#can go with a first meeting or pre-established! whatever works

[modelcitizentomorrow]

LOCATION: neverland FOR: @faiirytalcs / luis salgado

Making her way towards the bar, Fawn's cheeks would've been flaming if she cared enough to be embarrassed. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to get up in front of everyone and belt her lungs out to a song she barely knew, but hey, at least people had been kind enough to clap. Taking ownership of the closest empty stool, she waved at the bartender before looking at the man she'd seated herself beside of. "If that was as bad as I think it was, blame it on the tequila."

[n3ptoonz]

I have a pre-relationship request that’s more on the cute side. Can you please write Bi Han, Kenshi, Johnny, Liu Kang, Raiden and Kung Lao reacting to the reader (who is a new kombatant) who has been feeling weary from the training and falling asleep on the men’s shoulder? It can be under different scenarios, whatever you think works the best :)

this is so cute!! i'll be happy to write this😁

no warnings, pure FLUFF <3

Sub-Zero

Being a new kombatant came with a lot of responsibilities. However, for lack of better word, it felt like more of a responsibility being around Bi-Han than any other. He knew not to work you as hard as his recruits, so with the kindness left in his heart he offered to help and train with you. He was quite impressed with your quick learning and determination too. So one day after a long session--this was his way of saying he thought you were good enough to train with him that long--you sat together to cool off in a comfortable silence. After a while he began to ramble on about duties and such when he turned to feel the weight of your head on his shoulder. He was honestly going to wake you up, but then felt you deserved the rest. Anybody who passed by him earned a mean glare if they even tried speaking to him and possibly waking you up, but shh! You didn't hear that from me!

Kenshi Takahashi

After being assigned to work with Kenshi, it's natural that you were nervous. You heard many stories about the blind swordsman, and now you were actually in his presence. Sensing your hesitance to really give your all out of nervousness, he always made sure to let you know you can give everything you got, so gradually over time you two became comfortable during and after training sessions. You've learned a lot from him: from stances, to breathing patterns, to how to efficiently piss Johnny off if he bothered you with his droning on about being in Hollywood, it was no question that you two connected on another level. After a particularly challenging session, he paid no mind to you falling asleep on his shoulder. You earned it. He'd carry on with his own conversations while making sure he didn't budge. It could also be something he brags about to Johnny, cause why the hell not?

Johnny Cage

When you were first introduced to the fighting scene by Liu Kang, you expected to meet all types of esteemed warriors and established individuals that wore their honor on their sleeves. When it came to Johnny, it was weirdly charming. He was the first to offer to train with you because you looked strong. He'd play around with the whole "I'll go easy on you" speech until you showed him what you're capable of. Now, he took you seriously. The Johnny Cage that came to light when he wanted to prove a point was always present when you showed up, but you admired it nonetheless. You liked that he didn't view you as some weakling that could be talked down on. So post intense sparring match with you out like a light once your head laid upon his shoulder, he just quietly laughed it off and patted your head. "You're lucky we tied." he whispered.

Liu Kang

Of course, anybody's heart would be thumping in the presence of a God. The God of Fire himself kindly offered to take you under his wing, seeing great potential in you and your future. Liu Kang took this role very seriously, so while he explained you were hand picked, you immediately snapped into a warrior's mindset. Being a new kombatant was the highest honor in your eyes, especially while being backed by a literal God. Though he will have no issue reminding you to just view him as another friend--glowing eyes and all power aside. Being your Lord eventually felt no different than simply speaking to a superior you could say what's up to. He admired your love for training and being quick on your toes, so no wonder you fell asleep on him. Working with a God is no joke!

Raiden

Getting to train with the champion of Earthrealm was surreal to you. Although when you met Raiden, you didn't think he'd be so sweet and chill. Most of all humble. Letting him know you were new here made him so happy, especially now since he didn't have to deal with Kung Lao's blabbering about if he was champion. It didn't take long to start training longer and harder, but sometimes it may have been a little difficult to keep up. He is the champion for a reason! There'd be a plethora of opportunities to learn from each other and understand each other better through fighting. It was a breath of fresh air to learn you both viewed kombat as a means of expression and art. Falling asleep on his shoulder after a long day made his own tiredness disappear. He was honored that you felt so comfortable and relaxed around him--this much was clear when someone walked past him grinning ear to ear.

Kung Lao

A new kombatant for him to train with?! Let's go! Kung Lao was a man that needed no introduction. Once he eyes laid upon you, he could sense your strength from across the room. He wore his pride on his sleeve, but it honestly didn't bother you much. He was the same man who came this close to being champion of Earthrealm and had his own set of great skill. He loved training with you. You were able to keep up with him in a short amount of time and even develop your own flair being around him so long. In a way he kind of felt like your mentor. The evening that you trained so hard and sparred so well and eventually fell asleep on his shoulder, he expected as much. As a matter of fact, he would joke about it all this time after every session, half of him thinking it probably wouldn't happen. But regardless he found it adorable and wore this moment like a badge of honor.

a/n: lowkey i have no clue if i've reused the same sentiments for some of these characters but hey im used to writing in the format so yall gonna have to deal with it 😤 hope this was what you had in mind!

[jeridandridge]

For Lovers At Night pt 1

Melissa meets someone that makes her reevaluate her marriage and life choices. Pre-doc crew at Abbott. Part 1

Melissa Schemmenti is miserable. Sitting at her kitchen table mindlessly flipping through a book her eyes catch the gold band on her finger. Joe had promised her when they first got married he would get her a diamond as soon as they got money. That was twenty years ago. She thinks back to before she got married, how carefree and happy she was. She spent her free time in clubs, bars, and artists dens, meeting whoever she wanted and most importantly being a mysterious woman that did whatever she wanted.

Sitting at the table she closes the book and stands up knowing Joe won’t be home for dinner anyway. Heading through the house she goes to their rarely shared bedroom and opens the closet door. Pushed to the side of the closet sits an old leather jacket she hasn’t worn since… god she can’t remember. Most likely since she and Joe got back together the last time.

Running her hand along the tough leather a small smile spreads across her lips as memories are brought back to her. The last time she wore it she opted on the back of a gorgeous woman’s motorcycle and flipped Joe off as they rode off into the night together.

That feels like a life time ago now.

Pulling the jacket out she slips it on and fluffs her hair looking in the mirror. She notes the crows feet by her eyes, the way her freckles are more prominent now in her forties. Looking at her hand she flexes her fingers for a moment. Taking a breath she slowly slides her wedding ring off setting it on the dresser.

When Melissa gets in her car she’s not sure where she’s going, but she knows she’s going into the city. Somewhere alive and lit up. Sticking her hand out the window as she drives she moves her fingers along the chilly night air, her ring finger bare for the first time in many years feels weightless against the wind. She can’t help but smile to herself, something she realizes is happening at random.

Driving through the busy streets she goes to an old haunt of hers not even knowing if it’s still open or not. In an old building on one of the bustling streets of Philly sits an old bookshop, The looking Glass, one that she went to many times in her college days and even after. Pulling up she beams seeing the store still there and the open sign on. She could go for a fireball hot toddy and a new book tonight.

Going up to the door a whiff of fresh books and coffee hit her, throwing her right back to her college days. Walking inside everything’s the same. The hot drink section with its bar behind it, the small counter on the opposite side holding the register and other little items for purchase, multiple seating areas, and of course the shelves and shelves of books so cramped together that if it were any other place it would be a problem. Melissa feels at home.

Walking past people she glides through the rows of books looking around and getting lost in her little chunk of paradise she hasn’t had in so long. Across the establishment behind the bar, you nudge your friend nodding towards the row of books the gorgeous redhead is standing near.

“Just your type. Good luck with that one.” He pats your shoulder as he goes to the back room. Looking across the room with a smirk on your lips you watch the redheaded stranger reach up for a book, her hair cascading down her back in waves. She was beautiful.

Across the room Melissa turns around book in hand, flipping through the pages as she walks up to the bar not bothering to look up until she’s standing right in front of you. “Hi, what can I get for ya?”

Melissa looks up with a friendly smile playing with the spine of the book she found. “Can I get a fireball hot toddy, hon?”

“Name for the order?” You ask moving around the work area, black warm cup in hand.

“Melissa.”

“Melissa, I’ve never seen you in here before.” You smile writing her name on the cup in gold flowy letters.

Setting the book down on the counter so she can open her purse, Melissa shrugs. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“I figured. I’d remember someone like you.” You smile making the drink and sliding it on the counter.

Melissa catches the comment and the way you’re looking at her, and feels a warmth spread through her. “I doubt it, hon.” She chuckles handing the money over for her drink.

“If you need another or just wanna have a riveting conversation, I’ll be here.” You gesture to the counter with a laugh.

Melissa looks at your name tag with a smile.

“Thanks, hon. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Moving across the room with her drink and book in hand Melissa sits on a sofa near a dim lamp, just far enough to glance up every so often to the woman behind the bar. Sipping her drink the warmth from the alcohol spreads through her chest giving her a comforting feeling she hasn’t felt in a long while. The woman behind the counter is stunning, and something about her eyes made Melissa feel something deep within her that she can’t place just yet.

Eventually, she gets lost in her book and before she knows it she’s more than halfway through it and the woman from the bar is gently tapping her arm.

“Melissa, we’re closing up.” You hum with a soft smile.

The bar is quieter now, people are heading out and the main lights are on. Melissa looks around the bar and begins to gather her things. “Sorry, I got lost there.” She chuckles.

“Don’t apologize, I would too if I were reading Jane Rules greatest love story,” you smile.

“You’ve read it?” She asks curiously.

“I have, it was a big deal for me in high school.”

“So when, last year?” Melissa teases making you laugh in return.

“No, more like fifteen or so years ago.” You hum. “Something about an older woman breaking free of a metaphorical cage and finding herself with the help of a wild younger woman always intrigued me.” You admit with a smile. “Let me buy it for you.” You offer.

“I can’t let you do that, hon.” Melissa shakes her head.

“Sure you can. I own the place, I can do what I want.”

Melissa looks at you in awe. You looked so young yet here you were with a business and a personality wise beyond your years. Before she can say anything else you’re already wiping down the coffee table with a rag.

“Wow. It really has been a long time since I’ve been here.” Melissa sighs. “Thank you, for the book and the environment.”

“You don’t need to thank me, just come in more often.” You smile.

And that’s what she does.

The next night Melissa makes sure her hair and makeup are to the nines, her jeans are tight, her nails are painted, and she may or may not spray on an extra shot of perfume. Standing in front of the mirror she fluffs her hair once more and takes a breath.

“Where are you going all dressed up?” Joes voice sounds from the bathroom, a rare thing now.

“Barb talked me into a book club.” She offers with ease. He still hadn’t noticed her wedding ring was off and he didn’t ask any questions- just how she liked it.

“That sounds nice. Have a good time.” He says closing the door.

It doesn’t take long for Melissa to grab her keys and make her way to The Looking Glass. Walking through the door there are more people than the night before given the fact it’s a Saturday night. The redhead can’t help but frown, a pang of sadness hitting her as she makes her way in and doesn’t see the woman from the night before.

Slipping through the crowd she gets to the bar looking up at the menu despite being ready to order her wine.

“Melissa!”

Across the floor near the back doorway the mysterious woman from last night appears.

“Hi, hon.” She lets out with a giddy grin, her heart leaping in her chest as you beckon her over with the wave of your hand. “I didn’t think you were here.”

“I’m always here.” You chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” You admit with a smile as you lean against the side of the bar.

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “I overthink too much I guess.”

“Yeah, I know the feelin.”

“Come with me, I want your opinion on something.” You hold your hand out to the redhead.

Gently taking the younger woman’s hand Melissa feels her cheeks heat up at the simple touch. Walking to the back hand in hand she can’t help but feel butterflies in her chest.

“So it’s dark and cold now,” you start flicking a single hanging lightbulb on, “but I’m planning on expanding the sitting area to here. Less storage, but more room for pretty girls to browse through the books.” You smirk.

Melissa tips her chin up with a matching smirk meeting your eyes. “Do you flirt with all your customers this way?”

“No, I can’t say I do. Just the one I find incredibly beautiful.”

Smile not faltering, Melissa ducks her head realizing your hands are still entwined together.

“Careful, I might think you’re interested in me.” She chuckles lightly.

“And if I am?” You smile.

“I think,” Melissa whispers, her ringless hand still in the woman’s, “I’d like that.”

Everything Melissa knows goes out the window when she sees the look in your eyes. She thinks of all the shit Joe has put her through the last twenty years and how she can be happy if she allows that for herself. It’s what she desperately wants.

“I can’t stay long tonight, but I’d really like to talk to ya while I’m here.” She offers with a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you can that is.”

“I can,” you smile. “Come with me.”

As Melissa is lead through the back room once again she gently squeezes the woman’s hand as they get to the office in the back of the building. It’s simple, a desk, a large couch, and of course a couple bookshelves.

“Make yourself at home,” you offer letting your hand slip away from the redheads, fingers brushing as you go to the small fridge in the corner. “Do you like wine?”

“It’s usually my go to. I bet you have the really good stuff.”

“I do, but this is regular stuff.” You chuckle taking out the chilled bottle. “I’ll have to break the good stuff out another night.”

“Already thinking about seeing me again?” Melissa grins watching her hands move. The lust she felt for the woman was something she’d not felt in her marriage in over ten years and she forgot how much she missed the warm feeling.

“Not to scare you off, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night.” You admit handing her a glass of wine.

“Trust me, hon it takes a lot to scare me off.” Melissa was terrified of what she was doing, but she didn’t need to share that.

