#they were created in a hospital lmao

[angelic-waffles]

A glass angel because mental stoof :3

[aurorangen]

I remember it all so clearly

Transcript:

[I didn't mind the hospital visits. My doctor was called Dr. Hussain: she was really warm and friendly. That day I also saw someone at the hospital and I still remember his sombre face]

[I didn't know who that doctor was but he seemed close to my Dad] Ashton: So how are things looking… [A muffled conversation I couldn't understand. The doctor spoke little and in a reluctant manner]

[Everyone looks at the appearance rather than the context, there was no need for me to know anything about that doctor. From the moment he laid his cold eyes on me, I knew he was bad news]

?: It's lovely to see you Vincent. I've heard so much about you. [No words were exchanged from my mouth. Normally I was shy around strangers, but I held onto his gaze as if he were my prey. He smiled back and scrutinised me in a disconcerting way. I swore I saw him snarl]

[And my assumptions were true. Bad news. He disappeared just like my Dad]

[rosereign]

I have a hard time with keeping friends but my family is always there

[forcemeanakin]

Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT.  Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

____________________________________________

As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries. 

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about. 

All of that was erased the moment war erupted. 

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him. 

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him. 

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible. 

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing. 

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation. 

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place. 

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought. 

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away. 

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation. 

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too. 

He will think you are stupid. 

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot. 

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling. 

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets. 

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes.  Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly. 

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?” 

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process. 

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.” 

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe. 

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you. 

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was. 

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him. 

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect. 

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body. 

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it. 

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.” 

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart. 

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips. 

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him. 

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything. 

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex! 

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled. 

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing. 

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?” 

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way. 

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again. 

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye. 

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention. 

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you. 

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it. 

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting. 

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you. 

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form. 

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response. 

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return. 

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second. 

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan. 

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder. 

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum. 

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions. 

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this. 

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering. 

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.  

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression. 

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up. 

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

 And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men. 

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you. 

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action. 

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile. 

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers. 

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you. 

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration. 

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.” 

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice. 

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.” 

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them. 

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him. 

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it. 

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant. 

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you. 

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over. 

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan. 

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well. 

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

[kanmom51]

Jikook car drive to CT

I think that before I dive into the actual car ride I have to set a few things straight.

Did you guys notice they chose to ride together? Shock and awe...

Lmao.

Just a little stab for all those who were nitpicking at them back in 2021-23. Yeah, you's that were all about "but they don't ride in the same car anymore", or "they aren't addressing each other or reacting to each other on SM", or whatever other kind of insecurity for some or just outright malice from others.

JM and JK are the same JM and JK they were before the hiatus and solo paths. Same same. With adjustments having to be made to a new reality of not spending close to 24/7 together. Adjusting to their crazy busy solo work and schedules. Adjusting to learning how to be alone when you are used to not being, because your significant other is submerged in his work while you are not. With adjustments to not having ot7 as their protecting glass closet. When you are used to being together close to 24/7 and circumstances change and you can't anymore, as a couple you need to adjust to that new reality and sometimes it's harder on one of you than the other. Not because you don't love each other or need each other equally, but because you are different people and adjust differently to this new reality.

And in the reality of these 2 young men, well it has been apparent since the beginning of 2023 that JK was the one that was struggling most with these changes. I'd say that this is can be a huge clue to his neurodivergence.

When we look at these two young men, whom I believe to be 2 queer young men in a long term loving relationship, not only do we need to look at them within the context of them being in one of the biggest if not THE biggest band in the world right now, living in a still mostly homophobic society and at the time were looking at enlisting for their 18 month military service, a military that still outlaws sexual relations between men.

This has to be understood while looking at Jikook throughout the years and in 2021-2023, things changing after creation of Hybe, going public, trying to buy out SM and the whole saga with MHJ (which was going on since Oct 2022 behind the scenes).

That's a good starting point understanding them in 2023 and going into watching Are you sure?

But that's not all.

There's more.

Seeing some of the reactions, comments, posts I feel the need to say this as well:

JM and JK are human beings.

They aren't characters in a drama.

This isn't The Bold and the Beautiful, JK not Ridge and JM not Brooke or vise versa (seriously, just picked the parallels because of the current hair colours). They weren't married and divorced ending up with others and then married again and divorced and with others and just going on and on and on. Ups and downs, ins and outs, together and parted. This is real life, not a TV show. Not only would their love not last that (and they clearly love each other), their interactions, their dynamics wouldn't just stay the same same. Not to mention what it would have done to the band and their own relationships with the others. They wouldn't survive it nor would the band. So don't create drama where there isn't is what I say.

What I see is a pretty much levelled long term couple. With relationship bumps in the road, adjustments, frustrations, moods.

I also see 2 queer young men who due to the reality of 2023 have close to zero camera time in one frame. And it shows.

But mainly I see LOTS AND LOTS OF LOVE FOR EACH OTHER.

On top of that I see both of them feeling physically unwell. Poor JM with his stomach issues and bursting pipe (yes I just said that, lol), and JK who has been ill for days, had to go to the hospital for treatment before his solo debut performance, for that performance to be fucked up by the weather. Man was definitley still unwell the whole time constantly sniffling and coughing. And JM worrying about JK's health is another indicator as to it not being nothing.

Bottom line: these are real life people with their own different characteristics, feelings, stress, anxiety, illnesses and the runs.

Not that they didn't know there will be cameras, they were well aware of it, but looks like JM was initially a little shocked to see just how many of them.

Even with the cameras and initial apparent awkwardness, not with each other, but with the whole "it's just the two of us on camera together, no other members to buffer", they are at ease with each other, smiling and giggling.

And even with the cameras and that on one hand need to say things but on the other need to still be wary of what you say and not to say too much - something they are expert at, even if it's been a while and takes them a bit to get back on the wagon with. Even with that they go back to that very jikooky type of formal - informal interaction with each other, JK 'forgetting' JM is the hyung out of the two (like I said, same same).

We have JM's cheeky comment about spooning JK if he's cold, one he insisted on implementing that same night. Mics on, cameras obviously on, but us not allowed to see a thing (and I will talk about this in another post - the whole "if there's nothing to hide how come we didn't get to see one of the apparently funniest moments of the trip, one that the the two and those around them couldn't shut up about?" (phew, that was a long question).

