I just couldn’t take it,” you explained. Your tears finally began to fall, and Chan pulled you into a hug, muffling your cries. 

“Oh, honey, no. We would never make fun of you for this,” he said, holding you tight against him. 

“Yeah, it’s his fault, not yours,” said Jeongin. 

“We just want to beat him up,” Minho chimed in. That got you to snort out a laugh in between your tears. You pulled away from Chan, smiling a bit now, wiping your face with your sleeve. 

“Of course we’d never judge you… Unless you didn’t break up with him. If you’re not planning to break up with him, I would actually judge you,” Seungmin said, only half joking. 

“Seungmin!” Chan scolded. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I did break up with him, right after I found out,” you told them. Yikes. Now it was time for the worse, second part of this story. “I went to his apartment and I told him that I knew and I wanted to break up. And he– he got really mad. He didn’t want to break up. And when I tried to leave, he… y’know,” you finished, glancing down to your shoulder to indicate what you meant. 

“He laid his hands on you?” 

“He did that to you?” 

“That fucking asshole–”

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

Jeongin reached for your shirt sleeve again, this time looking to you for permission. You nodded slightly, and he gently rolled up the sleeve so the boys could have another look. Up close it looked much worse, discolored and ugly and large, and you could tell the sudden silence in the boys was because they were fuming. 

“I’m gonna kill him. Seriously, I am,” Seungmin repeated. 

“I’ll help you,” added Minho. 

They weren’t serious, right? They couldn’t be. But one look at them really made it seem like they were. You looked to Chan, as he was normally the one to break these things up, but he just stood silent, staring at your bruise with the coldest gaze you’d ever seen on him. Even Jeongin looked ready to fight. 

“Okay, no. No fighting. I just want this to be over, okay? It’s done, let's just forget about it,” you said.

“But he hurt you–” 

“I know, but I’m fine. And you guys getting in trouble would not be worth beating him up. Please. Just drop it, okay?” 

The boys sighed, but finally gave in. 

Just then, the other four boys came back from their break, talking and laughing with each other. Then they saw everyone huddled around you, the dried tears on your face, and your uncovered bruise, and went silent. 

“What happened here?” Changbin asked. 

–

Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, and Felix acted much the same as the first four boys to find out, but you eventually managed to calm them down too. Now everyone knew, and they all did what they could to cheer you up. They were also extremely overprotective. 

Changbin didn’t let you carry anything. He’d steal your bag from you the minute you picked it up and never give it back.

“It’s a bruise, not a broken arm, Changbin,” you huffed. 

“Same thing to me,” he replied, grinning. 

Minho made you dinner every night, and Felix was almost always latched onto you, as if you’d float away the minute he let go.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really. Stop being so weird.” 

“We’ll stop being weird when we’re sure you’re okay,” Hyunjin replied, pushing you over to the couch. You were over Changbin and Hyunjin’s dorm to watch a movie. They’d brought you over right after practice. That was another thing—they almost never let you be alone anymore. You lived alone, but somehow they’d worked something out so you were almost always with at least one of them at all times of the day. Sometimes they even had you sleep over. 

You weren’t sure how they’d managed to plan this out. Did they talk about it, or was it just some weird mental connection? You weren’t sure. It was sweet, but it was also starting to get a bit frustrating. You weren’t a baby. You didn’t like them treating you like you were so breakable. 

So after the movie, you insisted that you go back to your dorm. You needed to shower and sleep in your own bed. The boys pouted but let you return.

You walked down the hall to your apartment, turning the corner. At your doorstep lay a bouquet of flowers. Beautifully wrapped, with your favorite kind of flowers. No note. You froze. Even without a note, you knew who it was from. There was only one person who’d send you these. 

You picked them up and entered your apartment, not wanting to stay in the hall for any longer. You threw your bag off to the side and sat at your kitchen counter, staring down at the flowers in your hands. Why did he do this? He never got you flowers while you were together. Now, of course, he was pulling out all the stops since you’d broken up with him. 

You should’ve seen it before. He just wanted to be dating an idol. He wasn’t the best boyfriend, but now he’d do anything to get you back. It made you shudder. 