“Interesting.” You grin into your own glass. “You seem really mysterious, Melissa.”

“Private mostly,” the redhead shrugs. She’d always been private. Her family and connections were usually all she needed in her life, it even took a full year at Abbott Elementary before she let her best friend, Barb, into her life and that was ten years ago.

“So if I gave you my phone number could I expect a call from a restricted number?” You joke.

“No,” Melissa smiles fishing the device out of her purse, unlocking it before she hands it over. “It’ll be just a number.”

Taking the phone in your palm you type your number in followed by your name handing it back after you hit save.

“I haven’t done this in a long time.” Melissa chuckles nervously, so uncharacteristic of the hard exterior she presents.

Sipping your wine you lick your lips setting the glass down. “Someone hurt you pretty good didn’t they?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Melissa offers thinking of Joes cheating and lack of presence. “I’m kinda gettin over it though.”

“Well, whoever they are, I feel sorry for them.” You smile as the redhead finishes her wine.

Melissa can’t help but duck her head a bit at that. “Thanks, hon.”

“Tell me about them,” you prompt leaning back in your seat.

Melissa sobers up immediately at the question. How could she tell a practical stranger, one she was incredibly attracted to, but still a stranger none the less, that she hated her husbands guts and wanted out before she got any older?

“If I answer you have to tell me something important about you.” She shoots back.

“Deal,” you nod with a smile.

“I-“ Melissa breathes out unsure of where to start, “My ex husband made me miserable. He cheated, rarely came home, expected all the cliche housewife cliche things.” She shrugs through the lie. Yes it was a lie, but not entirely.

“What an idiot.” You shake your head unable to break eye contact with the woman. There was something behind her eyes that you couldn’t yet place, but would soon find out.

“How did you buy this place?” Melissa asks breaking the tension.

“It was left to me. I started working here when I turned eighteen and I’ve been here ever since.” You smile. “The original owner helped me out a lot in college and when she retired, she sold ir to me cheap.”

“That’s amazing,” Melissa smiles. “I always loved it here and I’m happy to see it’s the same.”

“I do my best to keep it up and get more people in here. As much as I love talking about my job, what do you do?”

“I teach second grade.” She offers. During your back and forth, Melissa keeps that same look in her eyes and it only changes when she says she has to leave. It changes from whatever it was before to sadness.

“Let me walk you to your car?” You ask hopefully.

“Yeah, hon. I’d like that.”

Getting up you rest your hand on her lower back as you two walk out to the main part of the building and out the front door.

“That’s it there?” You ask with a laugh spotting a black two door truck.

“That’s me.”

“You get more and more interesting.” You grin as Melissa unlocks the truck. “I hope I hear from you soon.”

“You will, hon.” Melissa smiles while she climbs in.

“Drive safe.” You offer with a nod, settling your hands in your back pockets as you watch the truck drive off into the busy night. Turning around you go back into the bar with a smile knowing you met someone special.

Part 2

[greenorangevioletgrass]

given the circumstances (part 1) | b.r.b.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: your relationship with Bradley goes from 0 to 100 after a little happy accident. [Part of “The Actress & The Aviator” universe]

word count: 5.9k

Warnings: established relationship, language, pregnancy, mention of vomit/nausea, accidental pregnancy, fluff, smut [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink, hint of mommy kink?, breeding kink, size kink, creampie]

notes: they’re back babeyyyy! This is set about 1.5 years after the events in “It’s Classified”, and it fills in the gap of the blurbs I did a while ago. But you don’t have to read it first, this can be read as a standalone. I have missed writing for them so much, and I hope you enjoy reading this! <3

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

PART ONE

You’ve been New York-bound for six whole months, doing two shows on Broadway back-to-back. Bradley came to visit you for your musical’s opening night about two months in (and again for your second show, a modern take of Romeo & Juliet), but with your shows and his sudden deployment to God knows where for three months, the time and space apart was killing you.

Which is why you’re determined to take some time off as soon as you’re done, just to be with your stupidly handsome fiance at home in the stupidly sunny California.

Your first month or so was a bliss. You would wake up to the smell of your coffee, and saunter into the kitchen where Bradley would kiss you good morning. There’s no rigid structure to your days, save for the occasional work meetings. Most of your time is spent playing house with your fiance, redecorating the house you both barely lived in before you were called off to work. Wandering around and jotting down inspirations for your new screenplay. Treating yourself to frozen yogurts and manicures. Adjusting to life in the San Clemente neighborhood of Orange County. 

(Bradley made a joke about you joining The Real Housewives soon, which earned him an elbow to the rib. Whatever. He was more Housewife material than you anyway.)

But halfway through your second month, you started feeling lethargic and just… off. You chalked it up to the weather and exhaustion, since you’ve been back to work, going to pre-production meetings for your upcoming movie. You tried to brush it off with vitamins and heartier meals, powering through for a couple of days.

“You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so good…” Bradley looks at you in concern when you shuffle into the kitchen that morning.

You’re really not, but you blatantly refuse to acknowledge that. “I’m fine. Still tired, is all. I just need some…” the coffee scent wafts in the air—the same scent that always woke you up in a good mood these past six months—and you gag. “Oh fuck.”

Bradley’s voice calling out your name sounds distant as you dash towards the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before you puke your guts out. 

“Hey…” he holds your hair back with one hand while the other rubs your back patiently. Staying calm despite his head is running a mile a minute in panic. “What happened, sweetheart?”

Everything feels like hell from your mouth to your stomach, and you groan as you pull the flush. “I have no idea. I just… I could smell the coffee and suddenly…” you motion at the toilet. “I mean, what the fuck?”

He sighs, wiping off sweat from your forehead and brushing the strands of hair sticking on it. “Maybe it’s stress?” he guesses, although they both know it’s unlikely. You’ve been keeping it relatively chill since you got here. “Or a stomach bug? Or…”

You look up to find his brown eyes softly gazing at yours, in worry and concern and… “Or what?”

He grimaces almost apologetically, and you slowly catch what he means.

“No. No way. Nuh-uh.” you shake your head so quickly, you give yourself a headache. “I’m on birth control. I’ve never missed a day…” That’s not true. As the words leave your mouth, you remember the surprise trip Bradley took you to Big Sur one weekend where you forgot both your pills and condoms…

Fuck.

“Babe… What date is it?”

He stammers for a bit, “Um, the— it’s the 18th.”

You do the mental math, counting the time gap between today and the Big Sur trip, and your last period… and your eyes widen. Your head is swirling, and so is your stomach.

“Sweetheart, do you think you might be—”

Before he can say the damned word, you feel the bile rising again. Your pointer finger lifts up in wait, as you bury your face in the toilet and throw up once more.

His heart catches. You’ve talked about having a baby, and you’ve talked about wanting to have one… some time in the future. He didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Butterflies fill his stomach at the possibility of you carrying his baby right now at this very moment, but the sight of you looking so… defeated by your own body is enough to create a nasty pit in his gut.

“What can I get for you, baby?” he asks softly, caressing the back of your neck.

There’s absolutely nothing else to empty from your stomach at this point. It’s basically just water and dry heaving, and your eyes are tearing up from the terrible sensation.

“Ginger ale from the fridge…” you manage between heavy breaths, “...and some test packs from the pharmacy, please.”

“Okay, sure. Got it. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” He offers both his hands and gently pulls you up. If he’s nervous or excited or both, he does a pretty good job of not showing it. He pulls up some tissues from the bathroom counter and wipes your mouth without batting an eye.

He lays you down on your side, getting you all nice and comfy, before disappearing into the kitchen, returning with a can of ginger ale and a puke bucket, just in case.

“Sweetheart?” his hand is soft and warm on your cheek, and his voice even more so. “Drink up. Hope it’ll settle your stomach a little bit.”

You sit up a little, and take small sips from the can. At least it helps alleviate the bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

“I put your phone on the bedside. Call me if you need me, alright? I’m just gonna run over to CVS. Be back before you know it.” He kisses your forehead, and you make a face in protest.

“I’m gross right now!”

“I don’t care,” he chuckles. “Just rest up. Love you.”

Of course he knows what to do. Picture perfect Bradley Bradshaw, who knows how to be caring without being overbearing. Who kisses your clammy forehead after you puke your guts out. Who is literally running to the nearest drugstore to get her pregnancy test packs right now, for fuck’s sake. He’s just… perfect.

You lie back down and smush your face into the pillow, faced with the fact that you’ll never be able to live up to that. And if you can’t… how the hell are you supposed to raise a child? How the hell are you supposed to pull your weight when your fiance can already do it so well?

“Babe?” He calls out upon entering the house a few short minutes later. “I’m back. I got the…” his words trail off as he walks into the bedroom and sees you in tears. His whole features soften up as he approaches you gingerly, sitting by your side. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You shake your head as you sit up, sniffling a little. “What are those?” You nod at the paper bag he put down on the foot of the bed, hoping it’ll divert the conversation a little. It’s a little too big for just a bunch of pregnancy test sticks.

“The tests. And some snacks I thought might help with your stomach.”

And with that, the tears burn the corners of your eyes again and your lips quiver as they fail to hold back the cries.

“How are you so good at this?!”

He pauses in confusion, and then… it dawns on him. An amused glint appears in his eyes. “Are you… crying because I got a good bedside manner?” 

Your hands fly up to your face, hiding it from view. “I’m not! Shut up!” You really were, but he didn’t have to say it like that… and your reaction only confirmed his speculation. 

Bradley chuckles. God, he loves your silly little antics. “I mean, I had to take care of my mom all through high school, so…” he shrugs sheepishly.

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand. An uncomfortable awkwardness sets in as you remember his late mother’s terminal illness, right in the peak of his high school years. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m just… glad I’m doing it right?” He smiles in reassurance, wiping what’s left of your tears and kissing your nose. He lifts up the ginger ale can to your hand again. “You lost a lot of fluids to make up for. Drink up some more, and we’ll do the tests, yeah?”

You glance at the paper bag again, watching him fishing around… “How many pregnancy test packs did you get?”

“I got three just to be safe.”

You want to laugh, but you probably would’ve ransacked the test kits too, if you were the one to buy it. So instead, you nod slowly, ponderously. “Three is… three is good.”

You know how these test kits work, they’re all the same, but you insist on reading the instructions pamphlet anyway. With two other test kits to spare, Bradley simply takes another copy from another box to read.

“Pee on a stick, wait for up to 5 minutes.” You put down the pamphlet on the counter. “Easy enough.” You sigh like it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

And it is. Every tick of the clock feels louder and farther from the one before, and you’re trying your damnedest not to look back onto the counter where the blue-tipped sticks are lined up. Inspecting it up close and see the lines that appear.

You sigh in exasperation, breaking the stilted silence. “I don’t even know what I’m hoping for, if I’m honest. Is that weird?”

He shakes his head a little. “Not at all. This is a weird situation to be in, I think it makes sense if we’re still not sure what we want.”

“Do you know what you’re hoping for?” You turn your head towards him. Maybe you’ll know it when you hear it. 

“Honestly? No.” Yes. He knows exactly what he wants. He just doesn’t want to admit it and freak you out even more. “I’m just thinking about you. About us…”

“What about us?”

“Just that… whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

Bless him. It would be infuriating if you weren’t so comforted by it. Leave it to Bradley to always know just the right thing to say.

And he means every word of it too. Yes, he wants a baby with you now, but you don’t, or if it doesn’t turn out to be now, then… he can stand to wait a little more. For as long as you need.

“How long do we have left?”

Bradley joins your gaze towards the nautical clock on the wall. A silly little gag gift you gave him last Christmas, for your favorite flying seaman. 

“Three minutes and fifteen seconds…?”

“That’s about the average length of a pop song.”

He grins. “Exactly. One pop song, and we’ll find out.”

You nod. Listening to the tick, tick, tick of the clock. It drones on and on, and it seems to lull slower as it goes. Fuck Einstein and his theory of relativity. You pick the first random song that pops into your head and holds onto it for dear life. It’s your only way of keeping track of the time, at this point.

“I took my love, I took it down…” you sing under your breath, tentatively.

Bradley snorts. “It’s a good song.” That’s an understatement. He adores Fleetwood Mac, and this is the first song he learned on the guitar when he was 10.

“Climbed a mountain and I turned around…” you throw him a side-eye, a more than obvious invitation to join you.

Bradley has his eyes closed, though. But he nods along and sings along in his warm voice, “And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hill…”

“‘Til the landslide brought me down.” 

The two of you are singing with your whole chests now, belting out the chorus to drown out your nerves, forcing yourself to stay on tempo even when you feel like rushing it to the end. Right now, it’s more like Nick Miller’s nervous singing from New Girl than a beautiful bathroom jam session, but you don’t care. Bradley is vocalizing the guitar solo part like the back of his hand, playing the air guitar and everything, and you’re so, so happy that out of all the people in the world, you’re doing this with him. 

And at that moment, you realize that your worries earlier today were misguided. Yes, Bradley knows how to take care of you, and he probably knows a thing or two about babies. But he’s on your side. He’ll be pulling the weight with you. Being good parents is not a competition—you know he’ll cheer you on like he is doing right now. He knows you’ll do the same for him, too. 

Well I’ve been afraid of changes

‘cause I’ve built my life around you

But time makes you bolder, even children get older

and I’m getting older too

You didn’t notice it at first, but Bradley also softens up on the final chorus, lost in his own thoughts. He has built his life on self-preservation, protecting himself from the lies of the people he loved, and depriving him of the love and family he’s always wanted. But maybe it’s age or the wounds healing (or you swooping into his life at just the right moment)… but he’s not gonna live forever. He knows in his heart of hearts that he wants this baby. He wants this life with you.