We also get a cute JM looking out for JK's health turning on the heat in the car, turning on his seat heater (without JK knowing about it, lol).

As a whole, those two in the car sounded like an old married couple. I was watching laughing the whole time, the whole thing feeling too familiar, lol.

But I know what you are all waiting for.

More so those that love to question their relationship.

Let's get on and discuss the car convo some are stressing over.

This:

But wait.

Before I talk about it, there's one more word I want to mention.

CONTEXT.

Context is EVERYTHING.

We all know that, right?

And what is the important context here?

Well, first of, this is all in front of the cameras.

Secondly, we ALL KNOW that even with their crazy schedules JM and JK DID GET TO SEE EACH OTHER in those months counting up to this trip, in private, just the two of them.

We know from them that they were together drinking the night before Hobi's enlistment, for example. We know JM was at JK's before JM left for London end of May, JK 'complaining' about having to change the way JM adjusted the mood lamp. We know they are the closest duo in the group, but beyond that, those two are just super close. We know that JK went live basically every time JM left for overseas and was overjoyed when JM showed up in his comments (including his comments during the mukbang live and perhaps coming over after he finished his schedule). This is before this trip. Let's not mention (or maybe let's) the flirt-fest we got in the JK in bed live that came shortly after this trip.

One other huge thing we seem to forget is that:

This is an edited product we are seeing.

Not a live discussion.

And even if it looks like the conversation is somewhat flowing, when you look really closely you see that there are cuts cuts cuts. Some might just be change of camera angle, others are real cuts where you can see that whatever was said was not said at the same time as a flowing conversation.

So, if you look carefully you will see that the first part of the discussion and the part where JM brings up V are not exactly in one flow. That there is a cut between what JK says, and we will get to that, don't fret, and when JM brings up him facetiming with V and what follows.

The start of it is also not clear. If what JM says about not going somewhere together in a while is the start of the flow of conversation, then the clip they are showing us of them in the car driving in the streets of NY is not connected to that, because the conversation continues when they are already out of town. 2 possibilities here. Either that was the start of the convo and for some reason they decided to show the car driving in NY even though the convo happened with them out of the city already. Or, once again, my point that maybe the convo isn't in one flow - even that first part of it. That JM did say what he said when they were still in the city and then their conversation following was edited in a way that we didn't get much of it until they were already out of the city and JK says what he says.

Reason I bring this up is again to emphasize the fact that as much as we are let in, we are still getting an edited product.

You know, same edited product that cuts out their flirty playful bedtime toothbrushing session.

I also want to bring this up, because I basically agree with much of what @shellbells-things the importance of them needing that getaway together (in this post):

This was written with the official translations in mind.

But you see, this is not what JK said.

The actual translation is basically JK calling out JM for not seeking him out enough!!!

And we also have this from @haedalkoo (thanks you for this post💜):

And why does it matter? Why do these different translations matter? Because they tell us a totally different story.

In the first you have JK saying that when one of them is busy, even though the other is not, he does not tend to call/reach out to the one that is busy. Basically this could be read as them not making an effort to contact the other even when they had time on their hands to do so. And perhaps that is why there are people up in arms about this, although my take of it is that even if this was the correct translation, which it is not, that understanding, that conclusion, would have been a very superficial one, disregarding the context of those two, who they are, where they are and what they are doing, as mentioned above.

In the other, what seems to be the more accurate translation, we have a salty boyfriend complaining about his partner not reaching out to him when he's busy, but also not reaching out to him when JK is busy, even if JM is not as busy.

"Your busy you don't seek me out, your not busy you don't seek me out"...

Now let's look at what JK said within the context of it all.

This isn't about them not seeing each other, not being in touch at all. Being estranged. Losing contact. Like so many want it to be about, given that would be so much more dramatic and 'interesting'.

This is about it not being enough for JK.

Enough being the key word.

JM and JK are different. They are both highly driven, and when JK has a JM by his side, said JM is a catalyst and has JK as driven as him. But you see, they weren't together. JM, being the workaholic that he is, highly driven with his work, having to give not 100% but 1000%, could easily lose himself in that work. And as much as he loves JK, or perhaps even more so because he's crazy about him, he can't have him around as a distraction. So, in a sense, when he works he can get lost in that work and that leaves little "free" time to spend with the person he loves, the person that loves him, the person that needs him. Same person that was REALLY struggling at the start of 2023 while JM was too absent. Again, that does not mean that JM was not spending time with JK. It was just not enough. Especially while JK was sort of lost at that point in a sense that he had no clear path set for himself. JK is different in the sense that JM is kind of his blankie, his anchor, his safe place. He needs JM around even when he is up to nothing (see JM's "he comes to my room to lie on my bed and do nothing" from the LA live 2021). And having him around is a need. Do we remember crying JK at the end of his lives on White day 2023. Heart wrenching. And again, it's not that JM doesn't need JK, he does, but a. his need is different to JK's, and b. JM was super busy at the time while JK was doing basically nothing.

And when JK was busy, well I'm guessing that JM was giving him the space he thought JK needed to work. But obviously this wasn't what JK wanted.

This saltiness is all coming from the same person that says he doesn't answer his phone calls or reply to texts. The person that JM complained when he doesn't answer his calls. With all that he still needed JM to reach out. He needed to know that JM is thinking about him.

This conversation isn't about them not seeing each other. It's about not seeing each other enough. It's about JM not seeking JK out as much as JK needed him to. And it's about them not being able, for whichever reasons (exterior or self inflicted) to do exactly this. Be out and about together. The two of them. This is exactly what you do in a healthy long term relationship. You talk. You are open. You tell your partner how you feel and what you need.

And you know what JK sounded like to me?

He reminded me of this JK:

The JK that even though he had already scolded JM he couldn't just let it go. That even though JM apologized several times and explained himself, he just couldn't let it go because it was weighing on him, that choice that he felt JM made.

And I know, I just know, that this conversation we got in the car was not a one of. That "Your here. Finally" we got from him at the end...

He needed this to happen, for JM to make this happen.

I will also add, even though I cannot go into too much detail at this point, that I feel that the : "You're here. Finally", has so much more sub context to it within the way they had both handled 2022-23 and that adjustment to the new reality. Not about it being easier for one over the other, but more so about how they handled this "apartness" that was kind of forced on them.