Your phone buzzed on the counter with a text. 

Josh

did you get them? 

You took in a sharp breath. Fuck. How did he know you just got home? Was he watching you? You hadn’t seen him, but it was possible. 

y/n

what is your problem

we broke up

Josh

I don’t accept that

please, baby, I miss you

I know you miss me too

we were so good together

y/n

don’t call me baby, you asshole

you did this to yourself

and stay the fuck away from me

You blocked him before he could reply. 

You grabbed the flowers and threw them in the trash, then went to take a hot shower. Hopefully that was that. Maybe now, he’d finally take the hint and leave you alone. 

Things were calm for the next few days. Too calm. The boys had finally begun to let up on you, and it seemed that everything had gone back to normal for the most part. The boys were still a bit overprotective, but less so. You hadn’t received anything else from Josh. You thought everything was fine. 

Oh how wrong you were. 

Over the weekend, you invited all the boys to your place for movie night. You were curled up on the couch in between Felix and Han. Minho, Chan, and Seungmin were in the kitchen making and gathering movie snacks. The other three were spread out around your living room. Then, your doorbell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” you said, extracting yourself from the two clingy boys. You giggled at their sad faces and walked down the hall to the door. 

You swung it open. Josh stood in front of you.

His eyes were dark and cold. He looked upset and a bit… off. You couldn’t quite place it. 

You almost slammed the door in his face, but he reached out and held it open before you could. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay away from me,” you said. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he replied, leaning in closer to you. You caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Oh, shit. Was he drunk? 

“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” He asked, grabbing you by the front of your shirt and pulling you closer to him.

“Get your hands off of me,” you yelled, clawing at his hand. He just pushed you back into the door, and you let out a winded ‘oof.’ 

“You just don’t fucking—” 

Josh couldn’t finish his sentence, as he was suddenly pulled off you and thrown to the side.

“Don’t you touch her,” Felix said, your apparent savior. You watched as he reeled his arm back and decked Josh, so hard he stumbled back a few feet. Felix walked forward to hit him again, but you were quickly turned around, away from the violence. 

It was Changbin. He pulled you into him so you couldn’t see what was going on behind you. Past him, Jisung and Hyunjin stood with wide eyes. Changbin looked over your form, checking for injuries. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

You were breathing heavily, still jarred from everything that had just happened so quickly. “Yeah I’m… I’m fine.” 

“Okay. Okay, good. You go back inside, yeah? I’m gonna go check on Felix,” Changbin said, gently directing you toward Jisung and Hyunjin. You followed them back into your living room, where the rest of the boys came running. 

“What happened? We heard yelling,” Chan said. 

“Josh came back,” you replied quietly. 

From the commotion they’d heard and the look on your, Jisung, and Hyunjin’s faces, the boys quickly understood what that meant. 

“Oh, I actually am gonna kill him this time,” Seungmin said, immediately rushing off to the doorway, Minho following behind. 

“I think Felix has that covered,” Hyunjin called after them. They didn’t even turn around. 

The rest of the boys sat you down on the couch and made sure you were comfortable, forcing a bowl of popcorn into your hands. 

“It was for the movie, but who says popcorn can’t be comfort food, right?” Jeongin joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

You sat there for a minute or two before the other half of the group returned. Felix’s knuckles looked banged up, but other than that, none of them were hurt. 

“He’s heading home now,” Felix informed, smiling brightly. “He’s not gonna bother you again.” And then he plopped down on the couch right next to you, practically in your lap. You forgot sometimes that despite Felix’s sunshiney personality and appearance, he was extremely well-versed in martial arts and apparently not afraid to use it. 

Still, the whiplash was crazy. Felix’s knuckles were still all scratched up, yet here he was, smiling and curled up into your side. 

As you sat with your popcorn, wrapped in a blanket and a movie beginning to play in front of you, you realized how lucky you were. You don’t know what you did to deserve it, but you really had the best group of friends ever. You were so grateful for them. 

“You know we’re never letting you out of our sight again, yeah?” 

You looked over to Chan. You supposed that wasn’t too bad after all. 

⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 fic note - dividers by @222luvr

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