When you ask him to look and tell you the results, he doesn’t even flinch. He just nods, kissing your temple as he reaches for all three test kits behind you. His hand shakes a little as he picks them up, though, flipping to see the indicator side. One line for negative, two for positive.

And there it is.

“They’re…” his throat catches, his face unreadable. “They’re all positive…”

“What?”

He shows you the test kits, two blue lines all across the board. His voice wavers, with tears and smiles at the same time. “We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God…” you walk into his arms in a daze, still not sure what you’re feeling. Are you relieved because you simply know the answer, or relieved because it’s true? Are you terrified because you want it or you don’t?

Bradley cups your face with both hands, tucking unruly strands of hair behind your ear. His brown eyes brimming with tears, blurry as he admires your beauty. The mother of his child. Gosh, he can’t believe his luck.

“How do you feel, honey?”

It tugs at your heartstrings, just how soft he is. So brave, and so gentle at the same time. You have no idea what kind of parent you would be, but you know he would make a great one. “Shocked,” you admit. He nods. “Scared.” This time, you’re a bit embarrassed, but he completely empathizes. “But…” you put your hand over his, closing your eyes as you lean your cheek against his palm, so warm and soft and right, “…happy.”

***

And after two months of a relatively slow life, things are going from zero to 100 very quickly.

Bradley manages to duck out of work early and take you to the doctor that very afternoon. Everything seems to be in order. The baby is, indeed, there— a 7-week-old blob as big as a blueberry with a heartbeat.

Heartbeat.

Your heart all but stops beating when you first hear it, much stronger than you thought it would. But there it is. Strong. Alive.

There. 

“That’s… that’s our baby…” You choke up, staring at the ultrasound screen in awe. His hand brings yours to his lips for a loving kiss.

Gosh, you must’ve cried about six times that day. Bradley twice as much (He would deny it to his grave, but you kept count.)

And then, once the novelty wears off a little and the new situation sets in… the two of you get to work.

Bradley updates the entire kitchen inventory and goes into a research (or, as you like to call it, a rabbit hole) into what you can or cannot consume during your pregnancy. You’re constantly on the phone with your agent to rearrange your schedule for the next year (he sounds happy that you’re expecting, but a little inconvenienced that he has to move some things around and even cancel your involvement in a few projects). Conversation topics at mealtimes now include baby names, nursery ideas, and childcare plans.

Bradley comes home to you huddled over your laptop one evening, brows knitted in focus. The AC is cranked up to the max in the summer heat, and you’re all bundled up in the throw blanket. He wants to squee over how cute you look. He puts down the takeout bag of Pad Thai on the coffee table.

“Whatcha got there, my little cocoon?”

“Insurance, mostly.” You look up to kiss him briefly, before you continue typing on. “I’ve been talking to them all afternoon, going through the birth plans and sorting everything out. Very exciting stuff.”

“Hell yeah! Paperwork! The thrill of calling up an insurance company on a Tuesday!” Bradley counters your deadpan with an overexcited cheer, flopping himself on the spot next to you with another big kiss. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Well,” you take a thoughtful deep breath, going through your mental to-do list and realizing… you’re pretty much all set. “How about a back massage?” You give him the puppy eyes, as if you needed it in the first place.

“Copy that, Ma’am.” He throws her a lazy salute and tugs the throw blankets off of you. He starts on your shoulders, noticing the tension under your skin. “Jeez, babe. How long have you been hunched over here?”

Before you can answer him, he’s already working the knots on the base of your neck, you don’t even know you were so tense there, and you respond with a resounding moan.

He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll… take that as a compliment, then.” He grins, ever so proud that he’s eliciting these sounds out of you.

It’s not like you were playing it up or anything. You really were tense, and his hands really do feel good. And while it does make you moan and sigh blissfully, it’s hardly your fault that it makes him think of something else, right?

“Baby…” his voice sounds like a gentle warning.

“Yes?”

His hands stop. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, okay. Would you prefer this instead?” you grunt oafishly, a piss-poor impression of him in bed, “Fuck baby, that’s it. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Hey!” he pokes his fingers to your side and cage you in his arms so you have nowhere to go. Nowhere to avoid his ministrations.

You giggle uncontrollably, squirming as he gets on top of you, peppering kisses all over your face. A mere distraction to his real tickle attacks. “Stop! Stop! Roo-roo!”

He pins your arms over your head, his cheeks tinged pink with mischief now. “Yield?”

“I’m willing to negotiate.” You flash him a coy smirk.

He frowns. Go on. 

You raise an eyebrow. You know what I’m talking about.

He raises his, mirroring you. Interesting…

You tilt your head slightly. Well?

And just like that…

“Deal.” 

Your lips meet each other halfway in a searing kiss. The pregnancy hormones are kicking in in full gear, and you’re needier. Much needier than you already are. You want Bradley all the time, in whatever form he’s in, in whatever situation you are in. He knows this, and he finds this endlessly adorable. He would poke fun at you for that…

If only he wasn’t so god-fucking-damned enamored by you for it.

He tears off your dress, reveling in the sheer sight of you. Your curves growing softer, more pronounced in the past month alone. The very subtle but steadfast roundness of your belly. Your breasts, as they grow fuller and—

“Oh…” you whimper as he rolls your nipple between your fingers.

More sensitive to the touch.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this…” he leans down to kiss you again; on the mouth, and on the neck… his tongue gliding across your collarbones, forming the shape of your mounds, one after another…

“Roo, take me to bed…”

“Or what, lose me forever?”

He grazes the outer parts of your nipple with his teeth and teasingly licks at the hardened tops, and you cry out. Such a small little thing, but you feel the sensation in your fingertips.

Bradley smiles. A soft look despite how the situation is escalating. “C’mere, baby.”

With your legs wrapped around his waist, he lifts you up off of the couch. You think it’s just to get you up on your feet, but then he’s not letting go. “You’re not seriously thinking about carrying me all the way upstairs, right?” A teasing frown sets on your face as he hauls you out of the living room.

“Are you assuming that I can’t carry my beautifully pregnant wife to our room?”

“I’m not your wife yet, you know— oh shit!” He pins you against the wall right by the stairs, one hand cradling the back of your head, ever so caring.

He mouths your neck in teasing, his breath fanning against your bare skin. “No? So I don’t have to perform my husbandly duties now, since you’re not my wife?”

It’s kind of hot… but you can’t help but make a face at his choice of words. “You need to stop watching Downton Abbey. Just say ‘fuck.’ It’s not that hard.”

He pulls away, his comeback locked and loaded and ready to go. “You can’t tell me what to do. Who are you, my wife or something?”

“Ugh!” your jaw falls open in a mock offended expression, and you smack his ass playfully.

In turn, he squeezes yours back. Tight. Possessive. There’s a shift in his gaze, a tiny sliver, a darkening—the kind that makes you feel even more naked than you already are. You look at him with unbridled lust, and he kisses you like it’s the only way he can breathe. Like he’s been holding his breath until he can get his hands on you.

And by God, you would let him have all the air you have left to give.

He carries up to the bedroom slowly, carefully, and you hold onto him tight. Reveling in how strong he’s built, all muscles and abs and everything, and how gentle he handles you as he sets you down on the edge of the bed. The epitome of a gentleman, as he kneels down between your legs.

You can feel the heat emanating from him—or is it you?— and you try to unbutton his khaki uniform. “Baby, don’t you wanna take off your…” your words die out as his chest moves out of reach. There is only his hair between your thighs.

His tongue between your folds.

“Fuuuuck…” you bite through your teeth. And once his finger joins in, you’re done for. 

You make no effort to hold back your obscene moans, but the wet sounds coming from your pussy are still louder. Your face grows hot as the noise bounces through your bedroom walls.

Bradley pulls his mouth away for a moment, smirking devilishly at you from between his legs. “Well well well… What’s got you this soaking wet, honey?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it together. But you’re teetering dangerously closer to your release, and you whine out, “You, Daddy…”

He chuckles darkly. “Daddy’s got you all worked up, huh?” The use of the moniker has significantly increased since the news of your pregnancy, but you’re hardly complaining. It does hit different now that he’s actually gonna be one. “I’ve been home for two minutes, and you’re already dripping down your legs…” he slaps the inside of your thigh and you’re keeling into it. “So fucking cute.”

He watches you fuck yourself on his fingers and it makes you dizzy. “Please…”

“Please what?” His mustache tickles your clit, and it drives you wild. “Please stop?”

You whimper in protest.

He adds another finger into you, and raises an expectant eyebrow. This fucking asshole. A snide remark sits right at the tip of your tongue, but the only thing that comes out is,

“Please fuck me.”

He stops, straightening up with an intrigued look about him. Then, being a little shit, he comes back up to you with a kiss. “Good girl. There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You taste yourself on his lips, his mustache wet from your arousal, too. In any other case, you would be more proactive, more feral in returning his sentiment—tearing off his clothes and stuffing your mouth full of his cock. But lately you’ve been feeling more… submissive. So easily drunk on climax that you just surrender your pleasure to your man, knowing he’ll take care of you. 

Bradley stands up to his full height, towering over you. He toes off his shoes, unbuttoning his uniform. It’s hardly a striptease routine, but there’s something insanely hot about him undressing when he’s about to fuck you.

His shirt drops to the floor, and the white undershirt soon joins. You perk up at the sound of his belt unbuckling, pants rustling down. And as his hard cock springs free from his boxers, you swallow thickly at the sight. 

“You ready?” He pumps his fist around his hard-on a few times, as he settles between your legs, still standing on the side of the bed.

A quiet little please escapes you, and then a gasp, as he pulls your hips to the edge of the bed. Lining up his cock against your entrance. He’s big, and your pussy is still aching after he edged you moments ago. It’s gonna be a tight fit.

“Honey, go slow. Please. Slowslowslowslow… ahh!” His cock slides into you in one swift movement, sending a blinding wave of pain and pleasure as it stretches you out.

He doesn’t tear his eyes off of you. He watches your face fall under his undoing, and he moans. “You feel so good, baby…” he says between heavy breaths. You’re always so strong and bold and ballsy, and it gives him a fucking power trip to see you look so… small taking on his cock.

You let out a pathetic whimper as he starts to shallowly thrust in and out of you.

“What is it, baby?” He coos, caressing your hip gently.

“Y’too big…”

“Too big?” Bradley looks down to level your gaze, a seed of a shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid face. “You want me to stop? Is that what you want?”

“No!” You buck up into him as soon as his hips halt, desperately trying to maintain the pace.

He chuckles, that cocky fuck, before he finally continues driving his dick up your inner walls again. “No? You want me to keep stretching you, then?”

You nod. Every thrust feels bigger, deeper, more than the rest, hitting that spot of pleasure just barely, and you’re willing to do anything to stay there.

“Been so needy since I got you pregnant…” he kisses your neck. “Want Daddy more now that I made you a mommy, huh?”

Fuck. The words—the exact order of the words he said sounds batshit insane. You never considered this kind of dirty talk to be hot, but Jesus…

“God, I can’t wait to see your belly all big and round… your tits too, fuck…” he groans as he squeezes your soft flesh, rubbing your nipples with his thumb. “Gonna be a mommy and show everyone who you belong to, huh?”

“Mmh…” You’ve seen Bradley being possessive, and you’ve seen him tap into his primal side, but not like this. This is a whole other beast, and it shocks you how much it turns you on.

“All mine, huh?”

“I’m all yours, Daddy. I’m—fuck. Fuck!” Your whole body is shaking. The band in your core is wound up so tight, and it’s threatening to snap. 

And through it all, he doesn’t let up. Bradley keeps that rhythm, pounding into you hard and deep. “Shit, that’s it… that’s it, baby. Come on my cock. God, you’re so fucking tight…”

There’s no stopping it now… your pussy gushes and clenches around him, as shocks of pleasure wave through your system. Your mind goes blank, and for a hot second, nothing is registering in your brain. Nothing but your man, as obscenely as he is fucking your brains out right now, 

“Need your cum inside me, Roo…”

“Don’t wanna come anywhere else. Just you, just your pussy…” he breathes out. He’s close, that much you can tell. His pace is erratic and his mouth runs wild. “Gonna keep pumping you full of my cum. Gonna keep fucking babies into you until you can’t anymore.”

You would laugh. You would tease him for being such a caveman about it. But as he comes deep inside you, his hips stuttering one, two, three more times as he rides out his orgasm… you don’t only surrender to the idea; you welcome it. 

Maybe you’re completely fucked out. Maybe you’re going soft and mellow, but nothing—and you mean nothing— is hotter than what he wants to do to you.

What he is doing to you now. 

The room falls into a pleasant silence as you come down from your high. Bradley pulls out of you, and you gush out with your own release and his. His mouth falls open in awe. “Fuck, that’s hot…”

“Huh?” You lift your head from the bed, trying to see what he’s looking at.

“Nah, it’s just…” he shakes his head with a grin. “Good thing we’re already pregnant, huh? If we weren’t, that might’ve just done the trick.”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a sweet peck on the cheek. “I think the dirty talk alone was enough to do it.”

He blushes, a deep shade of red. He absolutely can’t take it when you quote back the things he said to you during sex. “Nope! Not a single word. La-la-la-la…” he closes his ears with his fingers, waddling over to the bathroom comically.

The sound of water trickling into the toilet coincides with your laugh in the bedroom… and then it gets drowned out with the flush. It’s a mundane little snapshot of your intimate lives together.

He comes up to you and offers his hands. “Come on…” he helps you get up. “You go ahead and clean up. I’ll change the sheets.”