Anyway, that "finally", that was it for me. Seeing. No. Feeling how this was weighing on JK. Feeling just how important this was for him. JM making that effort and showing up for him like he did.

I hope that I have managed to get the message through. I will drill it in with my three keywords to this post:

COUPLE

CONTEXT

ENOUGH

I will end this by saying this:

Read that convo as you will, see those two as you will. At the end of the day not only did they CHOOSE to do this again and again (even with the little time they still had with their crazy schedules and upcoming enlistment). Not only did JK say he wanted to keep going with this until they are 50 years old. But they also CHOSE to enlist together. To be TOGETHER for those 18 months of military service. CHOOSING to do so knowing that meant a harder service and placement.

At the end of the day they CHOSE EACH OTHER.

And they will keep on doing so!!!

[incendiobrock]

Baby Girl {Matt Sturniolo}

Request: Linked here! (My requests are OPEN please send me some!!)

Prompt(s): failed cooking/baking attempt

Warnings: mentions of giving birth (cryptic pregnancy), language

A/N: I'm so bad at writing anything to do with pregnancy but I tried my best to do this imagine some justice LMAO

Chris and Nick sat at the kitchen table as you were at the stove top trying to fix some lunch for the three of you. Your boyfriend Matt was currently out of the house for a modeling campaign which left the three of you hungry and without a car. Everything had been irritating you as of lately. It was like any minor inconvenience felt like the end of the world, bringing you to tears.

You had already felt agitated when Matt had to leave for work, wanting nothing more than to spend the day cuddled up with him in bed. Now, you were on the verge of tears as you tried to pull together making this lunch. Nick and Chris were joking around and laughing oblivious to your stress as you huffed over the pan, realizing that you had burnt the chicken you had been searing.

"Fuck." You cussed under your breath, taking the pan off the heat and looking at the chicken that was burnt to a crisp on one side. You went to pick up the tongs that were sitting on the side of the kitchen counter but your hand accidentally bumped it wrong, causing them to drop to the ground. That was your last straw, tears fell from your eyes as you stared at the tongs that were now on the dirty kitchen floor.

"Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?" Nick asked you, finally noticing that something was up. The kitchen chair screeched against the hardwood flooring as he stood up to come over to your side. Chris was getting up too, noticing the disaster you had created in the pan.

"No, I'm not alright! I burnt the fucking chicken and dropped the tongs on the ground!" You lashed out, covering your eyes with your hands out of frustration. "It's alright, it really isn't that burnt." Chris said, rubbing your upper back and trying to comfort you.

All of a sudden you felt sick to your stomach, becoming dizzy. You gripped onto the counter as you tried to steady yourself from swaying. There were stars clouding your vision and you instantly started to feel hot and sweaty. "I don't feel good..." You mumbled, dropping yourself down to your knees as you tried to steady your heavy breathing. Next thing you knew you felt the most intense pain in your lower abdomen, almost like a bad period cramp.

"Oh my god! What's happening?" Nick questioned, dropping down to your level so he could try to figure out what was wrong.

"I think I need to go to the hospital." You groaned, clutching at your stomach as the nausea continued to wash over you. "Call Matt!" Nick yelled, directing Chris to get ahold of your boyfriend. With shaky hands, Chris brought his phone up to his ear, listening to the dial tone.

"He's not answering!" Chris panicked, trying to figure out what to do next. Chris ended up calling Matt three more times, getting sent to voicemail every one of them. Eventually, Nick had resorted to calling an ambulance which had picked you all up within twenty minutes. Nick and Chris had to wait outside of your room as you were being examined.

The nurses were taking a look at you while asking you a bunch of questions about your symptoms.

"And are you sexually active?" One of the ladies asked, taking a look at her computer screen as she recorded all of your data. You shook your head yes as another wave of sharp pains hit your abdomen.

"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?" She asks, causing you to widen your eyes. Now that you thought about it, it was strange how emotional you had been feeling for the past few months. Not to mention the spurts of nausea you would feel throughout the day, especially when you would think about a specific food you didn't like. But you had never considered the fact that you could be pregnant, still experiencing your period every month. The nurse pulled out the ultrasound machine, taking a look at your belly and confirming that you were indeed pregnant. A cryptic pregnancy is what they called it and it was pretty rare.

You experienced some hormonal changes and sickness, but your period was always regular and you never had a baby belly so this was a complete shock to you. The nurse warned you that the baby would be coming within the next few hours and you went ahead and accepted the epidural.

After an hour and a half, dealing with contractions, the delivery was about to begin. Matt still hadn't made it there and you were starting to get nervous that he was going to miss the birth entirely. Neither of you had planned or even really talked about getting pregnant, so you also hoped that this wouldn't complete destroy your three year long relationship. Matt wanted to be a dad eventually, but right now you were both still young and he was fully invested in work.

---

"Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl who is completely healthy." The doctor said to you, passing you the newborn who was bundled up in a blanket. As you looked down at the baby, taking note of the fact that she had Matt's bright blue eyes, the door to your hospital room flung open. Startled, you glanced over at the doorway seeing Matt at the entrance, Chris and Nick standing timidly behind him.

"Baby... I'm so sorry I'm late!" Matt apologized, rushing to your side. The nerves rushed over you again as you waited for him to take a look at the baby you had brought into the world. He leaned over the bed, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your forehead. "I'm a dad?" He asked softly, smiling at the sleeping baby. You let out a laugh of relief as you nodded in response to his question. Chris and Nick were still frozen in the doorway until Matt ushered them over, "Guys, come look at my two beautiful girls."

All three of them looked at your baby girl with awe, any doubts you had now long gone. You knew from that moment forward this baby was going to be the most spoiled, and loved from three of the most amazing people in your life.

[simplybakugou]

Story Mode 3 | Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route

⋆ PAIRING: gamer/streamer!kaminari x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: mentions of hospital and stab wound; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1.1K

A/N: i finished this at 1 am last night but passed out right after so proofreading this was a journey lmao. we're getting so close to the end!

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the kaminari cap

Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route Masterlist

The curtain dividing Kaminari’s hospital space got pulled back once more, this time Sero entering the small room. He had a worried expression plastered on his face.

“Did Deku leave?” Sero asked.