Leave it up to Bradley, to always take initiatives to do the small things, like changing the sheets and ushering your ass to the bathroom after sex.

As you clean up and put on some clothes in the bathroom, Bradley singing Take My Breath Away to himself in the other room, you wonder how all of this will turn out. Change is inevitable—your belly is getting bigger, this new stage of relationship is getting more real— and you’re desperate to get a grasp on these things. It’s strange to be so anxious after such a lovely evening. But it’s been so good so far… too good, maybe… and you can’t help but wonder if the other shoe might drop.

“Everything alright?” Bradley pops up by the bathroom door, already in sweatpants and a t-shirt. You must’ve been in there for a while.

You nod absently. “Yeah, just… changing.” And you’re not sure whether you’re talking about the clothes you just put on, or the body you inhabit.

“I think you look beautiful,” he says so simply. Wrapping his arms around you, feeling your small bump. He smiles into your hair and whispers, “My beautiful wife…”

“Not your wife yet…” you remind him pointedly, teasingly. It’s one of your favorite pastimes, keeping him on his toes.

He turns you around to face him, a tender look seemingly permanent on his face whenever he sees you these days. “I mean, you’re here, with me, in our house, carrying our baby…” he kisses your nose, “As far as I’m concerned, that makes you my wife, doesn’t it?”

Well, when he puts it like that… you take a deep sigh, not hating the idea. But not quite ready to concede to his argument yet. “Apart from a piece of paper.”

“Ah well. That can easily be arranged, hmm?”

Truth be told, he’s got a point. The only differentiating factor to your status right now is a little certificate, and both your signatures on the dotted lines. Not a big party or a horrendously expensive dress that everybody would have an opinion on. And to be more truthful, it was never what you wanted in the first place.

You only ever want to be together.

And you’re free to decide how you want to be together.

“Should we just do it?”

“What?”

You look up at him with a tentative smile.

His eyes light up, and his heart leaps. “I mean, sure.” He chuckles. “We can go down to the courthouse. Or, hell, I’ll drive us to Vegas right now.”

It gets a giggle out of you. Of course he would jump at the opportunity to marry you right away. “Or… we can just celebrate it with our closest friends and family? Rent a beach house somewhere, and just… make a fun weekend out of it?”

“And just… what, get a justice of the peace to marry us?”

You shrug with an easy smile. “Or we can make Mav cry and ask him to officiate.”

He chuckles, but trails off as it sinks in. It has never occurred to him that that was an option. He’s always imagined it the traditional way. A church ceremony followed by a reception in a hall somewhere. Walking under the arch of swords. Looking dapper in his dress uniform. But with his work obligations and yours, and all the nightmare logistics of guest numbers and venues and entertainment and the fucking publicity that comes with your fame, both of you are well aware that it’s a hassle. 

And it’s not even the most important part.

The most important part is you. You’d be the one meeting him at the altar. You’d be the one saying your vows and making him cry happy tears.

You would be the one. 

For him.

Forever.

“Let’s do it.” Bradley nods resolutely. “Just you, me, and our closest people. We can get married in our jammies, for all I care.”

“Maybe not jammies…” you roll your eyes in amusement. “I still wanna look nice for our wedding, you know.”

“You look nice in your jammies.” He glances down at your tank top.

“Roo.” You cover his line of sight indignantly.

But he tugs your hand away, eyes still glued to what is arguably one of his favorite sights in the world. Your cleavage. Plays it off really coolly as he teases you. “No, no. I’m serious. You look really nice in your jammies. I really wouldn’t object to—”

You swat his hand, only half-serious. “Bradley.”

“Alright, fine!” He raises his hands in surrender. “So long as I get to call you my wife.”

“Not your wife yet…” you saunter out of the bathroom, knowing full well he doesn’t care.

To be completely honest, you’re not even sure that you do, either.

[preciouslandmermaid]

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.

[futuremrscameron]

hazel callahan x black reader headcanons

totally sfw hcs of hazel (pre bottoms movie and post bottoms movie) as a friend, a crush. and your girlfriend. just pure fluff and vibes

a/n: i have never written headcanons before, i am just someone desperate for hazel x reader content so wish me luck and i hope you enjoy <3

______________________________________________

content warnings: reader is neurodivergent (autistic), hazel is neurodivergent (autistic), mentions of past microaggressions, canon typical violence (duh gay fight club), femme reader, mentions of sex, making out, and swearing, established relationship, he/they pronouns used for hazel

⭑ pre bottoms

• you guys have chemistry when you meet

• no literally you guys have chemistry togethe you're lab partners

• he compliments your first day of school box braids and you thankful he didn't ask if it was actually horse hair like some fough cough jeff) compliment their chemistry skills.

• hazel is shockingly good at chemistry explains the bombs

"hazel." "yeah?" "you're like… really good at chemistry." “thanks." "can you be my lab partner for the rest of the year?" "sure!" "really!?" "yeah why not my mom says i should make more friends outside of pj and josie." you know them as the school losers but that’s the last thing you’re worried about and more focused on him saying yes. you smile, "well then we can be partners until we graduate." "it's a deal!"

• y'all are fast friends. you just click.

• they talk to you about their bombs and you talk to them about whatever your current hyperfixation is.

• you're just chilling at his house painting your nails as he works on his latest creation.

“so should i make the red wire the fast detonator or the green one?" he asks. "definitely green." you answer not even looking up from your work. he smiles, "you get me."

"and so i said ‘no pj you can't borrow my catwoman comic book because this is limited edition and the last time i let you borrow one i had to use a box cutter to unstick the pages.’ it was totally gross.” “ha, i remember that."

• people don't get your friendship. like at all. students and teachers alike.

"but you're pretty and popular and cool and no offense, but they are so weird."

“coach g should you be calling your students pretty?"

"why? is it weird?"

"yes but it's mostly weird that you're a teacher so involved in your students' personal lives."

“well you know i've been going through a divorce recently-"

"well look at that must've lost track of time gotta head to third period bye!"

• pj especially doesn't get it.

“josie, i am telling you there is no way that girl is not using hazel." "could it be possible that she genuinely likes hazel and that they're actually good friends?"

“jos, it’s hazel we’re talking about here.”

"pj..."

• the only thing they get is that hazel is weird and you're weird somehow match up but they get confused again cause you're so cool! and hazel's hazel

• that coolness is just people thinking you're hilarious when you're being serious.

"oh my god y/n you're so funny!"

"thanks! but i was being serious." "GOD I CAN’T!?

• you tell hazel you're autistic hoping that they'll tell you they are too.

"sooo you know how i always say that people can never tell if i'm being sarcastic or not cause of my monotone voice?" you’re trying to act nonchalant on your bed as you not so casually bring up your theory.

hazel doesn’t look up from their text book, "yeah?"

"it's cause i'm autistic."

"cool."

"and i think you might be too."

hazel looks up at you. "yeah."

you nod slowly, "yeah?"

hazel nods, "yeah."

you smile, "cool."

• you hang out so much hazel's mom starts expecting you.

hazel sits on his bed kicking his feet as he watches you check out the outfit you’ve put together in the mirror.

"which one looks better with this top pink skirt with ruffles or the jean skirt?"

"definitely the jean skirt."

"i’m not loving the top anymore now that i'm seeing it with the jean skirt. you turn to him, “can i raid your closet?"

“are you gonna return it this time or keep it like a thief?”

"rude! i'll have you know that i am planning on returning those shirts after i wear all the outfits i planned in my head."

mrs. callahan walks in before hazel can rebuttal, her smile widens when she sees you.

"hi kids."

"hi mrs. callahan!"

hazel doesn’t bother turning partly due to being entranced by you. "hey mom.”

mrs. callahan frowns at hazel’s monotone greeting but is quickly replaced with a grin once she turns her attention back to you.

"are you staying for dinner y/n?"

you give her an apologetic smile, “i can't today but i'll be back tomorrow so save me some of that yummy chicken parm."

mrs. callahan smiles and leaves the room. hazel shakes his head at you before returning back to his book and mumbles, "dickrider.”

you whip your head around, "what was that hazel?"

"nothing!"

• face timing every night and hazel telling you to wrap your hair/put on your bonnet before you fall asleep

"i’m not gonna fall asleep."

"yes you are"

"am not?”

"are too"

"am not"

“are too"

"am not!"

"are too!'

"am no-" you do fall asleep

• the first time you take them with you to get your hair done it's like that episode from craig of the creek when craig and his sister go with their mom to get her hair done.

"y/n."

"yes hazel."

"there's a rocket ship outside."

“what?"

“you know the thing you ride that takes you to space but in the malls?"

“there's money in my purse." he's already out the door before you finish.

• he was not expecting an all day venture

"does it usually take that long?”

"if you want it to look good, yes." you say looking at your newly done french curl braids in the mirror before getting ready to back out of the parking lot you look over and he's staring at you so deeply. you smile confused at what’s happening but amused.

"hi?"

"just wanted to say thank you for taking me with you i know i can be a lot sometimes and i cry a lot more lately cause of my parents divorce and i probably ruined your self care day but i'm really glad i got to spend time with you."

"hazel... you're a lot but you're my a lot and i'm always glad to spend time with you. and i'm here if you ever need to talk. yeah?"

"yeah."

"cool."

"cool.”

* bottoms movie

• you can't go to the carnival with hazel because you got sick the night before

“i told you not to eat all that popcorn on and empty stomach"

"for the last time it was not because i ate it on an empty stomach! it was that damn bowling alley popcorn i tell you."

"tell that to your poor toilet, how are you feeling by the way?"

"oh amazing i haven't vomited since this afternoon."

"well you missed another one of coach g's rants about amelia earhart."

"damn it!"

"i’ll tell you all about it when i bring you ginger ale and crackers later."

"you're the best."

"uh huh."

• they tell you about everything that happened at the carnival

"and you're sure they've actually been to juvie?"

“yes! pj said ‘sure hazel!’"

"she was being sarcastic love."

“noooo. wait."

• you think it's not only a bad idea but also a scummy one to start a fight club to get girls but hazel assures you that he'll do his best to make it a safe space so of course you believe her simp

• you're surprised they're actually doing kinda

"you know you should come check us out."

"maybe i will what's in it for me?"

"um female solidarity?"

"ehh i could just watch sex and the city."

"y/n!?"

"i’m kidding hazel, of course i'll come." i mean you had to see what the hell was going on in that that was giving hazel those hot scars.

• hazel tells you about how they found out about jeff and their mom.

"damn."

"i mean i know she's been struggling since the divorce but him!? he's a total meathead." he whines into his pillow as you rub his head

"and 18."

"and 18!? which yes legal but still gross!"

"totally."

• you know that hazel did not get pj's sarcasm about the bomb and told her this but they already made up their mind.

"hazel please tell me you did not bring a bomb into my room to sneak out of my house and go bomb jeff's car."

”i did not bring a bomb-"

”hazel!"

"i’m sorry!"

• everyone knows it was the club obviously but you were not expecting to see them go into the gym and for hazel to come running out with tears streaming down their face five minutes later you lose them somewhere in the hallway of the locker rooms and eventually find him less than a minute later headed to the bathroom and follow them.

"hey what's wrong."

"just pj being stupid."

"want me to kick her ass?" you would too and he knows it so he laughs as he wipes his nose, "no need i got it."

• the pep rally was...something. everything happens so fast from the cheerleader's routine (if you could call it that) to tim calling on hazel next thing you know that grown man is being let out of a cage to fight hazel.

• they hold their own at first then goes flying and to rub salt in the wound, tim exposes pj and josie.

• you were not expecting that kick in the face and it's like the world was muted but you felt yourself scream you assumed that it was gut wrenchingly loud from the way people were looking at you

"HAZEL!" you run faster than you ever run in your entire high school gym career to get to them. the other girls also ran to his aid but you don't even register them being there. “hazel please get up hey you're okay we're good get you up and out of here come on come on hazel." you let the girls carry him out as you guys pass josie and pj.

"y/n we didn't-”

"don't. don't try to blame this on pj you're your own person josie. all he's ever done is be a good friend to both of you. even when god knows you didn't deserve it and this is how you repay him!? fuck you! don't come by their house."

• you spend even more time at hazel's house, something thought was impossible, and the girls from the club come by which warms your heart.

"so you're the famous y/n that hazel's always taking about." you hear from behind you, “hi i know who you are isabel not in a creepy way though."

“it’s fine i get it.”

you give her a small smile and get back to chopping garlic for hazel's tea, “so, how long have you guys been together?" this almost made you cut your finger instead of the garlic.

"oh uh no we’re not-"

"no? cause i see how you look at them and how they look at you-"

"it's not like that we're just friends."

"okay."

“okay." she's still looking at you with a knowing smile. "it's just that i used to look at jeff that way and recently i've found myself looking at josie that way."

"oh."

"yeah."

“do you love her?"

"it's a bit too soon to say don't you think?" she smirks

"yeah you're right of course stupid me-"

“i do."

"oh..”

"yeah.." you feel awkward not knowing what to do with this information or just ignoring it

"um i should get back to making the tea."

"and i'll go check on hazel."

"okay bye."

”bye."

• hazel swears their feeling well enough to go to the football game

"please please please!"

"no way! you're still healing."

"doctor said i heal like a victorian child."

he smiles, obviously proud of that description.

“hazel that’s… not good.”

"look the point is i drank your all your delicious garlic tea and feel great!"

something about hearing them talk about liking something you made makes you wanna hide your face in a pillow,

"look the point is!"

he sticks out his tongue at you for throwing their words back in her face, "tea or not you're still not back at your usual 200%.”