Kaminari sat up, wincing when he subconsciously and absentmindedly used his injured arm to move himself. “Yeah he left like ten minutes ago. Where’d you go?”

“I was in the chat room,” Sero blurted out.

Kaminari put Sero’s fidgeting fingers and his nervous nature together as he pursed his lips at his friend. “You told them what actually happened, didn’t you?”

“They kept asking questions, man! I don’t like lying, you know that,” Sero uttered exasperatedly. 

“I didn’t want them to worry…”

“I know and I get that. Just don’t be surprised when you get an angry visitor.” Sero raised his hands up in front of him in defense. 

“Oh god, Mina’s on her way isn’t she?” Kaminari questioned, cringing at the thought of Mina yelling at him like she usually does when he does something stupid.

“I’m not telling you anything, alright?” Sero turned around swiftly, pulling the curtain again to make his exit. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

“Hey! Get back here, you traitor!” Kaminari exclaimed out to Sero, who ignored his pleas and left.

Kaminari leaned back in his bed, looking up at the ceiling as he waited in anticipation. He was convinced Mina was on her way. Or could it be Bakugou that was visiting him? He certainly was angry about the reckless plan Sero and Kaminari had come up with. 

A very large part of Kaminari wanted you to come visit him but he told himself it wasn’t going to happen. You were busy with planning for the party which was happening quite literally tomorrow. He knew you already had a lot in your hands to deal with, which was a major reason why he wanted to keep his wound a secret. 

Also, why would you visit? Everyone kept teasing him about his “relationship” with you, but it could barely be considered a relationship. You both expressed your likeness to one another and that was as far as things got. Who knew if you even liked him enough to visit him anyways…

As Kaminari was swept away in his self-deprecating thoughts, the curtain pulled back once more and Kaminari rolled his eyes internally. “How many times are you gonna barge in here, dude?!”

His eyes flicked downwards to the curtain, taken completely aback when Sero wasn’t standing before him. Instead a woman was. And she looked pissed.

“Um, sorry I think you have the wrong roo–” Kaminari stopped mid-sentence. There was no reason for a random woman to be angry with him… unless…

“Y/N?!” Kaminari exclaimed, sitting up in his bed. He was completely dumbfounded. He had just convinced himself that he wouldn’t see you that night, but here you were. 

You approached his bed, examining his physical state until your eyes landed on his bandaged arm. Your jaw clenched in anger as you looked back to his face. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Kaminari couldn’t respond as he was still processing what had just happened. While texting with you in the chat rooms, his rudimentary brain couldn’t help but create an image of what you looked like. Sometimes you were a celebrity and other times you were just a grey figure he was talking to. But there was no way for his simple brain to ever imagine someone this beautiful to stand before him.

You sat yourself down on the same stool Deku had sat on moments ago. You gingerly grabbed Kaminari’s hand, turning his wrist gently to look at the bandage. “How could you be so reckless?!”

You continued to express how upset you truly were, asking empty but exasperated questions but Kaminari couldn’t hear a word. He was focused on how warm your touch was against his and how soft your fingers were on his skin. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine this scenario… 

“Are you even listening to me?” You asked, even more angered than you were initially. 

Kaminari snapped out of the daze he was in as his golden eyes met your (E/C) ones. Even when you were pissed at him you looked adorable. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your face heated up immediately and to Kaminari’s disappointment you dropped his hand from yours from your flustered reaction. Kaminari winced slightly as you dropped his arm from your touch and you immediately grabbed his arm, more carefully this time, feeling guilty for hurting him accidentally. 

“Are you okay?” You asked worriedly.

“No,” Kaminari said, his voice strained. He hunched over, gripping his arm lightly. “You should give it a kiss to make it feel better.”

Your face fell immediately as you saw him holding back a laugh as if he had done the funniest thing he could’ve come up with. “I should smack you right now.”

Kaminari laughed, sitting up straight, grabbing your hand and holding it in his. “Nah, you like me too much to do that.”

You became flustered once more, not used to this smooth side of him in person. “Shut it.”

Kaminari chuckled, amused at how successfully nervous he had made you, thinking your reaction was adorable. “So, you came running over when you found out I got hurt?”

“No, I came running over to yell at you,” You corrected him, even though it was mostly out of concern. 

Kaminari straightened up as he looked at you intensely and more seriously. “I’m sorry for making Sero keep this from you… and for lying to you.”

“You better be.” You narrowed your brows at him. “Don’t ever do something like this again, alright? I don’t care how long I’ve been in this organization. You can’t go and do something this reckless even if it’s for me, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” Kaminari nodded. “Wait, should you even be here like this? It’s way too dangerous for you to be out this late especially when that Unknown guy is still after us.”

“Worry about yourself first, Kaminari,” you said, shaking your head disapprovingly at him. “The office isn’t too far from the hospital so I called a cab straight here.”

Kaminari’s thumb brushed over your knuckles gently as his hand was still wound tightly in yours. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Call you what?”

“Kaminari.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to call me Denki. I only want to be Denki to you.”

“Denki,” you repeated, making him grin widely. You smiled shyly at him as you came to your senses at how close the two of you were. His hand felt strong in yours and your stool was so close to his bed. He was subconsciously leaning into you and you knew exactly what was about to happen.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

[jackce]

What the Teutonic Knights did in Baltic Prussia that they turned into Preussen its one of the reasons that makes Hetalia Prussia a villain xd, Lithuania would agree lmao (not saying this to deter you from making art, just making a comment)

Yeah, in fact Himaruya created Prussia to be a villain but the more he drew him the more goofy he turned, so the villainess were "fading away".

I love villain Prussia because I love fictional villains ❤️

But I have the headcanon that Prussia existed way before Teutonic Knights, and he was really a representation of the ancient prussians, but since he was a baby in that long period and due to a traumatic event that made him lost all of his memories and wake up closer to where the Saint Mary's Hospital was (and the starting of the Teutonic Knights)... he assumed easily that he was the teutonic knights, created bonds and connections with them and did what he did with his real people.

Later some memories and words (probably from the baltics) haunted him and helped to start his "calmer" duchy era while pretending he didn't care.

I could keep writing about my historic headcanons with Prussia but AAA. I wanted to make an artbook about it (silly dream?). Anyway I love this character and the history about Baltic prussians, teutonic order and german prussians. Very interesting.

I think that the fact that Prussia (the character) is alive is because he has many roots and connections between different groups of people that he represented that "should have dissapeared" but claim they're still exist (Baltic prussians, teutonic knights and german prussians), and I love that 🤧❤️

Here a throwback of my art with baby Prusai with Aesti (mother of baltics).

[vinnyhongnsfwgurl]

1st Vinny Hong FanFic? I literally have no idea what this should be LOL

Hello all Windbreaker fans and Vinny Hong lovers. This is my first Vinny Hong x female reader fanfic. I hope you enjoy and comments/feedback is always welcome! Thanks :3

So, I didn't realize what kind of fanfic this would be after I finished writing it LMAO. Complete despair and heartbreak hahaha. I just chose to write and not think to hard. tbh I'm pretty happy with it. Let me know what you think :) .... also I did not proof read haha I am lazy.

I think I'll do a part 2 to this one!

"y/n? ...... y/n?"

"Y/N?!"

You're head snaps up to look at your mother sitting in the hospital bed next to you. She looked at you slightly worried.

She tilted her head as she asked "Are you okay? I called your name multiple times."

You sat up straighter in your chair and nodded. "Yes. Sorry. I, uh, just got lost in my thoughts for a moment." A lot had happened in the past couple of weeks. My mother got very sick and ended up in the hospital for a second time, nearly dying due to a brain aneurysm. It had put a lot of stress on every part of our lives, mostly financially. We weren't poor, but we certainly did not have the luxury to not work and stay in the hospital for extended periods.

I had thought about picking up extra hours at my part-time job, but I knew it wouldn't help much and I knew my studies would suffer. I was already struggling to keep my grades up. Besides my part-time job, I had to train for the upcoming final race of League of Streets. I was a part of Hummingbird and it was amazing but like my personal life, it was a mess. So much had happened with our team.

The most recent event was Vinny leaving our team deciding to ride with the Ghost crew. He started doing small races for money, which were broadcasted online. I had seen a few. Everyone was confused and upset including me. The whole reason we created Hummingbird was to compete in LOS and win the price money for Vinny's mother but I guess he had different plans in mind.

"It'll be okay honey" my mom said as she reached for my hand. I let let her hold my hand. It was warm and reassuring.

I smiled. "I know mom. I'm glad you're alright .... I was really scared actually." I could feel the pressure behind my eyes build up.

My mom started tearing up. "I know. I know y/n. but it's okay, I'm okay." She squeezed my hand.

I just nodded. "yeah."

After a few minutes and making sure my mother didn't need anything, I hugged her goodbye and started making my way out of the hospital. I took a seat on a bench that was stationed right next to the entrance of hospital. I had taken a bus here and planned on taking it to get back home. It only took me ten minutes to get to the bus stop, so I had a bit of time before I had to leave. I was really tired and too stressed. I found myself looking for more quiet moments out of my day.

I looked out toward the street across from the hospital. It was already dark out, but there was quite a bit of traffic. Honking interrupted the empty, docile night every now and than.

I heard footsteps come around the corner that ended abruptly once they caught up to the bench I was sitting at. As I turned my head to see what or who it was, I hear a familiar voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Vinny. It was all I thought as my eyes met his. His red eye seemed strikingly brighter than it usually was. Maybe it's just because I hadn't seen him in awhile.

"Oh. I was visiting my mom. She recently had surgery." I explained. ".... Are you hear to see your mom?" I asked.

He was quiet for a second before answering my question. "Yeah, she's staying here."

"MMm that's good. Glad to hear she is getting treatment" I said.

"What about your mom? Is she okay?"

"oh yeah! The surgery went well, so everything is good." I gave a sheepish thumbs up. I always became painfully aware of how awkward I felt when interacting with Vinny. I was a fairly shy person and it didn't help how handsome I thought he was. It took time in the beginning for us to get along and establish a relationship. It wasn't hard for me to figure out soon after that I was falling in love with him.

There was a lot I learned about him after Hummingbird was formed and the more I learned the more I desired to be near him. He was hot headed and pretty reserved, but it never really bothered me. I always went out of my way to greet him at practice and I chat with him when I could. I never cared if it was just small talk.

He just stared at me for a moment before saying "Good to hear that."

I knew what what was coming next, or what wasn't. This would be the end of our conversation. I didn't want it to be.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"I'm fine." He said plainly.

"And Jack?" following it up with a smile.

"He's fine too."

Man of few words I thought. I was used to it but I always wondered what actually behind those words: I'm fine.

"Are you really doing fine? I know I'm probably not the first person you think of when you want to talk to someone, but you're my friend. I'm here for you." I blurted out without much thinking.

When I had mentioned how confusing and upset I was when he left our crew, it was an understatement. I was sad and hurt. I also felt so helpless. He left us all behind and had no desire to return.

I looked down at the backpack I held in my arms. There was so much I wanted to say, but none of it seemed enough.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened. I know you're having a hard time. I wish you hadn't had to leave the team."

"I don't know why you're apologizing, y/n. You don't need to." He replied.

Vinny walked up closer to me until he stood just a few inches from my feet. I looked up and he gaze had softened just a bit.

"You don't need to worry about me. Just focus on yourself. You have a lot going on."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence as Vinny and I held each other's gaze.

Then Vinny turned to leave. "I'll see you later y/n."

Before he took another step, I reached for his hand. It was a light grasp, just enough to stop him.

"Come back to Hummingbird ..... at least, at some point. We'll wait for you. It's nothing without you"

Vinny just stared at me before pulling his hand away from my mine.

"Y/n."

"It doesn't matter if it's not tomorrow, or the next day, or weeks from now! J-just come back. Please." I could feel a increase in my heart rate and the pressure behind my eyes building up again.

Vinny sighed and turned away from me.

"There's no reason for me to come back." He said sternly. "There's nothing you or the others can offer me." He continued has he started walking away.

Something warm slid down the right side of me cheek. I blinked and more came out. I was crying.

I just stood there as I continued to watch him walk away. My crying only worsened and I could feel a lump form in my throat.

I can't give up on you Vinny I thought as I recollected the memories of us together and how much our relationship progressed.

I just can't Vinny. I won't. I love you.

After he was well out of my sight, I finally left for the bus station. I cried the entire way.