”i'll have you there and i won't over exert myself please."

"you make i can't resist this puppy dog eyes." they tackle you with a hug (which you feel so normal about by the way)

• you do not have any misplaced school spirit or pride so you just rock hazel's a blue letterman jacket a white tank top, a red jean skirt some sneakers tied your mini twists into pigtails with a ribbon and called it a day. (though hazel pointed out to you in the car that you are actually wearing the school colors. "and also the US flag." "hazel i will turn this car around.")

• of course the devil works hard but pj and josie work harder cause these girls came running to you guys

"oh hell no where do you guys get off!?"

"after therapy"

"pj!"

"girl do not test my patience right now."

they tell you that they came to apologize to hazel which they do and after three shitty attempts it's a half decent apology. hazel agrees to help them with the bomb and now you guys have to come up with a distraction but the cheerleaders are a no go despite your please and so pj kisses hazel refuse okay that one's got a little kick to it. ooh. you know it's for a distraction but it still hurts.

• you watch as the fight club completely annihilates huntington like actually you're 99% sure that at least two of them are dead.

you go up to hazel after, "great job out there by the way super cool how you beat the shit out of them."

"thanks." you're trying not to stare but blood really looks good on him, "so! that kiss looked fun."

"yeah?"

"yeah... you could've asked me you know, to kiss you for the distraction."

"couldn't do that to you.”

ouch.

"couldn't kiss me?"

"couldn't use you as a distraction."

"oh."

“yeah." he looks like he’s waiting for you to say something "well i'm honored-" and next thing you know their kissing you and you're kissing back and it feels like everything you could've hoped for plus minus the blood which is salty as you lick their lip you pull alway a little to breathe and they pull you back in like they're starved for water after walking in the desert and when you finally break away you're a bit dizzy. "that was."

”yeah."

"wow.”

“why haven't we done this before?"

"i don't know." you both chuckle, "we definitely should though." "oh definitely."

you fall into a comfortable silence still holding onto each other "so what do you wanna do no-" and there's the explosion.

"think that was the one with the blue wire"

”jesus christ hazel."

* post bottoms

• y'all are basically autistic bf who doesn't get sarcasm x autistic gf who runs on sarcasm

"are you being sarcas-"

"no i'm not being sarcastic." or "yes i'm being sarcastic."

• you basically live at each other's house but it's cool cause your parents you guys together sometimes you think a little too much.

"hi mrs. y/l/n."

"hi hazel! oh are you staying over?"

"no he's got a family thing mom." you say trying to push hazel up the stairs faster 'damn they're strong! fucking self defense club and taekwondo' you think to yourself

"yeah sorry i can't stay tonight but i'll be here tomorrow."

"is that hazel i hear!?"

you groan loudly as hazel’s grin grows. it’s a blessing and a curse that they get along with your parents.

“your dad’s home?” hazel smiles.

"jesus christ." you mumble exasperatedly.

"hi mr. y/l/n."

"how have you been? how's your mom?"

"i'm good and mom's great we're actually going out later tonight to celebrate her 6 month anniversary with jeff.”

"oh!?”

"well technically we are here to play catch up because i am behind on two english assignments-"

"hazel.”

"not helping sorry."

• your relationship is pretty much the same as your friendship except now you guys kiss

• like a lot

"we should-" kiss "probably-" kiss "study-" kiss "so we don't fail-" kiss "you mean so you don't fail this test.” as he goes in for another kiss you stop them with your finger, "excuse me!?”

they realize their mistake, "i mean-"

you cross your arms waiting for them to elaborate or dig themself deeper into the hole. "yeah?"

"in the sense that-"

"uh huh?"

"i got nothing."

"yeah i thought so.” you push him off the bed to study like you were supposed to be doing in the first place

"ow!?"

• hazel is your passenger prince TM

"sorry i still don't have my license." he says as he gets into your car buckling up. "hey you know i love driving you around plus you get to be my passenger prince." "awww thanks babe."

• they've got weird nicknames for you but you love every one of them he comes up with

"how you are you doing today my silly rabbit?"

“silly rabbit?"

“do you like it?" he smirks, giving you butterflies in your stomach.

“i love it." and you actually do. simp.

"how are you doing on this fine evening ms. y/l/n?"

"why not mrs. y/l/n?"

you smile intrigued by their strange but charming words. "well that's my mom so." you shrug.

they nod, "true.”

"babygirl!"

“babygirl? really?"

“it's cute!"

"i guess."

"do you hate it?"

"no of course not i love every pet name you give me actually makes me feel like i gotta step my game up."

"what!? you give me great pet names."

"yeah like what?"

"handsome."

“okay”

"passenger prince."

"sure."

“gay boy."

"i'm surprised you like that one."

"oh it's my favorite."

• your love language is discussing things about hazel that hazel did not know and hazel's is acts of service

"you look like you would love cheez-itz."

"huh never had them before."

"well try em out."

" might. oh by the way i made you a cassette tape.”

“i love you."

• so you say i love you and run away like literally you sprinted so fast hazel got whiplash and you almost jumped into jeft on your way out.

hazel of course calls you that night on face time of course 'damn face time' you curse steve jobs in your head but answer anyways

“hey hazel."

"hey."

"what's up-"

"you ran away earlier."

"what!? no i don't know about running."

"mom said you almost knocked over jeff.”

"well jeff is like 6'0 and also can i just say that it is crazy that she is still dating him-"

"y/n."

"yes?"

"you're rambling and trying to distract me with your rambles cause you know i love listening to you ramble."

you pout as you look down and pick at your pillow’s loose thread. "maybe.." you were.

"look it's nothing to be ashamed of.”

"we've only been dating for 3 1/2 months haze!"

“3 months 3 weeks and 4 day but yeah. look if it makes you feel any better pj says we moving at a snail's pace for a lesbian couple."

you scoff. “oh wow the great pj blesses us with her wisdom from her throne on no bitches mountain."

“y/n."

you roll your eyes. "sorry, no female companions mountain."

"y/n."

"yes."

"i love you too."

“oh.”

“yeah."

"cool."

“cool."

"just give me one second while i scream in my pillow."

"take your time."

• you guys are inseparable after that can't find one without the other you even help hazel bleach their eyebrows for prom (you go to prom together cause duh) and he keeps a bonnet under his pillow for when you come over and tet's be honest 9 times out of 10 stay the night

• you guys are voted cutest couple in the yearbook that year beating out josie and isabel by 1 point

hazel veins at the couple. “voted for you guys just so you know."

you turn to hazel, eyes wide. "hazel!"

isabel smiles. "aw thanks i voted for you guys."

josie looks offended, betrayed, and shocked a her girlfriend’s reveal. "isabel!"

• you and hazel get matching tattoos during the summer to celebrate your six month anniversary

"we should get like matching hearts but like with a fist and a bomb inside."

"okay breaking bad let's think about this for a second this is permanent why don't we just get hearts with our initials."

"ooh like a tree carving."

"see this is why i love you."

[alluringlight]

Alhaitham x Reader

Warnings: NOT pre-established relationship, can be read platonically, Alhaitham is overstimulated and very heavily implied to be neurodivergent, reader is also implied to be ND at the end, fluff or kind of hurt/comfort? it's just haitham getting overstimulated by everyone at the Akademiya and reader stepping in to give him a reprieve, also no (Y/N) or [Name] used you're just referred to as 'you' so it is gender neutral

WC: 1191

Anyone could tell that the Acting Grand Sage was uncomfortable. Or at least, that was your reasoning as to why you stepped in. You didn’t know Alhaitham that well, having only dealt with him through paperwork and never actually having met him face to face before, so you were a bit nervous about being presumptuous…but with how uncomfortable he seemed, you put aside your pride and told yourself you were simply helping out a regular colleague. 

As for his part, Alhaitham was having a disastrous day. His soundproof earpieces were broken, courtesy of a drunken squabble with his roommate the previous night, and everyone in the Akademiya was getting on his nerves. The voices of hopeful scholars and researchers seeking funding had been drilling into his brain since early in the morning, and he had a pounding headache, not to mention how bad his ears hurt since everything was so loud. He had forgotten just how sensitive they were, having taken his peaceful existence with his earpieces for granted. Once more, he had been stopped by a researcher, on his way back to his office, so now he stood in the hall, pretending he had any interest in the person in front of him. Internally, he just wanted to bang his head into the wall; he knew he was being irrational, which made him feel even worse since logic and rationale were his own slice of divinity. 

“Excuse me, so sorry to interrupt,” You sidled up to the two, immediately capturing the attention of the researcher that you cut off, you gave him an apologetic look as you continued speaking. “I’m going to have to steal the Acting Grand Sage from you; we’ve got an emergency meeting that you’re going to make him late for.” 

“What?! We’re having an important conversation, I’m sure you can wait just a few minutes. You can’t just demand his presence.” The researcher was getting on your nerves, sure you were lying, but he didn’t know that, yet he was still being so rude to you. 

“Look, I know and I apologize, but this meeting was tabled last week due to scheduling conflicts and today’s the only day this week we’ve managed to squeeze in the time.” You tried to give the guy an apologetic smile, but he was getting on your nerves enough that it was a bit hard to muster up. 

The guy scoffed, “Surely, since this meeting was tabled in the first place it can wait a few minutes.” 

Your smile dropped and you eyed him, giving him an unimpressed look. “I didn’t want to do this, but I will pull rank so to speak if you won’t let this go. As most situations are, this one has only gotten worse as it’s been put off, so I’d appreciate it if you let it go. I’m sure if you write up your request and send it through the proper channels it’ll get to the Acting Grand Sage all the same, if you want you can put the request in my office’s mailbox and I’ll deliver it to him myself.” 

The researcher seemed to shrink in on himself a bit, and you knew you assumed correctly, he was needling Alhaitham now since whatever request he had couldn’t go through the regular channels, or it had already been shot down. As he stuttered over himself apologizing for delaying your meeting, you gave him another easy smile. 

Alhaitham watched the exchange patiently, he didn’t want to interfere as he didn’t want to talk and in general he didn’t know you that well, but he knew you had worked with the matra before on a couple of plagiarism cases; he distinctly remembered Cyno mentioning you in relation to a recent case. Since the General Mahamatra himself trusted you, Alhaitham followed you, although begrudgingly as he really just wanted to make an excuse to leave early. In all honesty, he had no idea what meeting you were talking about, but he could care less if it at least got him away from that incessant guy. 

You easily detached the Sage from the researcher, once again waving at him in apology as you tried to look like you were rushing off to do something important. You didn’t say anything at all to Alhaitham as the two of you quickly walked to your own office. It was cozy, with a small two-seater couch in addition to the large desk that was laden with your work. You said nothing as you closed the door and then made quick work of shutting the curtains and turning on the small desk lamp, leaving the small sofa in semi darkness. 

“Uh…I should have some…?” You spoke mostly to yourself, as you were slightly nervous at having the Acting Grand Sage in your office, but you dutifully dug around in your desk until you came upon your own ear defenders. “Here, they’re probably not as comfortable as your earpieces, and they aren’t completely soundproof, but they should work. No one will bother you in here and you’re welcome to lay down if you want. I’m just going to be working on paperwork, but if you need background noise you’re welcome to root through my spin crystals to find one to play.” You didn’t give it much else thought, and settled into your desk chair, easily finding a rhythm as you started scribbling through your work. 

Alhaitham stood there for a long second before he snapped himself out of his stupor, sliding the headphones on and settling onto the couch, propping his head up with an arm and closing his eyes to give them a rest. 

His immediate thought was that you wanted something from him, and consequently wanted him in your debt, but as he glanced at you through squinted eyes, he discarded this notion. The fact that you weren’t paying any attention to him gave him relief, you weren’t analyzing him to make sure he was grateful, and he was finally getting his first reprieve of the day. Although he was very much caught off guard by your kindness, it was much appreciated. 

Alhaitham couldn’t help by briefly think of why this kindness was unusual to him; as a child growing up, acting more adult than boy, not being able to stand loud conversations, not being able to tolerate eating soups or bread that was soggy, he was called a difficult child by those who looked after him - his teacher, his neighbor, but never his grandmother. She always retained a kindness, simply saying his brain worked in a different way than her own, so of course he had different ways of acting and different ways of thinking. 

Alhaitham couldn’t help but also come to the hypothesis that you too were different like him; how else would you have spotted him shutting down whereas everyone else saw his normal, stoic exterior? How else would you have been able to help? Or give him peace and quiet for once when everyone seemed to clamor for his approval today? It made him appreciate your quiet presence, diligently scanning through papers and signing as needed, all the more. 

[pkmnirlevents]

How do you go about getting ideas for arcs? I’m struggling to figure out what I want to do with my character :(

Great question! This happens to be one of my absolute favorite parts of writing and pkmn irl itself. I've always been more of an ideas guy myself. I hope you don't mind but I decided to turn this into a bit of an overall tutorial for planning and writing arcs. Feel free to ask for any specifics because I could delve into my personal process for arc brainstorming, but I was admittedly writing this before getting ready for work and this post was getting kinda long haha

Knowing where to draw inspiration from can be a good place to start. It's wonderful to be inspired by music, a movie or tv show, a book, or even other people in the community and their writing. Ask yourself what elements of that thing draw you in. What do you like? What would you maybe do differently? I must mention though to be respectful of the work other blogs have put into their writing. Being inspired is a wonderful thing, lifting exact details or passages is not. If you're unsure, there's no harm is asking!