For once, I wished it wasn't so quiet out.

[lover-of-mine]

I so agree with everything you said. The difference of reactions when you didn't ship their previous relationship vs when you don't ship B/T is very telling (same with the fact that when some people talked about a cheating storyline, the reactions were always "it would be bad for Buck to do this to Tommy" but apparently it would have been okay if Eddie did this to a woman?? okay lmao)

What I don't understand is how people say that it's Buck's most developed LI/relationship. Like? We don't know that much about him. People have created (themselves and via the actor's cameos) lots of headcanons but that doesn't mean that they are canon.

To me, he really still feels like a love interest device for now. Like with the scene of the kiss in the last episode, they could have include some mentions of another date, whether past or a future one, but they didn't. The kiss was just there to be able to have Buck come out to the rest of the family, but it didn't bring anything more about B/T (we don't know if they saw each other since the coffee date/if it was their second kiss or if there was already more).

Literally. Like, look, I will say one thing, if buddie had hooked up at that bachelor party only one person would be cheating and that's Eddie. Buck and Tommy did not have a we're exclusive talk. They actually had a we can figure things out as we go talk. Personally, I don't think that counts as an we are together conversation, but that's my opinion. But either way no one seemed to care about the Eddie side of it. Eddie who is literally in a relationship serious enough he asked her to move in with him the episode before. But sure, that doesn't count because they hate Edy and forget Marisol exists (I do too, but I spent the whole time saying we shouldn't make the bisexual dude help his best friend cheat because I did not forget Eddie would be cheating and that would be bad no matter what). And to say T is the most developed love interest is a straight up lie. Taylor had a whole season as Buck's friend before they got together. She had a personality, flaws, qualities, she even got her very own tragic background episode. Say what you want about anything, and yes they sucked as a couple, but bucktaylor was developed. On screen. To a point where if the show actually wanted to, which they clearly didn't because they used the s4 Taylor development to stir her away from Buck instead of closer, they could've made bucktaylor work, they just had to make her as intense about Buck as she is with the job, and they could've been a very interesting golden retriever boyfriend/black cat girlfriend dynamic (good god I can't believe this fandom is making me defend fucking bucktaylor). Buck and T had one scene alone before they were kissing. Tommy has no established personality. Pretty much everything about him besides the begins episodes part of him (that dont paint him in the best light) we learned second hand. Through interviews. It's not even things that are being said to the audience in the show. I'm pretty sure the only things we learned from the show are the way he's a pilot, he was in the army, he likes wrestling, cars, and basketball. I could be wrong, fandom annoyed me so much I blackout every time I see him at this point. But he's not developed? He's just a guy? Don't get me wrong, he could be developed. There is space for it. But right now, he is there to serve as a device for Buck to find his bisexuality and that's it. They kissed twice. They went on half a date T left in the middle of. They went out for coffee and decided to figure things out as they went. He was at the hospital after the wedding to work as a way for Buck to come out without making him go around telling everyone. He exists around Buck. And that's it. Personally I don't see the endgame material people keep seeing. I don't see the development either. And anyone can headcanon anything, really go off, have fun with your ship, but people seriously need to stop acting like what Lou is saying in cameos counts as canon. Being in the fandom right now is exhausting because people just decided things about T and BT that are not backed by canon and they get real aggressive if you don't agree. I seriously am dying to see what's gonna happen if canon goes against the idealized version of him fanon created. I don't know if it's gonna happen but by god will I be entertained by it if it does.

[mimicha-arts]

Link Click s2e9/e10

Date of the post: 09-01-2023 Okay, I watched this episode a couple of times, another post-episode post where I’m trying to gather my thoughts. SPOILERS FOR S2E9 AND E10 1. Probably missing scene I am 99% sure that we are not done with the “from the hospital to the pier” scene, I will believe until the last moment that this is a hoax. Chen Xiaoshi will run into the red light, and in fact, I think there is one missing scene at this point.

Some time ago, a small draft was published, where one of the characters ran across the road and barely dodged a moving car. Soo, I think it was here. If this remains in the final version, of course, we'll definitely come back to it (source). Just my speculation.

Yes, Xiaoshi was just impossibly lucky (lmao) to escape from the hospital, but we are still left with three unclear details:

upside down phone

the kettle in chronology 1

damn boat! This part of the plot is still the most confusing thing for me. What was the point of giving Lu Guang away the first time? What was the point of creating a time loop? Why he still ended up with Lu Guang (as it seems) in the scene of Romeo and Juliet? I'm pretty patient with this, just curious.

2. Abilities. I think we got a hint about how the twins' powers work. Previously, I assumed that the limitation of Li Tianchen's control abilities was like this: that he could only act in the evening, night and early morning (somewhere in between), since all the kills and uses of his abilities did not occur during the day. Now perhaps we have our answer? Based on the history of the foxes, it is likely that the time of using his abilities is tied to his sister's "sleeping time". Because when she was sleeping, her brother went for "hunting". Moreover, such a focus is on his “paws” and pats.

3. Change of events - Qian Jin and twins The way twins met Qian Jin is SO different. I actually kinda think, that that one of the variants of events is the already fucked up past through the present. s2e9:

s2e8:

It seems to me that the difference in these events is obvious. Both the moment itself and the details. Li Tianchen's backpack on his back, blood on Li Tianxi's dress. Everything went differently.

Alternate realities went brrrrr? The scene from the episode is an attempt to change events, where instead of Qian Jin it is actually Cheng Xiaoshi? I have no idea. 4. Hi, hatman! Friendly reminder: it's just my guessing. At the moment it seems to me that if there is no trolling here, the boy from the flashbacks and the hunter from the fairy tale are the same character. Clearly. We know that his last name is Liu, and Liu Min himself has a younger brother, Liu Xiao, so yeah- Сan't wait for him to return from overseas and be part of a real scene.

In fact, I really love that Li Tianchen hoped throughout his expression that Liu Min is Liu Xiao (whether he realizes that these are different people is still unclear)

Considering the announcement of Neo Aurora, it seems that we will see Liu Xiao's real appearance and design in the near future, I'm shaking. I have so many stupid jokes about him! 6. Liu Min I guess the woman they were discussing at the beginning was someone else? Since Liu Min can still able to move his legs and even can stand up.