The most helpful thing I can tell you right off the bat is that you want to find out how to brainstorm. In schools they'll often try to teach you ways of brainstorming and outlining to structure your essay writing, if you're lucky they might even mention that there are multiple ways you can do this. The ones in school never worked for me personally, so for a long time I assumed brainstorming and outlining was a complete waste of my time and would launch straight into my writing drafts. But as I wanted to write more complex things and I wanted to indulge in more creative writing, I found myself getting stuck all the time. The truth is brainstorming is a helpful tool, but you have to know what type of brainstorming works best for you. Flowcharts, bullet points, stream of consciousness, word clouds, moodboards, drawings, whatever it is that gets your creative juices flowing. In my experience it works best to remember that not every one of these elements will make it into the final arc. You want to get your ideas down first and trim the excess later. I personally pay for a program (Milanote) that allows me to brainstorm in the methods that work best for me, but by no means do you have to pay for a program to do this. Pen and paper works just fine.

The next thing you wanna do is establish what you want your arc to do. Not every arc has to be a grand character development, but all arcs do something. No matter how small that something may be, something has to change as a result. Maybe your character meets a new person, obtains a new Pokemon, gets a new scar and a story to tell their friends, or maybe all they got was a t-shirt. If you already had a loose concept for your arc this can help you hone it. You can start asking yourself, "how does my character reach this point?" and work up to that. Map out what you think your character would do when dropped into a particular situation. This can also help you to establish the tone you want your arc to take. Is it silly and lighthearted or is it more serious and high stakes? Refer to the stakes tag post about proper tagging.

It can help to conceptualize your arc as a series of events rather than a single event. This allows you to understand how many posts you may need to split the arc up into, how much time the arc may take, or other hard to sort details.

These things ramp up when you start to incorporate more people into your arcs. Planning with your fellow writers is extremely important and that requires a lot of communication. Some writers prefer to do what we call pre-writing, which is typically you and the other writers get together and write out the posts in advance. This gives people the chance to look over each other's writing and make edits before the posts go live. Planning discords are useful for keeping things organized, but google docs or other collaborative writing programs can work just as well if those better suit your needs. Organize who is posting what and generally at what time, especially if the post involves other people's characters.

Remember all of this is for fun! These are not hard rules you need to follow. You should not force yourself to write things you do not like for the sake of others or for an imagined audience. Write what you want to write.

[hitlikehammers]

hitlikehammers' Hobbit-Birthday Fic-Giving Fest

So you know how Hobbits celebrate their birthdays by giving gifts, rather than receiving them?

WELCOME TO MY HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY FIC-GIVING PROMPT FEST!!!

wherein YOU prompt ME to write stuff, and to clarify from the outset: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE FOLLOWING ME TO PARTICIPATE. Did you find this at random? Via reblog? Just kinda want a fic but don’t want my babble regularly on your feed? I. DO. NOT. CARE. This is my birthday month (well, soon) and I want to be giving and gregarious and generous and generally positive about writing little gifts so: prompt anyway.

THE RULES

✨ You have THREE (3) choices for prompting

CONCEPT PROMPTS: basically Ao3 tags, or close enough—pick one, give me a little direction if you don’t want me to just write ~anything~, and then you’re all set SONG PROMPTS: pick a song, ideally also pick a lyric from the song, and if you want to give me some short direction for it go ahead; these are the largely-random choice of Spotify on shuffle; it got kinda moody and angsty on me and picked songs I was never huge into and some from legitimately years ago but: the algorithm prevails DIALOGUE PROMPTS: either inspiration or to be included in the fic, I cannot guarantee either way but if you have a STRONG PREFERENCE, you should point that out; and again, if you want to provide a couple words of direction: do so

✨ if I am already writing you a gift fic for something else: THIS IS DIFFERENT (also shorter so even MORE DIFFERENT)—ask again if you want to, you’re more than welcome, honestly it’s more a gift for me because…hobbity-birthday 

✨ you have to MESSAGE/ASK ME or COMMENT ON THIS POST with your prompt because I am going to miss it if you reblog or tag or whatever-other-means-of-telling-me that is not a message/ask/comment, and that would be v sad ✨ I will only be writing ONE FIC PER PROMPT, so if you like one? Grab it. If I haven't had time to edit the list (which is likely because timezones and my work schedule) and they get duplicated, I'll reach out to the second claimer for a new prompt.

✨ if you’re not okay with NSWF content, you need to state that in the prompting message; I’m not saying you’re going get NSFW stuff, but if you’re absolutely against it, gotta flag that in advance 

✨ because someone asked: if you want to attach one of these to one of my existing fics/‘verses, include that because that’s usually super fun and there are only maybe two fics I wouldn’t try to follow up with a tiny thing on request

✨ the default ship right now is my most currently active one: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson. If you want to prompt a ship that is not Steddie, note that and check if I’m familiar with it here, or take your chances; I’ll message you if it’s not something I write

SO: pick one of the prompt lists above and send it my way so I can start writing you words.

PROMPTS ARE OPEN THROUGH 31 JANUARY 💜

so...y'know. Prompt me. It's my BIRTHDAY 🎉

also if you hate links have all the prompts, here: below

✨

CONCEPT PROMPTS: pick one, a provide a little direction with 2-3 words, up to a sentence

Merperson/Siren AU

Monsterfucking

Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU

Hurt/Comfort

Baked Goods (as in: prompt me with a pastry you’d like to be eating rn)

Secret Relationship 

Royalty AU

Established Relationship 

Dark AU

Near-Death Experience

Missed Connection AU 

Cocktails (as in: prompt me with how your mixologist knows you)

Misunderstandings

Pre-Season 4

Domestic Fluff

Creaturefic

[Character]-Has-Powers

Vampire AU

PWP

Famous AU

Presumed Dead/Emotional Reunions 

Soulmate AU

Whump

First Times

Warm Drinks (as in: prompt me using what you order from your barista)

Magic AU

Fluff

Meet Cute/Ugly

Nightmares

Angels/Demons AU

SONG PROMPTS: pick a song, ideally a lyric FROM the song and a word or two for context of your intended prompting

Never Tear Us Apart—INXS

I Will Wait—Mumford & Sons

Any Other World—MIKA

The Days Of The Phoenix—A.F.I.

Manhattan Skyline—a-ha

Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts—Brandon Flowers

Why Can’t This Be Love—Van Halen

The Navesink Banks—Gaslight Anthem

Holocene—Bon Iver

Wicked Campaign—Modest Mouse

Follow—Brandi Carlile 

Jesus Christ—Brand New

Little Talks—Of Monsters and Men

Clever Meals—Tegan and Sara

Will Anybody Ever Love Me?—Sufjan Stevens

A Light On In The Dark—Darlingside

To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra

sever the blight—hemlocke springs

These Things—She Wants Revenge 

The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance

Come Undone—Duran Duran

Song For Zula—Phosphorescent 

Last Words of a Shooting Star—Mitski

This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)—Talking Heads

Majesty—Madrugada

Fake Empire—The National

A Dustland Fairytale—The Killers

Fast Car—Tracy Chapman  

At The Bottom Of Everything—Bright Eyes

The Trapeze Swinger—Iron & Wine

QUOTE PROMPTS: pick one, and if you have a context, I’ll take up to 3 words as direction

“That’s… not what that means.” 

”They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true.”

“…Why?” 

“Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it.”

“I’ve never felt this way before.” 

”So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard, and we're gonna have to work at this every day."

“What are you doing?”

“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”

“I assume I deserve this, but can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

”We aren't here to make things perfect."

“You meant the world to me. I should have protected you.” 

"You're the first boy I ever kissed... and I want you to be the last."

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”

“Who did this to you?” 

“I want to tell you with my remaining strength that I love you. I always have. I'll drift next to you every day as a ghost just to be with you. Even if I was banished to the darkest place, my love will keep me from being a lonely spirit."

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

”When I first saw you, I felt like I knew you, and I couldn't stop seeing my life with you, and building a family together. One that isn't stuck in the pain of the past. It's very pretty."

“You’re worth so much more than me.” 

“I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one.”

“This isn’t going to end well.” 

"Truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it."

“Please! You have to let me make this right.” 

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

“You’re a monster.”

“You and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.”

“You don’t want this.” 

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love--I love--I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

“Why did you lie?”

”I don't want to sound foolish, but remember love is what brought you here. And if you've trusted love this far, don't panic now. Trust it all the way." 

[ikkleosu]

What was Daryl doing before he was taken?

Oh look, it feels like 2015 again and I’m combining evidence into one post for a theory. Bring it back for the remix. Okay so let’s go back to the script leak to start this theorising...

So, this tells us many many things about the set up. It tells us that Carol is looking for Daryl, and has thus discovered he is missing. Her finding his bike cannot just be a random “Carol’s out for a walk and finds Daryl’s bike”. It is MOST likely they have an agreed place where they meet or leave stuff for each other. At the end of season 1 filming, there was a location that was made to look American. It appeared to feature a garage and a bathing station.

That seems a reasonable place for Carl and Daryl to meet up - especially the bathing stations SCREAMS Carol. So lets assume that’s what this is. Now, again, having Carol just rock up and Daryl’s not there, or his bike is and he’s not, with no background to it doesn’t really work (but this is TWD so it might happen but... assuming not). They need to establish that they have this meeting place, or exchange post or whatever it is. To do that they can either show Caryl there together in a flashback, or them separately there collecting and leaving letters and goods for one another.  Obviously the former is preferable, but whatever. We know Norman filmed at this location in his pre-France clothes, and with his bike:

So at the very least we will see him there and not just proof he’s been there before. And presumably what happens is Carol shows up expecting to find him, and only find his stuff and proof he’s been there. But with this info in mind, let us look at the promo for the season and a theme that is emerging:

On it’s own, Daryl deserving a happy ending, is a bit “so what”. Particularly as it appears he went looking for it someplace not at home, and without the looming presence of Carol, it might be a very sucky thing for us Carylers. BUT it isn’t, and this is where it gets interesting...

I’m sorry, what did you just say??? “He was SO CLOSE to getting what he wanted” BEFORE he was taken. Well that’s interesting.

Obviously when Daryl left, they were very vague about why and what he was looking for. Maybe it was Rick, and maybe he was close to finding Rick - but the “being where he wanted to be”, that doesn’t sound like Rick related. It does - of course - make me think back to Leah (*spit spit*) and “where I belong” . And it must be remembered that Daryl was clear in Find Me he KNEW where he belonged, and it was with his family. So we have a discord here - he knew he belonged with his people but he went out looking for something, and at some point while out looking he gets CLOSE to finding what he wants.

There’s only IMO one way to square that circle, and it comes clear when we go back to the idea of Daryl deserving his “happy ending” and spending the spin-off DESPERATELY trying to get back home. From that we can only assume home is where he wanted to be, getting what he wanted. 

Thus, he had changed his mind. He was coming home. He had realised what he wanted was there, and always was. He was going home to CAROL. SHE is what he wanted. 

And it is possible that Carol knows that, and THAT is why she is on his tracks so fast. Because maybe at that meeting place I mentioned at the start, Daryl had told her - either in person, or in a letter, that he was coming home and she was what he wanted and where he wanted to be was with her, wherever she was. He just had to go do this thing first. 

So, when he didn’t turn up, she knew it wasn’t just that he’d met someone, decided to settle someplace else. She KNEW he was coming home and him NOT meant something bad had gone down, and when she finds his bike - well bad luck anyone who has been involved in Daryl’s absence cos they are about to be dead.

[draculeo]

graduating from undergrad in 2 weeks so i feel i might be able to add to what kal said but what helped me through my first couple semesters of college (which was double hard bc of covid) was joining literally any club i was vaguely interested in. if i was like “huh, neat” for even a second i’d go to the meeting and check out the vibes. ended up being at the school newspaper for 2 years and making a lot of friends through that! even got hired as an editor. a lot of people do go to clubs by themselves etc in college so while its hard to break the ice sometimes do remember that people are looking for friends too!!

also like with what kal said i met my best friend at 16 working an absolute nightmare restaurant job and we’ve been friends for 5 years. idk what your living situation looks like but try to attend building/floor events if you live in a dorm!!! or just go and see if people have their doors open and say hi! i met one of my best friends on the first week of freshman year because he lived directly below me and i wandered down to his dorm asked to play mario kart with him. don’t be afraid to ask people to get coffee/study/whatever, people are a lot more willing to do stuff than you realize because rejection is so terrifying (believe me ive been there)

its also helpful to have an established routine. say you go to the gym at *insert time*, go study at the coffee shop/library/whatever at *insert time*, go to club at *insert time* every day/week. you start to see a lot of the same people so it becomes a bit easier to navigate interactions if you’re familiar with them! sitting in the same seat every class can also help with this

tho i will say, it can take a shit ton of time to find real friends. you gotta wade through the crap a bit first. ive always had trouble creating friendships that are actually healthy/meaningful and i honestly wasted a ton of time both pre college and in college on people who just suck. but i got there eventually and i have a very good social life now! don’t beat yourself up over it though, you’ll get there. wishing you luck :)

also sorry for the literal essay in your inbox kal love you

literally soo ridiculous how easy it can be to start conversations i witnessed a friendship blossom at a coffee shop the other day just bc one girl from across the bar was like “omg i do that all the time haha what’s ur instagram” to the other girl and bam they planned a hangout right then and there

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #27 (May 28th - 30th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

Whatever It Takes by King of Sorrow Square filled: I3 - Professional Athletes Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Soccer Player Bucky, Sports Medic Steve, flirting, meet cute, dirty talk Summary: “Thanks for bringing me down here. Honestly I never would have come on my own.” “Oh, think you can handle everything on your own?” Steve couldn’t help but tease him. He wanted more smiles. He wanted more everything. “Yeah, pretty much. It's a bad habit.” Format: Long oneshot (over 5000 words)

Roommate Handicaps by endlesstwanted Square filled: B1 - AU: Roommate Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Roommates, Food, Domestic Summary: Bucky thinks his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s roommate share the fridge. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Eager Gentleness by endlesstwanted Square filled: B5 - Kink: Masturbation Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: First Time, Kissing, Fade to Black Summary: For Bucky and Steve’s first time, Bucky wants to know what Steve likes. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Elevator Ride by endlesstwanted Square filled: I3 - AU: Single Parent Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Humor, Children, Secret Crush Summary: Steve has a revealing encounter with his neighbour Bucky and his adorable kid in the elevator. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Sea Blue Smile by endlesstwanted Square filled: G3 - AU: Ice Skater Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Ice Skating, Makeup Summary: Before Steve’s ice skate performance, his boyfriend does his makeup. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Meeting at Work by DarthBloodOrange Square filled: N1 - Stark Expo Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: First Meetings, Engineer Bucky Barnes, Light Flirting, Smart Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks Summary: Bucky's first meeting with Captain America is going really well. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

Bucky's Ass by DarthBloodOrange Square filled: N5 - America's Ass Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Humour, America's Ass, TV News, Grumpy Bucky Barnes Summary: Really, She should've known better by now not to ask. Format: Drabble (exactly 100 words)

freefall by aspen | blackwood4stucky Square filled: B4 - "punk." Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: alternate universe, background stucky, infidelity Summary: The cuisine is to die for, the drinks are strong, and the music is perfect. What’s not to love from a well-deserved night on the town during a spectacular vacation? Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

A Bed Cluttered with Rosebuds by Metalbvcky Square filled: G2 - Kink: Dom Space Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship, Fluff & Smut, Dom/sub, BDSM, Face-Fucking Summary: Steve comes home from work to find a clean kitchen, and his sweetheart of a boyfriend cuddled in bed. They share pizza together and have a little late-night fun together. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Merman, maybe? by Late-to-the-party-81 Square filled: B2 - Sokovia Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Modern Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Merman Bucky Barnes, Meet cute, Fluff Summary: Steve hadn’t been sure what memories he’d get out of a year backpacking around Europe post-graduation, but meeting an honest-to-god mermaid - merman - merperson - whatever! - hadn’t been one of them. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

secrets and lies by aspen | blackwood4stucky Square filled: I3 - kate bishop Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: alternate universe, bucky centric, pre-stucky Summary: Bucky Barnes stands overlooking the city of Manhattan from his high-rise office building. On an ordinary day, the calming scene before him would normally bring a smile to his face. Today is different. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

What if... I'm with you 'til the end of the line by Late-to-the-party-81 Square filled: B4 - An image from What If of Bucky checking on a collapsed non-serum Steve Rogers Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: What if..., non-serum Steve, Hydra Stomper Summary: Bucky didn’t want to go to war, but at least when he got drafted he knew Stevie was safe back home in Brooklyn. What he didn’t expect was for his love to find a way to use his wit and intellect to find a different way to contribute on the front lines. Format: Mood board plus blurb

[moodboard] Stucky AU: little!Buck and Daddy!Steve (blanket fort edition!) by otpcutie Square filled: O2 - blanket forts Ao3 rating: Mature Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Daddy kink, (nonsexual) ageplay Major tags: nonsexual ageplay, Daddy Steve, little Bucky, fluff, caregiver/little Summary: Little Steve and Daddy Bucky have a movie night. Format: moodboard

hoping these roses dull the pain, cover the scars and turn the page [ch 2] by aspen | blackwood4stucky Square filled: Adopted square (May) - kink: biting [nsfw] Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/non-con, Graphic depictions of violence, alpha x alpha, non con drug use, psuedo omega Major tags: body horror, non traditional omegaverse, triggered mating, secondary gender modification Summary: The asset knows it is imperative to appear as compliant as possible. This isn’t a difficult task. Its handlers modified its operating levels to unfamiliar settings. It can feel the heat rising beneath its skin. It can feel the strange wetness pooling between its thighs as it lies on a bed of metal. As far as the asset is concerned, that has never happened before. - Order through pain is all the asset knows. Format: Part of a multichapter fic

Trolling Steve Rogers by Late-to-the-party-81 Square filled: B3 - Rogers: The musical Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Bucky Barnes is a little shit, Cap Quartet, Crack treated seriously Summary: What's a little trolling between boyfriends? And is it Bucky's fault if someone has created a musical about Steve? Format: Mood board with blurb

[jinkoh]

just look at me

Hyunggu x reader

Tags: pre-relationship/getting together, hurt/comfort, first kiss, g/n reader, fluff; Warnings: they go into a haunted house but there's no graphic descriptions of anything; SFW

word count: ~2,5k

anon requested: I was wondering if you were up for writing something about Hyunggu taking care of his scared s/o 🥺 Something like them being in an amusement park and entering a haunted house even though his s/o is very scared of them and he tries to ease the anxiety 👉👈 Could either be established relationship or maybe them being on a date in their pre dating phase or smth

a/n: tysm for your request 😭❤️ Honestly it got a little longer than intended fhdjfhks I hope you enjoy this~ (not proofread as always 🥲)

Masterlist

Things hadn’t been looking that great for you recently, so when that cute guy from the coffee shop asked you out on a date it almost felt too good to be true. You’d met up with him a few times already, not often enough to give it a name, but you hoped it was leading up to something. Hyunggu was sweet, especially when he smiled—his gums showing and little creases forming in the corners of his eyes.  It was beyond you how someone as cool and charismatic as him could be interested in you—but for some reason he was and you weren’t going to destroy things for yourself by questioning it too much.

Dates with him were fun and exciting. He liked taking you places—from art museums to cute cafés or the botanical garden. You weren’t used to dates like that. In the past you’d mostly met up at generic coffee chains or the cinema and then stopped going on dates altogether once you’d entered a relationship. So this was really different and fun and you really wanted to keep whatever this was and wherever this was going.

You didn’t remember the last time you’d felt this excited about meeting up with someone, giddily getting ready hours before you had to leave simply because you couldn’t wait.

Today too you were ready to go long before he’d come to pick you up to drive to the amusement park. Just when you wondered how to kill time you got a text from him.

Is it okay if I arrive a little before time? I left too early

Don’t worry if not I can also kill some time

You smiled to yourself, wondering if perhaps he was as impatient to see you again as you were to see him—but you quickly shook the thought.

No you can come early I don’t mind :)

You usually met up with Hyunggu in town so you hadn’t seen him drive before. It wasn’t like you were into cars necessarily, but there was just something about seeing him drive, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows and his fingers tapping the wheel to the rhythm of his music—it had your heart fluttering. When he noticed your staring he threw you a wide smile before focusing back on the road.

The ride to the amusement park was rather quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You made some conversation here and there but mostly you listened to his music (and him humming along to it).

Hyunggu was obviously in a good mood and he started beaming even more once you reached the park. Waiting in line to get tickets he kept bouncing around a wide smile on his face the whole time. You couldn’t help yourself, you just had to smile along.

Instead of a ride your first stop after getting in was the souvenir shop near the entrance. The two of you briefly looked at plushies and key charms but it seemed Hyunggu’s goal had been the hat and headband section from the start. While you were still looking at the cute little lion plushies, Hyunggu suddenly popped up next to you, cat ears on his head and a grin on his face.

“Aren’t I cute?” He poked the side of his cheek in an attempt to look extra adorable (it was definitely working).

You laughed. “Very much.”

“You should get some too!” 

With that Hyunggu pulled you along to the rack where he held up some bunny ears for you. “How about these?”

Before you could even say anything he already put them on your head, his smile growing impossibly wider.

“Cuute!” He gushed, making your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Hyunggu was already back to check other headbands though, holding up the next one for you to look up.

“Or maybe a flower crown?”

He kept browsing the rack thoughtfully. With anyone else you might have thought it was ridiculous but somehow it was just endearing when Hyunggu did it.

“We could go matching too, see?” He giggled, holding up two pairs of mouse ears, one with a glittery pink bow and one without. You laughed along, expecting him to give you the ones with the bow but he held out the other pair instead, taking the glittery ones for himself with a cheeky smile.

Hyunggu took a few selcas of the two of you with varying accessories, before he bought the cat ears for himself and a pair of panda ears for you that he insisted were the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

After that you decided to check out the rides, Hyunggu excitedly asking about your favorites and taking you to each of them, also recommending some of his own favorites. In between you sat down on a bench to eat and share a milkshake he bought. 

You thoroughly enjoyed the day, and with all the fun rides you almost forgot to get nervous about this whole date thing. But ever so often Hyunggu did something small to remind you, like holding your hand in the crowd or throwing you a happy smile that had his gums showing after a particularly fun ride.

All of this was really bad for your heart. The roller coasters were already making it race but Hyunggu made your heart straight up burst.

“Oh,” Hyunggu  suddenly said, his voice sounding excited. “Let’s try that next!”

He took your hand and pulled you along. Your stupid brain was so focused on the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours that you didn’t even notice where he was taking you before you stood right in front of it: the haunted house.

You immediately felt your heart sinking to your boots. Roller coasters were fine but a haunted house? Not so much. Unfortunately you felt it was a little too late to say something though, since you were already standing in line. It’d be pretty embarrassing, having to go back, especially since this attraction was supposed to be for children age 12 and older. Even worse, Hyunggu looked really excited about this, bouncing around and swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. 

Of course you knew that Hyunggu was kind enough to immediately turn back around if you said something. But  you didn’t want to ruin this for him, nor did you want to embarrass yourself in front of him. You liked being with him and the last thing you wanted was to destroy whatever this was between the two of you by making a fuss. Surely the haunted house couldn’t be that bad right?

The answer was: it could. The moment you stepped inside the dark building you were overcome with fear. Weird noises were coming out of every corner and you saw movement in the dark.

You knew you weren’t allowed to turn around anymore—the haunted house staff had told you before entering that once you were inside you had to go to the end. But somehow, despite knowing it, your feet wouldn’t move. You stood in the darkness, your whole body trembling with fear. 

Hyunggu still seemed to be in a good mood. “Let’s go,” he whispered, but as soon as he took a step forward you clutched onto the fabric of his jacket.

Were you being pathetic right now? Absolutely. But you couldn’t let him walk away now. You needed him to stay with you no matter what.

He turned around to you and even in the half light you could see the way his eyes widened in surprise before his features softened.

“Y/n?”

You bit your lip and focused your gaze on the floor. This was exactly what you’d wanted to avoid—embarrassing yourself in front of him like this.

He stepped a little closer, reaching out and lifting your chin a bit so you could look at him. The sudden touch made you flinch in surprise.

“Y/n, are you okay?” His voice was sweet, not a hint of annoyance in it. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Nothing is going to happen. Here,” he held out both his hands for you to take. “Just look at me, okay?”

You slowly nodded and grabbed his hands.

“That’s it.” He smiled encouragingly. With slow steps he moved backwards, keeping his eyes on you.

“Don’t look, it’s okay. Just focus on me.” He glanced behind himself to check for the path before turning back around to you. “We’ll be out soon.”

Just then some kinda skeleton fell from the ceiling behind him, dangling in the air. You shrieked, clinging onto him and hiding your face in his chest.

His hands immediately wrapped around you, gently resting on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Aren’t you scared at all?” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

He squeezed you a little tighter before putting some distance between you again to look at you. A cheeky smile was plastered on his face that made your heart race. “No. Not when I’m with you.”

With that he slowly started to move again. You still flinched at every little sound or movement coming from the shadows, but Hyunggu somehow talked you through it, until the exit appeared in front of you.

The moment the golden rays of the setting sun hit your face you breathed out in relief. Hyunggu moved to walk next to you again but he still held onto your hand, squeezing it lightly.

“See? We made it.” He smiled at you widely before his face turned a little more serious again. “But I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were scared. We shouldn’t have gone inside.”

You quickly shook your head. “It’s not your fault! I should have said something I just—” you hesitated. “I didn’t want you to miss out because of me.”

“How could I ever feel like I’m missing out when I’m with you?” There was a teasing undertone in his voice and he playfully swung your intertwined hands between you.

“Stop that,” you chuckled bashfully, trying to free your hand from his grasp but he pulled you closer instead, making you face him. His cheeky grin gave way to an earnest smile. 

“I mean it though.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks and you quickly averted your gaze. “Let’s ride something else?”

“Sure. Maybe something without skeletons this time, hm?”

“That’d be nice.”

“How about the ferris wheel?”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” He happily pulled you into the direction of the ferris wheel but then suddenly stopped and turned around again. “You’re not just saying that right?”

You shook your head with a laugh. “No, this time I’m really up for it.”

“Good.” Hyunggu grinned mischievously before throwing you a wink. “As much as I enjoy having you clinging onto me, I’d much rather it wasn’t out of fear.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t deny the way his stupid comment made your ears grow hot with embarrassment.

“Let’s just go,” you mumbled, not looking at him. He giggled but followed suit.

The queue for the ferris wheel wasn’t as long as you’d expected. Of course, people usually went to the amusement park for more exciting rides. But since it was already getting dark, you would have assumed many guests would want to see the view from the ferris wheel. Not that you were complaining though.

The lanterns in the park started lighting up piece by piece as you waited for your turn and the illumination of the park’s rides also started to stand out more, now that the sun was setting. By the time you got into one of the cabins, a staff member closing the door behind you, the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon. As the ferris wheel started moving, you watched in awe as you got to see more and more of the illuminated park, the colorful lights looking more and more like a sparkling night sky the higher you got.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning around to look at Hyunggu who sat across from you in the cabin, his eyes already on you.