I can conclude that Emma was not the first victim of this “alliance.” So it's hard to say how many people were actually killed, definitely not 8, much more. At least that's what it seems to me. Idk, I'm just having fun, as always. Feel free to discuss. Thanks for reading ~

[herecirmsims]

New posepacks: Crutches (left and right) and Hospital Reactions

Today is a two - technically three - posepack day! These were both requests that I made for @dellsiming a while ago and never got round to posting. I’ve since added left leg versions to the Crutches posepack and fixed the emission problem with the accs, and am uploading them together because they go together lmao.

HOSPITAL REACTIONS posepack

8 solo negative emotions for a Sim in a hospital bed. For this posepack you will need: - Hospital bed UP - Blanket SHORT and CURVED - Pillow UP From @anothersimstory-blog . Get them here. Please, I beg you, do not use these without the blanket - I couldn’t fit a Sim in the bed without breaking them rather horribly under the blanket so... er... don’t look. 

Download posepack here (SFS)

CRUTCHES posepack

10 solo positive emotions for a Sim using crutches. These were made on request using the crutches by Maretabuniketa who has since deactivated, so I’m uploading the accs as well since I think all the available crutch posepacks use them - I’ve also removed the emission map that was making them flash before. All credit goes to Maretabuniketa for creating these accessories. They can both be found in the bracelet category.

Download LEFT LEG posepack here (SFS) Download RIGHT LEG posepack here (SFS) Download crutch accessories here (SFS)

Please note: the crutches are separate accessories, both found in the bracelet category, and you’ll need to equip both for my poses as they’re designed to work with two crutches. You can use only one, but the spare hand will look odd!

My poses are free, but if you’d like to support me you can leave me a Ko-Fi! This REALLY helps me so thank you so much to those who’ve left a tip, and no worries if you can’t - I know times are tough for all right now.

@ts4-poses

[milkemie]

milkemieee hiiiiiii.

I love your content it inspired me to try and love my sims (though I'm incredibly impatient and want to hurry along the storylines). Though I read on one of your answers that you dont like to see your characters as characters in a storyline. so I wanted to ask you, how do you play your sims without getting impatient and without a storyline?

I took one of your advices and started them as teens and they are currently in the phase where they like each other and do cute things together but they aren't officially dating. I'm just excited to get the stage with you shin, mayumi and Maya but that's simyears away. Also how do you maintain friendships with your sims without playing them (are they also a part of your 'storyline") I KEEP SAYING STORYLINE but I was just wondering on advice to play without the need to play God.

Also little extra question I have, what's your opinion on the new game INZOI that's threatening to take over sims? Do you think you'd ever shift to INZOI?

Love your content keep creatinggg

hii!

that's right i don't see my sims as characters in a storyline (as in like characters in a tv show for example) because then i feel like i will have to control their lives & personalities too much it actually didn't take that long for me to make shin & maya date, it only took about 2 weeks of playing before i let them start dating (they were just so into eachother and had already started living together, they wanted to kiss so bad lmao)

now this will depend on if you have expansion & game packs, but i make shin & maya do a lot of activities that i sometimes don't film, like taking the kids to parks & waterparks, going on hikes, going skiing, going to all 3 mt. komorebi festivals, going to restaurants & cafés, making them buy groceries in henford on bagley, making mayumi's pediatrician check her health at home or at the hospital, making hina sleep over at her friends' houses, it's also by doing more and more activities that you learn more about your sims and what they like & dislike

shin & maya don't have many friends but they sometimes hang out with them or invite them over, if your sims are sociable you can try and make them meet new people or make them create or join clubs, shin & maya recently befriended a grandma that lives a few blocks away from them for example, she sometimes comes over to chat and play with mayumi & they sometimes visit her and give her gifts (mayumi loves her cats!) i also think it's great to have your sims enroll in university, i had both shin & maya work hard at university, maya was pregnant so i had to make sure she was okay and i had shin work multiple jobs on the side to pay the bills, now that they have jobs i make them level up their skills especially the ones needed to get promoted at work & make more money to keep improving their quality of life

inZOI

i don't plan on shifting my focus to inzoi content, the game is still new so it lacks a lot of features that i would want (toddlers, pets, more interesting careers etc) but i'm open to trying it when it launches depending on how they plan on making money, i still don't know if the game will be free and have expansion packs like the sims or if it'll be something else entirely i did experiment with the character creation demo, and i really liked the ability to choose any color for your zoi’s clothes, i wish the sims had that instead of limiting us to preset swatches

overall i just think it's great that the sims finally has some real competition, they've had a monopoly for so long that they could sometimes release low quality packs that don't add much to the game, now that they have competitors they’ll be forced to create better packs which is great for us!

[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.

[elliesmainhoe]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write about streamer Ellie with SFX makeup artist gf reader. Like Ellie will be streaming and reader will come in with super cool or scary make up and Ellie will just blow up with praise about how good it is and tell you to join her. Or if she’s playing a horror game you’ll come in with scary makeup and spook her and the viewers love it!!!

Ellie Williams Headcanons: SFXArtist!Reader X Streamer!Ellie

Definitely met you over Instagram.

She was laying in bed, scrolling through her favourite video game hashtag- when she stumbled on a post you made with hyper-realistic SFX make-up.

yourinstagram

1,845 likes

yourinstagram this took me twelve hours, I wish I was joking 🧍

ewiliiams holy fuck that's cool!!

yourinstagram replying to @ewilliams- awwe thanks ❤️ appreciate it xoxo. (Love your streams btw)

view 21 more comments

(screenshot sourced by hollymurraymakeup on tiktok)

Next stream she's chatting about how cool you look and confesses to stalking your insta

Little does she know you where watching

Had you giggling and kicking your feet as well as giving you the confidence to slide into her DMs

Eventually after a few months of chatting you two pull a classic U-Haul lesbian andice in with her.

She doesn't tell chat about the developments in her love life until you decided one day to cause chaos.

Ellie had told you she wouldd be staying up later than usual tonight to stream a newly released horror game realistic zombies as a main feature.

You'd created zombies with prosthetics and makeup about a million times and had perfected exactly what products to apply and to which part of your face. You'd started a few hours before Ellie was set to start streaming so you'd already gotten the naked prosthetics on your face by the time she'd began the gameplay.

An hour into the stream, when Ellie was exploring an abandoned hospital, the lights were dim, the game had an absence of music giving off an unnerving atmosphere- you knew it was time to set your plan into motion.

Ellie was well-known for her immersive gameplay experiences, the LED lights of her office connected to her monitor so when the game was dim, so were her lights. If her character was submerged in water, her light would turn the same murky brown colour.

The hospital she was in was dimly light, making her set up also turn dim so when you snuck into the background of her office the viewers didn't immediately clock into you. You stood there for about 30 seconds, forcing your body to imitate the movements of the undead enemies that hunted Ellie.

User1: What the actual fuck is that in the background?!?!!

User2: your setup is sick man

User1: please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this!!!!!!!!!

User3: Holy shit.

User4: That's freaky as fuck.

Of course, Ellie being her usual oblivious self was too distracted to notice the spam of comments that flooded her chat until a voice donation brought back her attention.

User5 donated $30 'look behind you'

An out of character screech came from Ellie as soon as she spun around to see you, the screech eventually turned into a burst of laughter as you playfully imitated a zombie, stumbling towards her. She opens her arms as you fall into her lap- biting at her neck as she played along- pretending to flail before acting dead.

User7: Whats going on lmao

User8: Ellie's dating a zombie?

User8: a HOT zombie aswell.

"uhhh, so chat.... This is my girlfriend, Y/N,"

-------------------

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @eywaskisses @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @ellies-girl @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647 @gumdropkoo @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @womaniza @namgification @kimiisims-blog @tayyyystan @abigaillovestoread @whoreshores @kylieeluvstlou @knowitsforthebetterr @endureher @erikaar @lanasluverr @sayah13 @ilovebufflesbians @srryhoneyy @222fine444u @jade1212 @frogtits1 @casually-simping @amoebagrl @cilliansangel

[charlewiss]

dare / mick schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

summary: he has had a crush on you for the longest time. what happens when someone challenges him to do something about it?

word count: 957 words.

warnings: reuploaded cause it wasn't reaching anyone lmao I really liked this one and wanted it to go well :( also, italic parts are supposed to be said in french

even though the challenge was relatively easy to explain (after all, they just had to taste different kitcats and guess the flavours), it was getting progressively harder to keep focus when a certain german boy was looking at you with the most attentive eyes you've ever seen.

you had been working with haas for a few months now, as part of the social media team. your job was to create new fun challenges for the youtube channel that could show the personalities of the drivers while also maintain them entertained during the free time they sporadically had at the race weekends.

but since you came to the first race of the season, you just couldn't keep your eyes away from mick. you knew that it was wrong, so you never dared to say or do anything about it. just keep your safe distance and try to not blush every time his ocean blue eyes stared directly into your caramel brown ones. which, today, was proving to be harder than you expected.

'so, just eat it and say what flavor they are?' kevin asked, already seated in his place while putting away his phone. 'while blindfolded' you replied, handing them both the black piece of cloth. with mick's help, kevin put on the mask. when he had finished, the blonde boy shifted his gaze to you, and raised his eyebrows while signaling at the small piece on his hand. 'can you help me?'

you made your way towards him, and standing behind his back, helped him tie the mask. you tried to ignore how red mick got when you accidentally caressed his hair when you had secured the mask in its place. his demeanor changed almost immediately, but there was no time to ask questions, as the camera started rolling.

it was a couple of hours later, and you were in the little cafeteria that was placed inside the hospitality, working to get the video done to post it the next day. it was getting kinda late so everybody that had finished their tasks for the day was leaving, but you still needed to check the last part of the footage and edit it correctly.

mick was outside with esteban, his best friend at alpine, with whom he did the track walks every race weekend. the two of them approached the door, with the french boy about to leave before nodding at you and asking mick. 'you still haven't asked her out?'. the blonde one could feel his cheeks reddening instantly. 'what are you talking about?'

esteban laughed. he couldn't believe that his best friend thought he was being discreet. 'i don't know, maybe about your crush with the new media girl? you've been throwing puppy love eyes at her since the season started'.

they were used to switch between french and english without a problem, but they didn't notice that kevin was right behind them, and the piece of information reached his ears in the perfect language for him to understand. 'oh, you're talking about y/n?' he said, now making his presence known. mick's eyes widened instantly, and he felt like if looks could kill, his best friend would be dead on the floor. 'he wouldn't dare to tell her anything. hell, i don't think he's even capable of speaking to her' kevin joked, which made esteban laugh. the german boy couldn't believe that they were laughing at his face and his cheeks reddened again, now accompanied with a frown.

'i've talked to her before. I just don't want to bother her when she's busy' he said angrily, while peeping with his eyes inside the hospitality to see you looking at the notebook screen frustrated. it had been hours since you started editing and you were growing tired.

kevin and esteban noticed his lingering stare instantly, and smiled at eachother. 'i dare you to buy her a coffee' said his teammate, and mick's eyes returned to the two guys in front of him. 'i think she would gladly appreciate it' esteban added, and then he left, rather fast, to avoid being punched by his friend. but kevin stayed, and his smirk was only growing with the passing seconds. 'i knew you wouldn't dare'.

'watch me' said mick, and regretted it instantly when he crossed the doors and entered the hospitality. of course, the german wasn't one to be scared of anything, and being the competitive guy that he was, he just couldn't refuse the challenge. but he did it without giving it a second thought, and now was in too deep to go back. would you prefer coffee or tea? what was your order? would you think he was awkward?

so he went with something he was sure you would like: a rather simple vainilla latte and a cookie. of course, he asked for the same for him, and once the order was done, he made a beeline to your table.

'hey, sorry to bother, saw you were working for a while and thought that you may need something to eat' mick said, and even though normally he wasn't a shy guy, you noticed that he was acting quiet and avoiding your stare. 'not bothering at all. thank you! you can sit here if you like'. he nodded and proceeded to sit next to you, sipping his coffee.

you two sat there and talked until the video was finally exported and ready to upload. after watching it again to be sure that it was good to go, and laughing about the different faces that mick did when he didn't like a certain flavour, you scheduled it to be posted at the right time.

it was getting late, so mick offered to take you back to the hotel. after all, you two were staying at the same place, just different floors. while you two were walking side by side to his car, you didn't notice the driver watching you from afar, smiling. 'just took a stupid dare' said kevin laughing to himself.