“Yeah,” he replied with a sweet smile. “Really beautiful.”

Of course he meant the lights, you knew that. This wasn’t some romantic movie scene after all. But you still felt your heart skip a beat at his words and the way he looked at you.

Lost for words, you averted your gaze, looking anywhere but him, but you still felt his eyes on you.

After a while he spoke up again, his voice gentle and quiet. “I’m sorry for before.”

“No, don’t be. It’s okay already,” you chuckled awkwardly.

“Still, I didn’t want you to have any bad experiences today. And I hate to see you scared. I’m sorry it turned out that way.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t that bad of an experience,” you admitted reluctantly, recalling the way he’d embraced you, held your hands and made you feel safe. 

A knowing grin appeared on Hyunggu’s face. “Is that so?”

“I was just—I just meant—you took care of me, so—”

“Hm, so you like to be taken care of?” He smiled, leaning closer to you in the small cabin. “You know, y/n, we don’t need a haunted house for that.”

You swallowed, taken off guard by the sudden proximity but unable to take your eyes off him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he whispered, getting up from his seat to step even closer. The cabin started wobbling a bit from the movement, but you were too entranced to pay it any mind. How could you, when Hyunggu’s face was this close to your own?

“I mean that I like taking care of you. Whenever. Whether you’re scared or not.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” He pouted playfully. “I like you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He huffed a small laugh and you felt the puff of his breath against your lips. “Is it a good or a bad oh?”

“Just—Oh.”

“I think I’ll need you to be a bit more articulated, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s—it’s a good one I think.”

He hummed thoughtfully before his gaze dropped to your lips and wandered back up to your eyes. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Your whole body was buzzing with nerves. You nodded slowly, before the movement became more hasty. “Yeah,” you choked out with a hoarse voice. “Yes.”

His smile grew wider and all you could do was think how much you adored it when he smiled like that, faint crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

But then he came a little closer still, cupping your face and pulling you in until his lips grazed yours. Carefully at first, as if to make sure you really wanted this despite your consent. When you reciprocated though, your hand instinctively finding his arm and holding onto him, he got a bit more daring. You couldn’t think about anything at all anymore, except for the way it felt to kiss him. That was, until he pulled away and you knew you wanted to do this again and again and again. 

Masterlist

[anoddopal]

🐰 Thoughts: [Pre]Alabasta/Alabasta Arc

[WAIT A SECOND OFFICER! I CAN EXPLAIN MYSELF! ➡️ The ritalin tells me what to write and I just spew out nonsense as it comes to me. Anyway, here goes a stim-induced attempt to express a bit more about how these two became an item.]

[POSSIBLE TW: One mention of n00dity, also kinda ominous language towards the end... Listen he's a liar but aside from that they go on to have a very unproblematic relationship!! He just has to be knocked down a peg first!!]

It all starts when Bun-Bun Silva is hired at Rain Di.nners [not Bar.oque Works] to care for the Banana Gators/Ban.anawani that surround the establishment. Prior to her filling the role, it was a difficult position to fill. A job like that isn't exactly an opportunity many people would jump at-- save for a smiling local who seems much more interested in staring at the beasts during the hiring process than looking another human directly in the eyes for longer than necessary.

She takes good care of those gators. Excellent care. She’s happy to show up to her job and do whatever is needed. There’s never a complaint from her end. A bit of a quiet enigma- Silva doesn’t talk much to anyone she crosses paths with at the casino, staff or otherwise. As he does with all of his employees, Cro.codile keeps tabs on her, especially since she’s responsible for the health of his beloved pets. Sometimes the warlord overhears her chattering away to herself/the ban.anawani… she says more to them in a day than she’s ever said to any person at Rain Di.nners during the several months she’s worked there.

She has to be some sort of spy. He’s certain of it. Nobody is that enthusiastic about working with a species of animal that most people run screaming from. This is all a sad attempt to infiltrate his organization.

But after calling her into his office for a little talk he realizes that there’s nothing malicious going on. She really is just a completely innocent, if not eccentric person. And once he asserts that fact, Silva is dismissed.

Or rather, she would be under any other circumstances. Normally, Cro.codile wouldn’t bother with more one-on-one interactions. He’s not a person who entertains potential wastes of his time.

But there’s a lot more going on there than she lets out during that meeting. He can tell. He just can’t tell what it is. And that bothers him. Cro.codile can see how well she works with his pets- the gators are unusually affectionate and happy when she’s around. Silva can also be assertive with the animals, something that’s needed to maintain a safe dynamic with the apex predators. Cro.codile… appreciates that. [He’s not keen on anybody knowing but he is a big animal lover!!]

An offer for dinner is placed on the table. An offer that she almost doesn’t take. An offer that leads to a tension-filled first ‘date’. It becomes apparent to the pirate warlord that this isn’t going to be easy. Silva will not make it easy. Those big brown eyes constantly flutter over him; an attempt to figure out what’s going on in his head, just as he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in hers. Despite how sweet Silva can be, she’s equally as prone to scrutiny. There's a nervousness that radiates off of her, a hesitant wariness- she doesn't want to make any wrong moves. Yet at the same time she will not grovel or cave. Huh. In a way it almost reminds him of his own general caginess. The both of them aren’t keen on letting just anybody in. Someone has to be special for that to happen. The other party has to prove that they’re worth it.

That’s okay. Crocodile can wait and see. He's been patient over the last few years in regards to his scheme to overtake Al.abasta anyhow- why not divert a little in his free time? Everything is going according to plan. In the end, he's always in control.

The courtship undertaking is a give and take. Little tidbits of insight bubble up more and more over time. And they're... peculiar perceptions. It’s not often that somebody manages to catch his eye. And it’s certainly not normal for him to take a legitimate interest in someone who touts a lot of the traits he claims to despise.

Annoying. Weak. Soft. Pathetic. Naive. A bleeding heart.

Yet at the same time; Guarded. Private. Careful. Just a bit cynical/jaded. Even a bit of a misanthrope.

Ah... she's just enough of a realist to know that notions such as fulfilling dreams and obtaining justice are novelties few can afford. Yet her acknowledgment of how sobering reality is does little to crush her stubborn optimism. The world should have crushed someone like her long ago. And while while it certainly has bent her, she refuses to let it break her.

Humans are hypocritical in nature. Sir Cro.codile is no exception. Ironically someone like Silva - someone with so many facets he’s incapable of appreciating in others - is exactly the type of person he can trust with his life. With his secret. As a consequence of the connection between them continuing to build, that’s exactly what he ends up doing.

Silva doesn’t worship him like the hero the rest of the country thinks he is. She doesn’t shrink in terror because of his warlord status, either. Instead she’s curious about the man behind all that. Someway, somehow, she manages to point out his “positive” traits. She values his person in a way nobody ever has before. Cro.codile can’t help but let a thin lipped smile spread on his features every time they’re alone together.

When he isn’t dealing with his shady enterprise or mummifying invading pirates, he ardently seeks her out. She’s endearing to him. The way she likes to hide under his plush fur coat. The way she holds his rough, calloused hand. Hell, sometimes she even reaches out to hold his hook. When he’s trying to catch up on mundane work she often hangs out in his office, sprawled out on a chaise lounge while she babbles away about whatever is on her mind. [There are many, many conversations about animals that take place between them!] She has a penchant for sass and playful banter, but Crocodile finds himself uncharacteristically unbothered by it. There’s something about her audacity that he finds amusing. He hardly minds the misguided nagging. Something lurches in his chest when she places tiny kisses along the length of his facial scar. There’s probably a corny phase to insert here about how pirates adore their treasure, but in Cro.codile’s case? He absolutely covets her. If anyone dared made her feel uncomfortable he’d reduce them to nothing more than a dried out husk.

Silva makes him feel so… so… well, she makes him feel. There’s a certain kind of power she holds over him; the power to worm her way into his thoughts, his life, his heart…

… How did this happen? How could he have let himself become so weak? He’d resent her if he didn’t love her so much.

It wasn’t supposed to play out like this. He wasn’t supposed to get in this deep. She was an anomaly; not part of the plan. This has all gone too far. She doesn’t even know about his master scheme- Cro.codile makes sure he keeps his work life and his love life separate. Silva only knows as much as the general population of Al.abasta does as far as his profession goes. He’s smart enough to know that she’d recoil from him if she knew that he was methodically bringing her homeland to ruination. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, he figures. How ironic was it - that the very person who knew the absolute most about him - had no idea as to what would occur because of him in the near future?

She’ll know soon enough, he tells himself. On that night she’s curled up next to him in bed, with nothing but his green fur coat to cover her naked form. A pretty gemstone ring glimmers on her left ring finger; opal and rose gold, just like she told him she wanted. All Crocodile can do is reflect over how she managed to best him. A feat that nobody before her had ever been able to achieve. His vision for the future changed the very minute she came into his life. He can admit that [to himself]... Part of him was aware of that from the very beginning.

That doesn’t mean his objective to usurp the Kingdom of Al.abasta is going to be thrown to the side. Rather, he simply adjusts his plan to include her in it. Not that he’s going to need a queen, but he’d love nothing more than for her to be his. How romantic.

It’s not like she’d reject the idea. He’s confident Silva is far too loyal to detach from him once everything is said and done. She's just as invested in what they have together as he is. What’s she going to do? Say “no”?

[Huh? Well of course he’s still an awful person. What- did you think the power of love was enough to change the man?]

Of course, the course of events don’t play out in Sir Cro.codile’s favor. He's defeated and sent to Im.pel Down. Al.abasta is saved. Silva packs her bags and leaves her home to find a new place in the world. They’re [as far as they know] separated permanently. It's over.

...

Or maybe... maybe it's merely a little break? Maybe fate has something else in store for the both of them... an inevitable unconventional crossing of paths? A reunion of sorts?

...

Maybe it's really only just begun. >:3

[vere-flores]

( SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSE(S) SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG. )

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

That depends on who I'm RPing with. Obviously, I have lots of love for a certain ship, but I love all of Flora's ships and the different people she's gotten to meet/be with. My OTP out of Mandy's (@mandysxmuses) muses will always be Flora and Jemand because of that being our very first ship, and I've seen them develop the most. They've also had ups and downs all through their relationship due to how Jemand used to be and how the Void is. Though, I wouldn't say I have an OTP ship out of every ship Flora has. There are other OTP's I have where I have multiple ships with someone, but Mandy is the one that's probably been seen the most on my blog.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

I don't really mind, to be honest. Maybe it's because of the fact my mom is 5 years older than my dad, but age gaps haven't really bothered me. I can understand the issue with them, but I don't really mind as long as the ship is between consenting adults.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFW?

Well, I will not post any NSFW on this blog, so if anyone wants to do that, then it would probably be best taken to Discord. But I've also struggled deciding this distinction myself. I haven't figured out how far it is too far for this blog myself, so I just try to avoid it entirely.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

Not really. Most people have approached me for ships, which I kinda like. Because I'm the type who gets nervous mentioning about ships and whether someone wants to do that. At least I know that person is interested. The only thing I ask is that they've had some interaction prior so I can have an idea of their chemistry and develop an attachment.

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

Flora has many ships that I absolutely love! Like Dino from Shiro's @cioccolino, Xhilohrnia or Nia from @nascentwaves, Blaise's Kai from @voraxiia, Akihito from @thelazyeditor, and many more! I even have many more ships with @mandysxmuses and @eunciia. Most, if not all of Flora's current ships, are on her relationships doc, so feel free to ask about any of them!

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

Mm, it's not really a requirement or anything. If it happens naturally, that's just as awesome, too. I'm chill with whatever. If you want to establish a ship, let it happen naturally, or do a pre-established kind of thing, then I'm open to whatever you want to do! I might even, rarely, bring up shipping myself!

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

Don't get me wrong, I looove ships and romantic relationships with Flora, but I wouldn't call myself ship obsessed. I'm just chill with whatever! I love all Flora's ships and am happy to discuss more if that interests people! Just hit me up, don't be afraid!

ARE YOU MULTISHIP?

Yes! Flora is multi-ship! She has multiple ships in different verses at this point!

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

I am not in any fandoms atm, ^^ Not that I am, personally, against RPing with canons. I just haven't done it as much these days.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

Just ask! Especially if you think our two muses could get along really well! Or if it happens naturally, then that's just as awesome, too! I just wouldn't want someone coming into an interaction, basically assuming a ship is gonna happen, especially without mentioning it to me first. It really just depends on the chemistry of the muses, but, honestly, Flora is not a hard person to ship/get along with, imo, ^^

I'm also chill with any sort of ship! Whether that is romantic or otherwise!

Idk if you're supposed to tag people in this so uh... you can steal it, too, like I have from other people on the dash, lol

[anotherhumanpet]

(✔)

A quick and easy plotting guide

My muse(s): Dennis / Jaden

Do I know your muse(s): no | a little | tell me about your muse

Setting: my verse | your verse | alternate universe | other (the boys [especially Dennis] are flexible when it comes to weaving in out of verses so they can easily wind up in Spamton's corner of the multiverse if we wanted! And or, AU time. I can will throw myself into one easily, given the opportunity and a good enough understanding of things.)

Pre-established relationships?: depends on the relationship (will almost always ball for friendship, but sometimes first meets are good for setting a tone in how things go in a new setting/verse!)

Possible relationships: friends | co-worker (maybe??? depending on the work??) | family, real or adopted | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | first meeting | other (whatever it is we got going currently. local boy befriends cryptid. can take clear photos but deliberately uploads shitty ones for the lols)

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme