#my dad is good with computers so he should be able to fix it but he's working now and so he can only fix it on the weekend

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. the husband and his wife

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[noeggets]

felt like drawing my kids, sorta AU cause i drew them kinda different half my designs, i aged up the navi's sorta

information about them bc it's long and self indulgent from me talking to my friend

Enzan

Age: 11 (but turns 12 before Lan does making him slightly older and he will use this in a argument if he wants to)

I HC him french because of his english name they just moved to Dentech city at some point

Protoman

Age: in his 40's. 2 or 3 years younger then Enzan's father.

Backstory He was Enzan's mom's Navi (her name is Glace bc i watched the dub but apparently this website believes Enzan's english translated name is a swear word but his name on his wiki means Hot Blaze or something like that but it's french so his mom is french that is the HC i will stand on) i diagress, when she passed he was given to Enzan

other information: His Navi model was discontinued because it was buggy and glitchy, nobody could fix it (nobody wanted to try) so they just stop using whatever AI brain chip he has to make Navi's like him. He dislikes Enzan's father because he feels like he should have never got his original netop pregnant because she was sickly and giving birth is what ended her life he believes because she was ill he whole heartedly believes that what it was however the exchange was Enzan and he loves that child as his own, very rough relationship with Enzan's father

Lan

Age: 11

other information: His Mom and Dad are divorced because Yuichiro loves his work more then anything excluding Lan and Megaman he loves his kids. they are still friends and love Lan equally. Lan lives with his mom Megaman used to live with their dad in his testing phase but he's in Lan's PET so he lives with Lan and his Mom now. his original home is at Yuichiro lab, the PET and Lan's Computer is his new home he is able to jump to whichever he decides. His dad is Netopian/American

Megaman

Age: age unknown youth model - He hasn't existed that long but at the same time he was created to be around Lan's age

Backstory

created from the dna of deceased twin of lan hub. technically he is a twin but he isn't Hub he is a copy created with the DNA. He is not Hub tho.

other information: he doesn't understand social cues and tends to speak his mind, he is wiser then Lan but not knowledgeable in subjects people/Navi's his age should know about. He can solve complex problems and understand wrong from right but when it starts becoming being a world experience issue he can't really help you

Maylu

Age: 11 (older then Lan younger then Enzan, taller then Lan brags about it sometimes)

other information: American/Netopian, has whatever an american accent would be called in this world, she had a hard to learning Japanese but can speak it fluidly, cannot write it that well. Very chill at the same time the loudest person in the room if bothered. Likes this kid name Zackery in their school cough Zero COUGH he has a whole story that he is Willy's son who Willy turned into a Navi but nobody knows it yet

Roll

Age: youth model around 16 or 18

Backstory

Normal custom edited Navi from base youth model in stores no interesting background

other information: adapted the traits of being kinda selfish and needy. It's hard for her to stand not having her way, very girly Maylu did not make her this way she just developed a personality outside of her environment because she does not act anything like Maylu this is not a bad thing but it isn't a good thing either lol we love roll still

[raddestrose]

OK, so after that, absolute downer of a goddamn episode

in this next one, I’m also gonna be reapplying my makeup that I cried off and painting my nails pink because that was actually heartbreaking and I still have a headache from crying. My eyes are still puffy and my nose is still stuffy.

what the hell Dr. Stone I thought we were chill

I JUST SPILLED SOME OF MY CHERRY COLA ON MY WHITE SHIRT

CANT A GIRL GET A WIN AROUND HERE

apparently, I can’t because as soon as I finished fixing my make up, I got on TikTok and the first thing I saw was about Senku and his father and not my eyes are watering again. I just redid my makeup you guys. I can’t do it for a third time today.

OK, I’m gonna watch the next episode now 

Let’s hope I don’t cry again

oh also the ending sequence for the show this specific one actually wrecked me because what the heck they’re really hammering in the fact that his dad is dead. I need a second a moment of peace I beg of you, Dr. Stone, please.

 did you take like a master class of naming things cause like kingdom of science and empire might don’t really just pop in your head like at the first moment so like bro, really honored that for a moment

Did his eyeliner get darker? It looks thicker than before.

this is the first time that Kinro being a stick in the mud actually helped them out

oh hell, that’s a lot of guys

SAIKI??!!

what are you doing out in the Stone world man shouldn’t you be fighting dark reunion?

SUIKA GET YOUR WATERMELON NOW BROS GOTTA SEE

is that pig Latin?

Did I hear that right like seriously not even like comment commentating genuine question did I hear that right?

welp it’s time to run

OH SHIT KINRO

this is actually an awful position to put stone deku in you guys are asking him to kill his brother do you know how cruel that is?

Fuck them kids that’s my brother. I’m saving his ass.

oh my God, he’s doing it

I think you just set him off after no he’s crying. Oh shoot I think he’s gonna rage. I feel so bad for him. oh this is so sad. 

I need Senku and five minute crafts to 1v1 right now

OK, but like for real this is the second time he’s speaking pig Latin right that’s the right term for it. I am so genuinely lost and have to make sure I’m not tweaking the hell out.

Wait, did they just make a cannon

OH HE MADE A FAKE GUN

all right, I see you man that’s slick

 I can’t believe it actually worked actually wait I can. It’s Senku. Of course it’s gonna work 

I like how my phone and talk to text are both getting more and more used to me saying Senku like every two sentences that it’s getting closer and closer to spelling his name correctly each time

Senku I beg of you please get this guy glasses your tank should be able to see. Unless you want to TPK, He’s gotta have 2020 vision.

dude, you were stabbed in the gut that is NOT a minor injury

oh great now we got another number nerd who always says numbers and has catchphrases with numbers in it

also total sidetrack I really wish I was filming all this so you guys could see me actually like cry my eyes out and then like 15 minutes later see me yell at my computer again over hearing the term 180°

Oh Hyoga, buddy there is no way in hell. Actually no one could help that you guys would be able to beat a fight. He’s got science and plot armor and the power of friendship along with fake fire arms on his side you’re toast, cooked even 

Oh Kinro you little cutie patootie with your new shades just don’t die now

Oh he’s posin and I heard that sound effect,he is feeling it 

I keep forgetting, how jacked yoked and absolutely buff that old guy is it’s a jump scare every time he takes all of his clothes off for some reason

I know for like plot and timing reasons it storms like days later, but I really think it would be super funny. If it doesn’t rain for like another few months and they’re just waiting and waiting and waiting.

Oh my, Senku you’re so good at playing with damsel in distress I actually got worried for a second

THEY MADE KATANAS THAT IS SICK

HELL YEAH fight them with swords swords are the best. Oh, you do not know what’s coming for you you morons

yeah, buddy seeing clearly is like the usual you should be seeing clearly

THIS IS THE POWER OF GLASSES

It makes me laugh, even harder, knowing that his character means that with his full chest

I don’t know how but like that line that Ginro how was the most Deku I have ever heard Deku Deku

I really should put commas in these sentences but leaving them out makes for great comic value so best of luck reading

HOLD THE ACTUAL FUCK UP sorry for swearing right then, but what in the actual God-given hell is that man’s hair? 

…….

Um I’m actually like at a loss for words. I can’t string together and insult harsh enough to deal with this haircut. I…. you would’ve thought that somebody would’ve pulled him aside and said not to go out like Pippi Longstocking his hair looks so bad that that has to be on purpose. No, you can’t even make something look that bad on purpose that had to of been like some kind of natural disaster caused that hairstyle. If it was that hairstyle if I was forced to have that hairstyle, I would just go bald he’s already like a third of the way there just tear off the Band-Aid dude this is hurting me more than going fully bald.

 I like how the craftsman has like no idea what the heck Senku says like more than half the time, but he is like all for it

I’d turn tail and run man, staying would just be more embarrassing

magma lock the fuck in

This is why you suck

OK Saiki we get it. You’re cool. There’s no need to hold that pose for like 15 seconds.

see he doesn’t pay attention to plans. He doesn’t listen. This is why I stay hating.

is that why their shoes look so dumb so they have a little platform to bounce off of

girly if you’re gonna do split flips like that, I beg of you to have shorts on under that dress you’re gonna catch a case

how could he predicted that move? I wouldn’t even of thought of that 

neither did I Ginro

Oh Gen you sneaky little rat. Good on you man ,actually that’s clever.

The squeals and squeaks this guy makes will never fail to make me absolute cackle

I would never betray your trust😢😧

Well, damn😒

what the fuck is that face buddy? I think you need some moisturizer. I don’t think your face should be making that face that does not look natural. Oh my gosh.

Flower Power Gen

you flower language bitch, DAMN I wish I was that cool

I for my sake I’m going to make a very strong point to not watch the end credit sequence because I will cry again. I’ve already talked about that on this post never mind.

[wordsunbound]

Chasing After You by Bri Warren

Chapter One:

I sat on my bed with my computer in my lap with discord open, revealing my chatroom with my boyfriend, Augustus Parrish. He lived in California while I lived in Missouri, we had been in a long distant relationship for a couple of years now. However, I wanted to end things for the better.

We were one of those annoying on and off again couples despite how much I tried for us not to be. Gus and I were just bad together. We were like an atomic bomb ready to explode at any second and destroy everything in our paths.

At first, the relationship was beautiful, wholesome, and perfect. He was there for me when my mother passed away from a neurological disease, and just recently my dad passed away from a hemorrhage. I'm grateful Gus was there for that but I just don't think I can do this anymore.

I had been wanting out of the relationship for a while but I thought things would get better. That's what the elderly said about relationships. In order to keep things going you have to fix things together, but that was not the case for us. We were always fighting about little things that ended up with him crying or me. We were toxic together.

I looked back at the chat to see what he said:

GustlePup: 9:30am Good morning, baby! GustlePup: 9:31am I love you! You're so beautiful!!!!! GustlePup: 9:47am I can't wait to hear your beautiful voice!

I replied to him:

CherryQueen: 10:00am Good morning CherryQueen: 10:01am I need to call you if you're not busy please

My phone rang and it read on the screen: Gussie ❤️. I picked up on the second ring, "Hey, Gus, I know I just woke up but I really need to tell you something."

I could hear him shuffling on the other end and then he cleared his throat, "Uh, okay. What's up, Chels?"

I grabbed at the brown bear on my bed, thumbing at his right ear. Clearing my own throat I allowed the words to tumble out of my rosy lips, "I think we should break up. I can't keep fighting with you every single day and crying. I just can't anymore, Gus."

My eyes were burning intensely as tears threatened to fall from my hazel-green eyes. I could tell he was hurt because of how his breath hitched upon hearing my words that struck him like an arrow in the chest.

"I knew you would do this! You've been acting weird for weeks and now you break things off! Who is it? Is it Cole? What did I do?" Gus was asking so many questions that I couldn't even comprehend anything else.

I stopped him as tears filled my throat and my eyes, "Gus, I cannot take this anymore. We are both a bad match and the distance isn't helping. This isn't about Cole-"

"Then who is this about?" Gus demanded with irritation clearly in his voice, which quickly changed to a softer tone. "Because I knew you'd leave me. I can't handle life without you, Chelsea.. Please don't leave me. Please."

I took a deep breath and said, "Gus, please I just need to be me. I gotta go, okay? I have to think about some things."

Before he could get another word in, I hung up the phone and placed it on my night stand. Was it cruel to do to him? Maybe, but I really needed to get ready for my day off at home from work.

After a quick shower, I was back on my phone trying to get ahold of my friend Kylee via text. I had already told my sister and my best friend, Cat, about the break up; they were happy for me.

Kylee texted me back finally as I shoved a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth:

Who's ass am I kicking?

I laughed and quickly texted back:

Mine and Gus's I guess. I broke up with him and now he just can't leave me alone. Oh, btw are you still coming over to talk to Cat?

Kylee and I were friends last year until our ex roommate, Farrah, decided to conspire against all of us in the house. She was able to convince Kylee that Cat was not nice to the cat that Kylee had purchased as a gift for Farrah and Cat. So Kylee and Farrah took the cat when we were not home, and Farrah moved in with Kylee for a short period. Farrah ended up moving back home to her parents house in Tennessee with Cat's cat.

Kylee and I had put together a plan to hopefully rekindle Kylee and Cat's friendship even though it was a crazy idea.

Kylee and I were going to drive to Tennessee to get back Cheeto.

Kylee replied to me:

I'm on my way there now

@theink-stainedfolk

[atsoraasayoma]

Guess that Digidestined Part Three!

Next on our list we have the stoic Iori. At first I considered him just a background character to just kind of fill in a slot. He just seemed to exist there to playoff the strengths of the other Digidestined. He exacerbates the loudness of Daisuke with his calm logic. He appears dull in light of Miyako’s outgoing personality. And yet he gives me Takeru vibes-like a younger Takeru vibe- just more mature.

At first I never really cared for Iori-like at all. There was just no enduring outstanding trait about him. I get how reliable and curious/wise he is because of his dad’s career path influence being a police officer and his grandfather and really taking things to heart. In truth the way I looked at him was really at a surface level.

What I did not see for awhile was the image of a young man trying to find his life’s purpose through the lives of others. -A young man that, much like Ken but in a quiet way was dealing with his own grief losing his father.

His character really fleshed out when I stopped comparing him to the others. I found out Iori speaks loudest with his actions. Swinging a Kendo stick, sticking up for his beliefs, putting in his two cents but all while not losing himself emotionally for the most part-

-heck even not wasting a cherry tomato because it would be wasteful- he lives by his moral compass and dies by his moral compass. He does not need praise or a pat on the back - but merely to be acknowledged and respected.

At times he seems awkward-almost out of place. But that is indeed due to his maturity. He is an only child and devoted himself to whatever he puts his mind to-and will not compromise. Yet he is not so blind that he will not take others opinions and weigh them on his scale of justice.

I would say his most defining moment was lifting the dying body of Oikawa as he desperately sought to help him fulfill his dream. Of course, he was emotional before, but this situation literally tore off the mask of justice seeing the redemption of his father’s friend and saw how even an ‘evil’ person could be redeemed. He witnessed it through Ken- but he was more emotionally invested in this redemption arc.

And that’s Iori for you. In short Iori is fair, and blameless to a fault.

Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. In the conversation’s below who do you think Iori is speaking to?

Digidestined A: It’s nice how you hold onto the values of your grandfather. He’s pretty good at Shogi too. I wonder if we can see him again soon?

Iori: Tea and rice cakes it is then. I’ll arrange the meeting. and of course, all of you are invited as long as you mind your manners.

Digidestined B: I get what it’s like wanting to do your best having a strong sense of justice but sometimes Iori that can be a dangerous thing. You have to look at it seeing if what you’re doing ends up hurting those you care about.

Iori: I will take your words to heart, but that does not diminish my resolve. No matter what happens what’s right is right. And what’s wrong is wrong. The moment I start doubting that will be a Dark day for sure.

Digidestined C: If you condemn me Iori so be it. But like you I stand by my actions. Look at the person I am now- not the person I was before.

Iori: You can’t undo what’s been done. Your past is a part of you and is shaping your own resolve that I have borne witness to. I don’t condemn you but I caution you and warn you if you go down that path again you may not be able to come back from it this time.

Digidestined D: We’ve been friends for awhile and I can’t tell you how many times you’ve kept me fed with your mom’s cooking!

Iori. The feeling is mutual. I would have gone through at least a dozen computers had you not fixed it all those times. I am grateful.

Digidestined E: Listen. You should take a page from my book and lighten up. Get some sunshine. Have a candy bar or see a movie. You’ll feel a lot better.

Iori: …If I took a ‘page’ from your book then I would already be at the end of it. I relax from time to time but unlike you I never let my guard down.

[3liza]

he's definitely not gay-gay, he's very very into women, you know when dudes are Into Women in a way beyond hooting and grabbing etc, positive heterosexuality in a sense, but I could definitely see him being a Kinsey 4 or around there and just overcompensating like most men of his generation do (and most men still feel they have to, or have to, depending on their circumstances). also his older brother is capital G Gay and was gay and out in like. the 80s and 90s if not before then. I have no idea how the family handled that, my parents are older than most parents of millennials so there is a significant age gap between me and my generation of my family, all my cousins are like 20 years older than I am. and then my brother also is gay and that seems to really rattle my dad in weird ways and he has hangups about my brother being fragile or unmanly that my dad just doesn't have about me, he fully treats me as if I'm successfully embodying his ideals of manhood and has done so since I was a tiny baby.

in microcosm, it's a good example of how masculine coded behavior is considered honorable and beneficial for everyone, but being feminine is shameful, especially for men but even for women, but also feminine behavior and feminine attractiveness was good. dad would remonstrate with me about timidity or fussiness or being unprepared for emergencies or not being able to fix my appliances or whatever by negatively framing this behavior as "things women do", but simultaneously never acknowledged that if that was so, it would be appropriate for me to behave that way [if I was female]. so this created an interesting childrearing environment where the expectation was that I would learn both sets of gendered behaviors and skills: makeup, dressing, posture, grooming, speaking, car maintenance, shooting guns, trigger discipline, math, reading and writing, riding horses (gender of this activity unclear), climbing with and without ropes, marching and hiking, ignoring discomfort and illness, "exercise", driving manual transmission, research, computers, haircare, etc etc. and for whatever value we can assign to gendered and ungendered childrearing, it "worked", and now I'm the way I am. very odd.

and then my parents had a second child who was actually assigned male and it's like he didn't know what to do with that at all. I think he identified with my brother too much and all his anxieties about not being manly enough were projected on my poor little brother, who really was more sensitive and emotional than I (the stoic, bloodthirsty child) ever was. and as a result my brother missed out on a ton of the stuff my dad used to do with me. and I think this is because the female child who expressed any discomfort with a challenging situation would be accepted for displaying innate female weakness and simply encouraged to overcome it, but the male child was not allowed to start from the same place and instead immediately rejected for not immediately being manly. again the comparisons to King of the Hill are clear, except my dad was never a football star, he just thought that he should have been, so he considered my brother's "failure" to be a muscly jock a failure as well, even though it would have been borderline impossible for my parents to produce such a child either genetically or environmentally.

there's a fatphobic element too, because I was always underweight so I superficially appeared "athletic" and stringy, and my brother was always slightly plump (like my dad) and my dad is incredibly self conscious about never having the action man muscle body he felt he should have, not even when he was in the army or doing freakish athletic exercise like hang gliding or working on a dude ranch (not made up examples, he actually did both of these things and was slightly fat the whole time. because that's normal, but he didn't feel it was normal or acceptable).

so idk. my brother and I are both in a great place when it comes to relating to our parents so it's not an active, seething family issue. dad has taken full advantage of the veteran's administration finally and really gone to therapy and really figured his shit out so I think once I get a chance to talk him through a lot of this stuff we'll get some answers.

I don't really understand why my dad, a Silent Generation Vietnam veteran who can most accurately be compared to Hank Hill in appearance and mannerisms, is so cunty. but he also was the one to tell me about wearing your panties on top of your tights to keep your tights from falling down around your knees (less useful if you need to avoid pantyline, but still works well [or better] with a thong). my mom didn't teach me that. where did he learn this stuff. is he the only straight man on earth who actually pays attention to what women are doing?? we just don't know

[echoghost1]

Burning Away Stress

Summary: After surviving something that was meant to kill him he thought school might be easier.

He should have known better.

Word Count: 1,624

Prompt: Danny’s having a bad day and decides to fix that… with arson

For: @phantomphangphucker

Part two of Disassembly Required

You can read on AO3 or down below the cut.

Danny didn’t understand why Tucker disliked hospitals so much. He’d been stuck in one for a month and he’d been having a great time!

Sure the first few hours were pretty rough, but once he showed signs that he was going to recover, everything changed.

Every little bit of progress he made was celebrated. At first, he could only wiggle his fingers and toes, but as the weeks went on he could do more and more.

They practically threw a party the first time he was able to grab and hold onto something.

They actually did throw a party when he got out of bed on his own. They had pizza and he even got to wear a little party hat.

During the last two weeks of his stay, he was in physical therapy re-learning how to walk.

He wasn’t used to so many adults being so proud of him. It was nice.

Part of him wanted to just stay and recover forever. He knew that was both impossible and not a good thing, but still, he didn’t want such a nice thing to end.

There was also another amazing thing that happened while he was at the hospital. Something he didn’t see coming at all.

The head doctor led a meeting with him and his parents. The doctor basically wanted consent to run extra tests on Danny to try and understand how he survived and how he was getting better.

The doctor kept calling it a “medical miracle”, but the way he said it sounded more like “freakish impossibility”.

Danny wasn’t sure what he would have said if he had been asked. He knew it would help other people if they were able to figure it out. He liked being helpful.

But the thought of being tested on…

He was so anxious during that meeting.

Not just because of what was being asked, but, because he was a minor, his parents were the ones that were making this decision.

He had no idea what they were going to say.

Would they be all for it?

Would they want to be involved?

Would they want to do it all themselves?

Would they even notice that he didn’t want to?

But then his mom said, “No.”

Not only no, but “My baby boy is alive. I don’t care how.”

And then his Dad added, “He’s a Fenton, that’s all you need to know.”

Hearing them say that made him happy in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.

Maybe it was hope?

================================================



And then he went back to school.

Since he was still technically in recovery, he had to use a wheelchair all day. It was both nice and annoying. It's not like he couldn't walk, but he did get tired pretty easily.

He was a fool for thinking that was going to be the worst of his problems.

Being chair-bound, those in charge thought that meant he wouldn't be able to get around on his own.

That was completely false, but whatever.

If that had been all, he could have managed. His friends and sister would have been more than happy to help. They even offered to do so.

But no.

It was decided he needed a single dedicated person. A person who shared all of his classes.

Sam had an art class when Danny had a study hall.

Tucker had a computer class when Danny had gym and was in a different math class.

Jazz didn't share any of his classes. Obviously.

There was one person who did.

Out of his entire class. One person.

Dash Baxter.

If his voice weren’t still shot, he would have screamed.

Instead, Danny had to endure being pushed around from class to class by someone who usually preferred to push him into his locker.

To make matters worse, everyone was staring at him. They looked away when he looked. Pretending they weren't, but he knew.

He could feel their eyes on him all day.

They all kept staring at the scar on his neck.

That jagged pale line that went all the way around.

He didn’t blame them for staring. Sometimes he’d catch himself looking for too long in the mirror. Or tracing his fingers along it when his mind wandered.

He just wished they didn’t try to hide it.

He wished they didn’t avoid him so much.

Wished they stop whispering behind his back.

He was both the center of attention and completely ignored at the same time.

They all wanted to talk about him, about what happened to him.

No one wanted to talk to him.

He hadn’t been expecting a parade or a party, but thought people would at least welcome him back with some kind of greeting.

Thought they might say anything at all.

All they did was stare.

They would point.

They would whisper.

On top of all that he had to deal with everyone praising Dash for wheeling Danny around.

As if the oaf volunteered for the position.

As if he wasn’t doing it the worst way possible. Stopping short, starting without warning, going way too fast, and constantly crashing the wheels into door frames.

Clearly, Dash was the real hero here.

Not the kid who survived being a modern-day ritualistic human sacrifice.

Danny only made it to his fourth-period science class before he wanted to tear his own hair out.

He resisted the urge to do that, but he did glare a lot.

Never at anyone, or even at anything in particular. Just whatever was straight ahead.

They were doing an experiment today, but since Danny was still “banned from handling all fragile school property”, he wasn’t allowed to participate.

Not that he could even reach the counter from his chair anyway.

So he glared.

Glared at the only thing in his sightline.

The flame coming from the Bunsen burner.

He ripped a piece off the corner of his worksheet and held it close to the flame.

The bit of paper turned to ash and fell onto the countertop.

No one was paying any attention to him so he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Once all four corners were gone, he moved to the edges, pulling long strips and testing how far he could be and still burn the paper.

Eventually, he ran out of paper.

That’s when he noticed the little book of matches.

He casually reached across the tabletop and palmed the matches. The teacher had plenty. These wouldn’t be missed.

================================================

His next class was English.

As much as he wanted to play with his matches, he knew he couldn’t. Matches have a smell, he’d get caught in no time.

Instead, he just imagined it. The sound of the matched head running across the striker. The way the flame danced. The thrill of trying to hold on as long as you can before the flame reaches your fingertips.

By the end of class, he was in a much better mood.

Then he had gym.

Even though he wasn’t going to be doing anything in this class either, Dash didn’t just drop him off at the gymnasium.

No.

He wheeled him right into the locker room.

Danny had been really looking forward to not smelling this room today.

He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and fiddled with the matchbook in his pocket.

For a moment he entertained the idea of lighting a few matches to help with the smell. He dismissed the idea when he realized the room might be more flammable than the science lab.

Maybe if no one was in here he’d try it.

The place could use a good deep clean.

He was wheeled out of the locker room before he could give in to temptation.

The weather was nice enough for gym class to be outside by the football field.

There was a pile of various equipment on the ground, a few footballs, some jump ropes, and some rackets with those stringy Koosh balls instead of tennis balls. If people didn’t want to use anything there, they could just walk around the track or sit in the grass and practice yoga.

In short, it was the most perfect gym class where you could just hang out and do whatever.

Of course, he was stuck doing nothing.

He slouched in his chair and crossed his arms.

He wasn’t pouting. He was rightfully upset.

It wasn’t fair.

This whole day was stupid.

He felt the matchbook in his pocket shift.

No one was paying attention to him.

He was outside.

He decided it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he took a little stroll. It was gym class after all. He needed to stretch his legs anyway.

He wasn’t going to go too far. He wouldn’t be overexerting himself.

He was just going to go hang out behind the football team's locker room. The one only used during practices and games.

The one that would be empty.

The one that blocked the view of what he could be getting up to if anyone looked his way.

Once he was safely in the shadow of the outbuilding he pulled out the matchbook.

He stuck the first match against the striker and watched it burn. He blew it out just as the heat reached his fingertips.

He used the bricks of the building to light the next match.

He shook out the match and dropped it into the grass with the other one.

He lit the third match.

There was a poster taped to the wall nearby. An ad for last month’s football game.

Danny held the match to the useless poster.

He smiled as the poorly cropped image of the Raven mascot succumbed to the flame.

He was feeling better already.

[ithinkabouthowtothink]

Old Times - Part IV

The relationship both Rafe X Reader always wanted falls into place. Reader hits a dilemma she has been keeping secret.

Warnings: none

Part III

The papers below you were scattered across your desk. You felt out of place somehow, just for a moment. You blink quickly out of your haze as you hear your cellphone buzzing along the wooden desk. You began moving papers trying to locate your phone before the call goes to voicemail.

Rafe calls you in his free time when he’s on site. His line of work never allows him to fully clock out but he always makes time to talk when he can.

A sigh of relief escapes your chest as your phone comes into few, peaking from behind a stack of contracts you had not yet read. Your face comes into view on the screen as you pick the phone up. FaceTime, great. You haven’t been feeling the best the past few days and it has taken a toll on your appearance. You smooth your hair out as you press the green button putting on a grin to force yourself to feel an ounce better.

“Hey pretty girl.” Rafe answers the call with a huge grin.

“I was worried you were in the zone with work.” Referring to the time it took you to answer the call.

“Oh, no my phone was playing hide and seek under all this paperwork.” You push out a laugh trying to clear your busy mind to give your boyfriend all your attention.

“Are you home? You look like you just showered?” You question as you look over at the time on your computer. ‘5:42’ reads back and you know if the sun is out, so is the crew. It’s unusual for Rafe to already be home, especially compared to you still being in the office at this time.

“One guy no-showed so the extra workload was hard on the rest if us.” Rafe huffed out as he slipped two fingers underneath the neck of his purple shirt to scratch his collarbone. You know it’s definitely a much more complicated situation than he is leading on.

“I’m sorry, baby. That can’t be easy.” You lean into the back of your chair and Rafe positions his phone on a counter as you see more of his chest coming into view.

“They needed an early night.” He shrugged his shoulders then leaned an elbow on the kitchen counter in front of him, laying his cheek into the palm of his hand, his eyes searching yours through the screen. You know he needed the night off probably more than his crew did.

You nod and smile with closed lips as you begin collecting the stray forms scattered along your desk. The way Rafe’s eyebrows keep coming together makes it known his worry for you. You avoid eye contact in fear you will say what’s on your mind. You have to tell him. This secret has been only yours for a week and you feel each day drags on as long as you’re keeping it with you.

“Baby, what’s going on? You should leave the office, you don’t look so good.” Rafe grabs the phone in an attempt to be closer to you.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” You force another laugh as you put the papers in a loose pile in the corner of your desk. Emma has already left for the day but you’ve noticed she has finished a few forms in your mental absence.

You smile when you look to his beautiful face, his eyes never have left your face. Being away from him is so hard sometimes, more so today. It’s been three months now since you and Rafe fell back into each other. You have made it work with the back and forth every weekend, alternating of course. The Cameron family dinners Rose puts on was now in your calendar to attend twice a month. Your mom has lightened up on the lectures about Rafe especially once he started going to your parent’s to do a few things around the house. You had mentioned over the phone one night about your Dad not being able to safely get onto the roof to fix a leak. A day later your mom called to thank you for having Rafe showing up. He cares and he shows it. You loved him more after receiving that phone call. Rafe still doesn’t know your mom called but he can probably guess.

“Can I call you once I get home? I need to finish a few things here with a clear mind.” You rhetorically ask. You know your mind won’t be clear until you see him face to face again.

“Yeah, babe. Uh, I love you. I’ll talk to you later.” If this were just a phone call you’d still be able to tell how upset he is. It’s clear in his voice.

“Love you too.” You say as you blow a quick kiss before hanging up. You relax back in your leather office chair and huff as your chest tightens.

****************

The loud clank of your keys on the granite counter top echo through your kitchen. You grab a coffee k-cup, placing it into the insert. The hiss of the machine lets you know your coffee is brewing.

As you walk down the stretch of the kitchen island you find yourself in the restroom before you can think about where your feet are taking you. You open the cabinet above the toilet and it stares back at you. The little stick with the digital test reading “pregnant” across the top.

You had missed your period earlier this month but never said anything to Rafe, you didn’t want to worry him because you had been stressed at work. A few minor symptoms like being tired so you’d be in bed an hour earlier than usual. You also started having a craving for savory snacks mid-morning but you assumed it was bored eating from looking over paperwork all day. Finally, it was the widening of your hips that made you drive to the nearest drug store for an answer that would appear in 3 short minutes.

You know you want a baby. A baby does not scare you at this point in your life. You have a great job and enough money to provide for a baby. The apartment situation isn’t ideal but you can manage. You’re so happy so why are you so upset? You love Rafe. Having a child with someone you live shouldn’t cause such a dilemma but it is anyway. What if Rafe isn’t ready to be a dad? The two of you talk about the near future and the plan was not a baby. Moving in together, yes. Installing a car seat, no.

You wipe tears from your cheeks and run to your bedroom. The metallic gray suitcase you have used for those long weekends at the pool house is peaking behind your closet door. You throw it on your bed as you pack for a trip you know is going to change your life.

[rachaelswrites]

Nathan Harris

Spencer Reid x Daughter!reader

Word Count: 1,539

Requested By: Anonymous

We remember nathan harris, the high school student who had sex with prostitutes and killed them, and spencer saved his life after he tried committing right? I had just thought about this today where he’s a substitute for the week at reid!reader’s school and when reid!reader comes to class, he takes roll, he calls her name and is like “Is your dad spencer reid?” because the last time he saw her was at the metro when she was teeny tiny and now she’s bigger and very pretty, and she’s like “yeah”, then after class, he tells her to stay and talk for a bit, and he tells her that spencer saved his life, and after a few minutes of talking, she starts feeling uncomfortable and she makes up an excuse to leave, so then she heads to the bau, tells spencer about her day and asks him if he knows a nathan harris, and she started explaining all these things, and spencer starts to get worried and all

Warnings: Nathan Harris being a creep

Teachers had been coming and going for the past several weeks. Your regular teacher was gone on leave so you had substitutes almost everyday. Most subs were burnt out of your class by the third day, high schoolers could be brutal. They ranged from young to old and male to female.

In class, today, all the students arrived before the teacher did. It was the first class of the day so it wasn’t a weird thing for teachers to show up a little late. You were listening to your friend talk about her weekend when the teacher walked in.

He didn’t seem too old but he wasn’t super young either. He seemed nervous but it was his first day at a new school. He’d probably heard how awful your class was and was trying to spend as little time interacting with the students as he could.

“Good morning everyone. I’m Mr. Harris and I’ll be taking over for Mr. Owens. I know you have your work for the week already so if you have questions, just ask. I’m going to take attendance now,” he sat down at the desk and logged into the computer to pull up attendance. When he got to your name, he stumbled a bit, “Uh, Y/n R-Reid?”

“Here,” you raised your hand so he could see where you were. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before moving on to the next student’s name.

After he finished taking attendance, Mr. Harris walked around the class to make sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing. When he got to your table he stood behind you and looked over your shoulder. He was too close to your liking so you pulled your chair in, creating more space between you, “Are you able to stay after class for a minute?” he asked you.

“Uh, yeah I think so. Is there a problem with my work? I can fix it right now instead,” you said. He gave off vibes that you didn’t want to be around, but it seemed no one else had a problem with him.

“I just have a few questions that’s all,” he said.

“Okay,” you went back to your work and he left you alone for the rest of class. You debated on having your dad on speed dial during the conversation. It wasn’t that you didn’t like talking to teachers after class, it was just that he creeped you out.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class. You packed up your things and walked over to the teacher’s desk. You had your phone in your hand, your dad’s contact on the screen, just in case.

“You wanted to see me Mr. Harris?” you said. You tried to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“Your dad is Spencer Reid right? He works at the FBI? He’s still a profiler?”

You nodded.

“Your dad saved my life a while ago. My name is Nathan Harris. Do you remember me? I remember that you were at the subway station when we first met,” he asked.

“I don't, I'm sorry. I should probably get going to my next class. I don’t want to be late,” you took a step away from him but he spoke again. The truth was, you did remember him. You didn’t want to tell him in case it furthered the conversation, You really wanted out of that room.

“The last time I saw you, you were so little. I think you were about two or three. You look so grown up and mature now,” he looked you up and down, making you grow even more uncomfortable, “You’re turning into a beautiful, young woman.”

“Oh uh, thank you?” you went to leave again but he stood up and took a step closer to you. You didn’t really know how to react to him so you stepped back, stumbling on your own feet, almost falling. He reached out to help, but you grabbed onto the nearby table instead.

The bell rang again, signalling the start of the next class.

“Sorry for keeping you. I’ll write you a note,” he quickly scribbled out a note and he handed it to you, “Have a good day Y/n,” You walked as fast as you could out of the classroom and to your next class.

You took the bus back to the BAU after school and immediately looked for your dad. To everyone, you looked completely flustered and stressed. JJ came over to you and put her hand on your shoulder, “Are you okay? Do you need some tea or something? You look really overwhelmed.”

‘I need to find my dad. Where is he?” you asked, ignoring her other questions.

“I think he’s in Emily’s office. Is everything okay?” she asked again.

You didn’t answer her question, instead, you dropped your bag at Spencer’s desk and went straight up to Emily’s office. You didn’t bother knocking on the door. You went in and went right to Spencer.

He was a bit shocked at the sudden contact with you but when he felt your body shaking, his shock turned to concern, “Hey hey, calm down Y/n,” he put his hand on your back and started rubbing circles with his thumb, “Take a deep breath alright?” he waited until your breathing was evened out and you had stopped shaking. Emily had left her office, giving you and Spencer the space you needed. He didn’t want to force you to talk so he didn’t speak until you did.

“Do you know Nathan Harris?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He was a part of a case I worked on years ago. Why are you asking?”

You pulled your arms away from Spencer and sat in the chair next to him. He put his hand on your knee, encouraging you to tell him, “He was a substitute in my class today. He held me back after class and told me that you saved his life. He asked if I remembered him but I said no. But I did. I lied because I wanted out of the room. He just made me so uncomfortable.”

“He’s a teacher now? At your school?” his voice was laced with concern. He knew Nathan had probably gotten help by now but that didn’t mean he wanted his daughter near him, “Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, “No but he was just talking about you, the case and me. He didn’t do anything but I could tell he wanted to. The things he said and the way he looked at me,” tears were falling down your cheek slowly. You hadn’t realized how much anxiety you had been holding in about this conversation. You didn’t tell anyone what happened throughout the whole day. Keeping it in until you reached your dad, “He said something about me being grown up and mature now. I-I di-”

Spencer shushed you, pulling you into a hug while you tucked your face into his neck. He rested the side of his head on top of yours, “I wish that didn’t happen. I don’t care that he didn’t touch you, he shouldn’t talk like that around you. Or talk to you like that. And he shouldn’t dare look at you in any other way than his student.”

“I just feel bad now. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I just don’t want to be near him ever again,” you pulled away, but Spencer kept a grip on your hands.

“Don’t worry about seeing him. Something like that is not okay. I don’t care how serious or not you think it is. I’m getting someone at the school on the phone and you won’t have to see him again I promise. He won’t talk to you and he won’t ever lay a hand on you,” he moved his hand up to your face, wiping some of the tears that had been falling, “You’re too important to me and I’d never let anything happen to you ever. You understand?”

You nodded. Spencer was always protective but this was a whole new side. His grip on you was tight, but not hard enough to hurt you. His voice was harsh, but it was to make sure you got his message.

“If anything like this happens again, you call me. Right away. Don’t wait and hold it in,” he stood up and pulled you into another hug. He placed a kiss to the top of your head and he could see his fellow profilers watching you two through the window. He made eye contact with them and they all looked away, “I think everyone’s a bit worried about you. Why don’t we go downstairs and let them know you’re okay?”

You nodded and let him lead you out of the office and to everyone else. They were, of course, worried about you but once you explained the situation, they relaxed a bit. Spencer assured them everything was fine and he was going to take care of it. Garcia had been the most concerned. Anytime something happened with you, she immediately thought the worst until she heard otherwise.

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @rafehogwarts @vxidsti1es

[containatrocity]

"You know, saying things doesn't make them true? 'I'm not clout chasing' is bullshit, and you and I both know it. You had no reason to be out here that wasn't trying to make that insufferable youtube channel of yours take off again. I can say 'I was just a casual fan of heroin' all I want, it doesn't make me less of a heroin addict, it just makes me look stupid." He points out, taking the phone back as Hunter puts his password in. "I'm almost done, don't worry." He plugs the phone into his laptop, continuing to speak as he works, as Hunter questions how he got 'bigger.' He considers it for a minute, giving him some bullshit answer, he doesn't owe the guy anything, after all. But he's obviously not the skeletal young man he'd been back in LA, living off of drugs and liquor and caffeine pills to prop himself up for the next public outing. He looked good, healthy, and it was, after all, to the credit of his being stuck here.

"Girlfriend's pregnant." He declares, as it seems to be the simplest place to start. "She used to help her uncle keep house, forage, prep kills and shit he came home with. Well, she can't exactly do any of that at nearly 6 months, so I'm stepping up to learn." He blows smoke out of his nose slowly. "Hunting, hauling deer and other dead animals, moving all my shit around from here to her place- No more heroin or constant stressing about when I was going to be able to put out more ideas for my dad to steal and a lot more exercise, and I've put on some muscle." He scrolls the phone for a moment, waits for the fox's head on the loading screen to stop swaying back and forth, then plugs a flash drive into the computer as well- unplugging both, a moment later, and handing them over to Hunter. "Here. Your phone until I can fix this one, and a flash drive with all your shit on it, no harassing a stranger required to pull the data."

"Congrats on your three whole friends." He mutters, closing the computer and standing back up. "But the point remains- you should think about being nicer to people, maybe. Not just people who can do stuff for you. You could die tomorrow, especially here. Do you really want to go out remembered the way I remember you? Bakayarô. Fucking Idiot."

A slight relief manifested itself across Hunters face in the form of a vicious smirk and he huffed, chin tilting upwards almost triumphantly. “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t going to be down at your feet anyway. I’m better than that.” Better than you were the words he’d rather be saying, but caution was necessary here. Cyan was the only one that could help him, and Hunter would much rather struggle on without that aid, unbend the phone himself and cope with the web of cracks indented into his screen, or just call his dad to send a replacement but that last one wasn’t an option, and Hunter couldn’t be seen with such damaged belonging. No, Cyan was the saviour. On this occasion. Never again.

“I wasn’t clout chasing,” that lie came so easily after all the years of practise, “I was trying to solve the thing in the sky, and my battery was dying. I only asked to borrow this guys phone to transfer stuff across. You can’t fucking demonise me for that.” But he could, and no doubt he would. Even with the best intentions Hunter found himself painted as the villain. At least that role was fun to play. "Stop calling me that," he huffed, holding the joint at arms length in an attempt to stop the smell wafting directly under his nose. He had no idea what it meant, never felt the need to look it up considering he probably couldn't spell it, the irony of it all given the vast array of derogatory nicknames he'd given Cyan and pretty much everyone else over the years. "Fine," he spat, "it's bent. So pleeeeease unbend it.” A prolonged please was genuinely the closest to begging he was willing to get. Good manners for some, a struggle for Hunter Hilton.

"Three," he said proudly, knowing that Cyan would be surprised at a number more than zero, "good friends actually. We do stuff together. So fu-" And then for the first time Hunter was silent, lips pressed together tightly into a thin line, no longer willing to answer any of the questions Cyan was throwing at him. The mention of his father, the doubling down that he didn't have to fix the phone no matter what Hunter was paying. Hunter didn't owe this guy anything anyway. At the prospect of having his phone broken forever, he'd submit, play the game that Cyan was forcing him to play, even if that game was 'shut up and be a decent person for two minutes.' Hunter never changed though, and after a few moments of fidgety movements, he finally spoke again. "How did you get like this anyway," a pause when he realised how vague that sounded, "y'know, like....bigger." He emphasised by pushing his shoulders forwards, a mock flex. The Cyan he'd known back in LA hadn't been like this, and maybe it was time for Hunter to take a similar rebrand. People might give him some more respect. "So it's set now?" He asked tapping in the four numbers for his password, 0510, his dogs birthday, "or do you need to do anything else to this one?"

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

Prev

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

Next

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[odos-bucket]

More Protective!Batdad Fic, With the Pretense that this is a Series Mostly Given Up

They’re returning to the cave after Robin’s first night out since the start of Tim’s parents’ most recent stay in the city. It had been a routine patrol, made noteworthy only by the return of the boy wonder. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some muggers towards the end of the night, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and they had both come away from it unharmed. At least that was what Bruce thought at the time. And he paid pretty close attention to things.

But when the domino mask comes off he can clearly see where Tim has a black eye, and a bruise blooming over his cheek.

“What happened?” He leaves his cowl and gloves on the computer, and takes a few steps closer to where Tim is fishing his civilian clothes out of a bag.

“Huh?” Tim bunches up the shirt he’s holding into a fist, and his eyes dart around for a moment without settling on Bruce. “Oh.” Fingers of his free hand fly up to hover over his injured cheek. “Thief got in a lucky shot.” His voice is a fraction of an octave higher than usual.

Bruce’s eyes automatically narrow as he begins his mental recall of the events that had transpired less than twenty minutes prior.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” he says slowly.

Tim just shrugs.

The bruise is too dark to be less than half an hour old anyway. It had to have come from sometime earlier in the day. It had been hidden beneath the mask though, and they’d both already been in full costume when they’d met earlier that evening.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Tim is ducking into a private alcove to finish getting changed. He’s a bit slower at it than usual, and Bruce wonders if that could be indicative of other hidden injuries, or if Tim is just drawing it out to avoid further scrutiny. Several minutes go by, and he finally clears his throat.

“Tim?”

“Just a second.” The words come out quickly.

Bruce goes to change himself, only to find that Tim still isn’t out by the time he’s finished and returned. He knocks gently on the wall that’s partitioning off the section of the cave where he’s changing, and hears a soft startled gasp, before Tim’s scurrying out.

“Yep! Sorry! Sorry! Just a little spaced.”

“Tim.” Bruce hopes his voice sounds gentle. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you-“

“Don’t lie to me. That didn’t come from just now.” Bruce pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim shakes his head.

“I won’t tolerate you hiding injuries from me.”

“I’m not.”

They stand looking at each other for several drawn out, silent seconds.

“Were you patrolling on your own?” Bruce asks after a minute. “I’m going to find out if you-“

“No.” Tim sounds even less like his normal self when he cuts in. “I promise I wasn’t.”

“All right. So what is it? Did something happen during the day?”

As much as Bruce wants to know about it if Tim’s getting into fights at school, or somewhere else, he recognizes that it may not be his place to intervene if this wasn’t vigilante related. That’s fine (at least so he tells himself) but he’d like assurance that someone’s looking out for his Robin.

“Is it something you can handle with your parents?” He tries.

Tim’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he bursts into tears.

Bruce briefly freezes, before returning to himself and rushing to Tim’s side.

“I’m so stupid,” Tim is muttering, barely discernibly. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” The words barely come out between bouts of gasping, shuddering sobs.

Bruce wants to beg him to tell him what happened, but settles for reaching out a careful arm, and slowly pulling him close. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second, before melting into his side, continuing to mumbled unintelligibly.

“It’s all right,” Bruce tries to sooth, very aware that he doesn’t really have the voice for that sort of thing. “You’re okay.” He desperately wishes that he could offer some more specific reassurances, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. “I’ve got you,” he settles for, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, Tim crying, and apologizing, and Bruce telling him it’s okay, and wishing he could be sure that it was true. Eventually the tears dry up, and the breathing evens out, and the tense body beside his goes limp with exhaustion. Bruce doesn’t let go, not until he feels Tim starting to shift around restlessly. And even then he stays close enough to be easily collapsed into again, should the need arise.

“I messed up,” Tim says, after a few false starts.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it.” A ridiculous promise, and one that Bruce normally wouldn’t be making without more information. But somehow- without Bruce meaning to allow him to- Tim has joined the narrow ranks of those capable of inducing him to speak or behave a-procedurally.

Tim shakes his head.

“Tim, I want to help, but you have to give me something to work with.”

Tim is too focused on keeping his eyes dry, and his breathing steady to respond.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Bruce forces himself to offer, forces himself to remember that this child isn’t his, doesn’t need him the way the other robins did.

Another sob escapes Tim, and he buries his face in his hands. There’s a pang in Bruce’s chest as he realizes what he has to ask next.

“Did something happen at home?”

The question is met with heavy breathing, followed by a drawn out silence, and then, finally, a slow nod.

Bruce forces down his rising anger, as Tim finally gathers himself to speak.

“I don’t know if they want me to go back.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Dad was so mad at me.”

Fury coils in Bruce’s gut, and lies in wait for his next question to be answered.

“Did he do this?” He gestures to the black eye.

“It’s never happened before,” Tim rushes to say. “Nothing like this ever has.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce practically growls. Tim, to his credit, seems entirely unaffected by the intensity of the tone.

“I started it,” he says.

“… There’s no way that’s true.”

“Bruce,” Tim chokes out, leaning back into him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Bruce pulls him close like he could absorb Tim into himself, like if he holds him tightly enough he can keep him safe- as if he’s actually capable of keeping any child safe. This will never happen again, he wants to say, I won’t let it. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to let Tim back into that house, doesn’t want to let him out of his sight really. He’s never been able to fathom how the Drakes can have this selfless, determined, brilliant child in their care, and be so willing to spend all their time away from him. He’s been wary of them from the beginning. But he never imagined that they could pose this kind of danger to their son.

“This is so stupid,” Tim grumbles into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce can’t disagree, though he’s a little worried that they aren’t on the same page about what exactly that means.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim continues after a minute. “I thought- I thought things were going well!”

“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Bruce says quickly. “If somebody’s hurting you- no matter who it is-“

“That isn’t what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, and leans back a little bit.

Bruce watches patiently, as Tim calms his nerves, and steadies himself.

“I… told Mom and Dad about Connor,” he breathes. “Not the alien clone thing, obviously. But, I told them that I was seeing someone- a guy- and I don’t even know why I did it! In the back of my head I knew there was no way it was going to go over well. I knew that. I was just, I don’t know, feeling happy, and okay for the first time in a while. So I thought-“ He shakes his head. “I mean I didn’t think; that was the problem. And Mom reacted the way I knew she- the way I should have known she would. And I got mad, and I started yelling at her, and Dad, when I yelled at her, Dad, that’s when he- he…”

Bruce’s heart breaks. It’s not like he’d imagined that Jack Drake would have a good reason for lashing out at his son, but this was nothing.

“I’m still not hearing anything that you did wrong.” He forces himself to stay calm.

“Trying to come out to them was dumb! I didn’t need to do it. They were leaving soon anyways, it shouldn’t have mattered!”

“No. They shouldn’t have hurt you,” Bruce says fiercely. “This is part of who you are, so it should always matter. It’s not stupid to assume that people who are supposed to care about you would want to know more about what’s going on in your life. Tim, you did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand up and down his back, like he’d done when Dick had nightmares as a child.

Tim glances at him out of the glassy corner of his eye, and scrubs his hands roughly over his face, before mumbling something that Bruce doesn’t catch.

He waits for a beat, before quietly asking if Tim will repeat himself.

“They don’t want me coming around here anymore,” he says more clearly, voice suddenly empty. “They- they saw that interview you did a couple years back, where you came out as bisexual.” His face is tinged pink, ashamed to even be repeating his parent’s words. “So they think that I, I don’t know, caught it from you, like it’s contagious or something. But I didn’t know where else to go! And I- I don’t want to give this up…“ He gestures broadly to the cave around them as hiccuping breaths overpower his speech.

Bruce just holds on as Tim continues to cry, softly repeating that he didn’t do anything wrong, carefully keeping the furious voice raging, ‘those bastards won’t take you away from me,’ under wraps. He doesn’t let himself think about every other instance of his sexuality being cited as a factor making him an unsuitable guardian that he’s committed to precise memory, the vicious arguments that his children should be taken away from him, the fact that if he hadn’t been born so lucky in so many other ways they might have been. Tim doesn’t need him to be angry, Tim needs him to be smart.

They wait out the tears again, until they’re not falling so heavily, and Tim is shuddering occasionally, rather than continuously, and can compose himself enough to speak.

“I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says once he’s mostly calmed down.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce threads his fingers through locks of lightly tangled hair. “I’m so glad you told me what happened. You’re going to stay here tonight, okay?”

Tim is with them often enough when his parents aren’t around that they already have a room made up for him, a room which after less than a year has come to show more evidence of his personality than his bedroom at the Drake’s mansion.

Tim nods.

“Thank you.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you still have pajamas here? Or do you need to borrow a pair of Dick’s?”

It’s something easy in a moment where everything feels impossibly difficult.

“I brought them with me when I went home.” His breath catches on the last word, and it only half comes out.

“That’s all right. Dick won’t mind.”

Now it’s just a matter of getting themselves upstairs. There will be more to worry about tomorrow, much more, and it will undoubtedly only increase in the days that follow. Bruce will have to figure out whether or not Jack and Janet Drake are looking for their son, and he can’t quite decide which the worse option is at this point. He’ll also need to make sure he understands what exactly is within his power to do to keep Tim safe. Bruce stops himself before he can begin preparing for the future too obsessively. He brings himself back to the present moment, stairs, pajamas, bed, all very manageable tasks.

He just really doesn’t want to let go of the child in his arms. The realization that Tim might need him more than he thought is overpowering, making him feel violently protective, and a little bit terrified.

Some of the strain of the moment breaks when Tim uses the side of Bruce’s arm to stifle a yawn, but it’s still a little while longer before they’re ready to head upstairs.

When they do, Tim wanders up to his room, where Bruce hopes he’ll find easy rest. He stays awake and finds Alfred. There’s a lot they need to talk about.

[solarsavoy]

Hey hey, you got anything else about Deshi you’d like to share 🤔 I honestly really like his vibe (It’s usually like that for a lot light haired characters in my case 😅)

I was trying to figure out what to say about him. I just find him so cute sometimes because of the little side stories my muse gives me, so then I thought about sharing a little side story about him.

For context, I have an editor friend (not professional) that thinks Deshi's intellectually stupid, so I was trying to think of something that proves he's not, because he can be quite ingenious sometimes. So here it is. Storytime!

Deshi's friend is based off a friend of Deo's, in a way.

So Deshi loves videogames, which most should know by now, and this is inspired by the types of videogames I like, which some may not know. One major difference is that I'm a fan of horror games and Deshi is not, lol. He just can't handle them, which only makes him that much more endearing to me.

Anyway, when his dad disappeared, his mom got a large sum of money meant to take care of her and Deshi and Sasaki (his little sister) until college, so she doesn't work. This does make funds a little limited though and videogames can get expensive. To still be able to get what he wants, he's patient, saves his money, and then gets things as cheaply as possible. (Yes, he steals games online.) He got the idea from his unnamed friend to build a computer from scratch because the gaming computers/laptops can get a little pricey.

So that's exactly what he did.

He learned how to put together a computer, constantly asking his friend for help of course, and eventually built it from the bottom up, a really good gaming computer, for much cheaper than it would've been on the market. This is why he's a PC gamer. He's very proud of it and protective of it (since Sasaki is constantly pranking him and unlike Karma, her pranks are maliciously destructive) and his mom nor his sister have any idea how hard it was for him to make it. Like, they just think he can tinker around with it for an hour and it'll be fixed. 🙄

So one day, Sasaki actually damages it really badly and Deshi goes to his friend and it takes 3 months and all his miniscule savings to fix it. Mom thinks he was being dramatic, but finally decides to tell Sasaki that the computer is off limits and to just not mess with it ever because "Deshi's sensitive". *glare

After this whole debacle, his friend donates his old monitor (it's a very nice monitor, btw) to Deshi and moves away. They're both kind of pretty bad at keeping in contact, but they try. And that's how he got his computer and became a PC gamer!

Deshi was around 10 when he decided to start building his computer and 12 when he finished. His friend moved away when he was about 13 or 14.

So yeah, definitely not intellectually challenged. 😣 And Deshi's actually really good at finding ways around things. This comes up a lot in the Second Fragment while learning magic. He just has this kind of "how do I make this work?" mentality when it comes to doing things.

Bonus!

He's normally the guy that takes things a little to seriously and is overly cautious in ways (product of his evil little sister's constant pranks) but he's surprisingly playful when it comes to experimenting with stuff to understand it and make it work. Here's a summary of a scene in Second Fragment.

He's trying to understand his limits with magic while working with Master Diette and decides that the best way is to just use magic until he runs out, which causes him to faint. "Ooo, that's bad." Master Diette says, also wanting to test Deshi's limits out of curiosity. "We can't let Master Key know or we'll both be in trouble." And then allows him do this. But you know, forcing yourself to faint just isn't a good idea. 😆 Don't worry, he ends up being fine.

Deshi's nonchalance to danger while experimenting comes from the amount of times he was electrocuted while building his computer. Not super common, but it happened. He made the lights in the house flicker once and has burned through more than one motherboard, trying to figure it all out.

Thanks for the ask! 💙

[plaidbooks]

I get SO EXCITED when your fic requests open up!!!!! I would love to request some mutual pining/yearning between Dodds and one of his SVU detectives. Prompt "I'd do anything for you," maybe where his dad has noticed them eyeing each other secretly and gives Mike the old "WE've worked too hard to get you to this position." (Idk, maybe those should be 2 different requests? You can choose whichever you prefer!)

Every request i send in gets more and more long-winded 😅😳

Exchanging Glances

A/N: This was a fun prompt! I'm sorry it took me so long to write it, but I hope you enjoy it!

Tags: shootings, otherwise none

Words: 1918

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​ @qvid-pro-qvo @averyhotchner @imalostredheadinablondeworld

Mike being assigned to SVU was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because the squad was short staffed, and he more than pulled his weight. He was also a great detective, and a great leader. The curse was how goddamn attractive he was.

He was your superior; there was no chance of a relationship with him. But you couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach when he smiled at you or complimented your work. The worst was when you walked into the locker room one day and found him in his undershirt, his dress shirt hanging open. The soft, white shirt left nothing to the imagination as he stretched against his broad chest, and it was a struggle to not stare…or drool.

He hadn’t even seemed embarrassed about it, talking easily with you as he slowly buttoned his shirt, his long fingers moving deftly. You had quickly made an excuse and practically fled the room. But after that moment, you couldn’t help but picture those strong arms holding you against his broad chest.

You often caught yourself staring at him while at your desks, before you’d look back to your computer screen, hoping no one noticed. Though of course, both Rollins and Carisi saw, and they teased you relentlessly for it.

“Why not ask him out?” Carisi asked you one day during lunch.

You choked on your egg roll. “A—absolutely not! He’s our boss,Carisi!”

“For how much longer?” Rollins chimed in. “I heard daddy’s tryin’ to move him.”

That made you pause; if Mike left SVU, you wouldn’t see him anymore…but maybe you could ask him out then. “Well, I’d rather wait until he’s gone before asking,” you replied, picking at your food.

“Come on, he’s a good guy,” Carisi said. “I bet Mike would love—”

“Love what?” Mike asked, coming into the break room and snagging a takeout box.

You felt how hot your face got, and you ducked your head, pretending to eat. Thankfully, Liv came into the break room, saving you all.

“We have a hostage situation. Let’s go,” she ordered before leaving. You all glanced at each other, fun times fading, before you were up, scrambling for your things in your desks.

*********************

You were huddled outside the door to the kitchen, gun in hand. Mike was on the other side of the doorframe, eyes locked to yours, gun in his hand as well. You were both flanked by the squad and officers, waiting for the go ahead from Liv. You knew she wanted to be in there with you, but as Lieutenant, she had to be outside, calling the shots for everyone involved.

“Green light,” she said into your earpieces. Mike nodded at you, and you nodded back. Then he took a step back and kicked the door in. You cut in front of him as he caught his balance, heading into the kitchen, eyes scanning. You had your gun up, and once you found your perp, you swiveled to aim at him. But he was faster; he fired before you even had the chance.

You grunted as you took a bullet in the ribs, your vest absorbing most of the impact. You still stumbled, though, the wind knocked from you. You being off balance turned out to work perfectly, as Mike was able to get a shot off, clipping the guy in the shoulder.

Both Carisi and Rollins headed for the perp while Fin checked on the woman who was being held hostage; she was shaking in a corner, hands and mouth duct taped. Mike, however, went straight to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, face full of concern. He helped guide you towards the door, hands on your hips to help you walk.

You nodded. “Fine, fine. Got the vest,” you grunted, hand on place you were shot.

Mike led you down and out of the house, out onto the street. Liv read the situation and quickly came over, but you waved off her questions. Both of them guided you to a waiting ambulance, and the paramedics helped you get the vest off. They gently lifted your shirt to inspect the spot, which was already deeply bruised, a small bit of dried blood there from where the bullet broke skin.

Your face heated as you caught Mike’s eyes glued to the injury. “I’m fine, really. Just a bruise,” you muttered, trying to pull your shirt back down.

“We should take you in, make sure you didn’t break anything, or have internal bleeding,” one of the medics said.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t argue. They helped you in the back, and you sat on the gurney.

“I’m riding with her,” Mike said to Liv. He handed her his gun before he climbed in, sitting next to you. You ducked your head in embarrassment as the doors closed and the ambulance pulled away.

******************

You sat on the hospital bed, and Mike was outside the room while you were patched up—mostly because your shirt was off. Once considered decent, though, he came in, giving the nurse a smile and nod in thanks.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, that concern still in his eyes.

You smirked. “Like I was shot.”

Mike shook his head, grinning. “Glad to see you still have your sense of humor…. Thank you, though.”

“For what?”

“I was going to go in first, but you ran in front of me before I could stop you. In a sense, you took that bullet for me,” he explained.

You blinked at him, then blurted out, “I’d do anything for you.” Your face heated, and you dropped your eyes to the floor. “I mean, y—you’re my sergeant; of course, I’d take a bullet for you….”

“Well, I’d do anything for you, too, including taking a bullet, if it came to that,” he replied softly. At first, you thought he was just saying that. But the meaningful look he gave you made you pause. Was he saying what you thought he was?

Slowly, timidly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away; in fact, he stepped up close to you. His free hand came up to your face, and he cupped your cheek lovingly. You leaned into the touch, and his face got closer and closer—

“There you are, Mike! Benson said you were at the hospital with a detective,” a voice called from the door. Mike quickly moved away from you, dropping your hand, and you swallowed in fear as Deputy Chief Dodds stood in the doorway to your room.

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and you wondered how much he had seen. Then he strolled into the room, fixing his gaze onto his son.

“Uh, yeah, sorry dad. She got shot during our raid today—”

“Oh no,” he lamented, though it almost sounded sarcastic. “Well, it at least looks like you’re fine. Listen, Mike—” his eyes went back to his son’s— “I need to talk to you about an opportunity. If you’ll excuse us,” he said to you, then turned and strolled from the room.

Mike gave you an apologetic look before following his dad, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone.

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” William asked as he headed out of the hospital. “Getting close with a detective.” He said the word like an insult, and Mike flinched.

Once on the street, Mike replied, “she’s a fantastic detective, and I like her a lot. Why does my romantic life involve you?”

“Because we’ve worked too hard to get you to this position," he responded, poking Mike in the chest.

He rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to ask “we?” Instead, he said, “If I follow your plan, then I’m leaving SVU anyways. Why can’t I date her?”

“You need someone on your level, someone who’s as eye-catching as you are,” William explained. But Mike knew the truth; his father wanted him with a trophy wife, one who knew how to keep her head down and attend to her husband’s wants and desires. In other words, someone Mike wanted nothing to do with.

“With how good she is, she could make sergeant in no time,” Mike countered. He wasn’t just saying that, either; he believed it. You were incredible. He almost wanted you to go to Joint Terrorism with him, be his number two. But then, you couldn’t have a relationship together.

“Who cares about sergeant—”

“I’m a sergeant, dad.”

William waved his hand dismissively. “That’s just a placeholder until you’re lieutenant. Come on, Mike; do you really want someone with the same profession as you? Where you work late nights, weekends, holidays?” Translation; do you want someone who won’t be home to cook your meals or run the household?

“We’d have the same life experiences, we’d understand each other on a deeper level because of it,” he shot back.

William rolled his eyes. “Deeper level—”

“And I’m not going to stand here and defend her or myself from you. I’m sorry dad, but I don’t really care what you think about her. We haven’t even started dating or anything. But I’m going to go back upstairs and ask her out. I hope you can find it in yourself to come to terms with that,” Mike said before turning on his heel and marching back inside. William was too stunned to say anything back.

***

You collected all your items and were just about to leave the room when there was a knock on the door.

“Uh, come in?” you called, wondering if the nurse had more info outside of “it’ll heal on its own, but it’ll be sore for a while.”

But your stomach dropped when it was Mike peeking his head in, giving you a sheepish smile. “Uh, hey, sorry about that.”

“O-oh! No, it’s, um, it’s fine. Hopefully that was nothing too important,” you replied, laughing nervously.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a mumble of, “no, no, it’s nothing…” before trailing off. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at you intently. “Would you like to go get dinner with me? Tonight?”

You were stunned; true, you were both off after the raid—you to heal and pass a psych evaluation, and him while IAB investigated the shooting—but you never expected him to ask you out. “I—I would love that…but could we? Unless the Chief just transferred you, you’re still my boss.”

“He didn’t, but I don’t care. I’ll be leaving the squad soon enough as it is. Plus…I know you’re not seriously injured, but the thought of you being shot on the job…it worries me. I’d rather shoot my shot now, while we’re both still alive and well,” he finished.

You nodded slowly, your mind swirling. “Well…as long as neither of us will be fired over it…. I’d love to have dinner with you, Mike.”

You noticed how his eyes narrowed when you mentioned getting fired, and you wondered if the possibility never crossed his mind until you said it. He quickly masked his face with a smile, then held the door open for you.

“You won’t get fired; I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, and you wondered if it was a legit possibility. Either way, a date with Mike Dodds seemed like a good payoff. Plus, if you were fired, you could continue dating without the fear of 1PP.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

How about a coffee shop au where the reader gets Cal's order wrong and gives him a matcha latte when he ordered a regular hot coffee with his breakfast sandwich and you can go off form that :)

Taking limited requests. 3 slots left.

Gender Neutral Reader.

___________________

The morning shift--Calum had been told about how chaotic this shift could be. During his closing shift training, it was all they really talked about. How glad they were that they didn't have the opening shift. And of course, closing shift took a lot of heat because maybe not everything got done like it was supposed to. And sometimes even if they did do everything right, one particular manager was a known hard ass and nothing really seemed to appeased them.

And though Calum woke up at the ass crack of dawn, not even the sun hitting the horizons just yet, the start didn't seem so bad. But the second the clock hit six it was as if the dam broke. Being two weeks into the job, he felt like he had a pretty good handle on everything. Though the thing that still made his hands shake was fucking up someone's order.

"Matcha latte with a toasted egg and cheese bagel," he calls out, setting the two out together. Another drink is done and he caps it. "And a regular black coffee."

He doesn't even pay attention to who comes up--vaguely responds to the thanks with a quick 'you're welcome' and goes back to the blender for the next drink on the line.

The frother is a distinct buzz in his ears as Sydney, one of his trainers and now slowly becoming a work best friend, works next to him. But even with that noise, the soft "Excuse me" catches his ear. Calum glances up, grabbing the towel from his apron to clean his hands.

"What can I help you with?"

The smile is still bright in front of him. "I think my drink order got mixed up. I ordered a regular coffee with vanilla syrup. But this is a, uh, green," you laugh.

His heart thunders in his chest. Fuck, he knew he should've double checked that ticket like he was taught. He just assumed. "Oh I'm so sorry about that! Let me fix it. You said regular coffee with vanilla syrup right?"

You nod at the man, his brown eyes blown wide. He apologizes again and before you can tell him not to worry about it--that it happens sometimes, he's spinning on his heels. You watch him, towering over most of the other people behind the counter. His hair tucked up underneath the black dad hat and the gray t-shirt he's wearing hanging loose around his torso but tight over his shoulders.

You've never seen him before--not in the mornings at least. Not that you're a regular, but you do come in consistently. "Hey," Sydney smiles at you, shouting out another order for the customers waiting. "Everything alright?" And maybe you were a regular.

You nod. "Yeah, just a small mix up."

"Shucks, sorry about that. Is someone on it?"

"Yeah, um," you look behind her to the man with a cup of coffee that looks more like your usual. "He's on it," you say, looking back to Sydney."

"Calum--he's new," she says, leaning against the counter for a moment and just in that moment, Calum returns with your correct drink, setting it onto the counter for you.

"Sorry about that again!" he states again.

You shake your head at him. "It's really not a problem. Things happen. We're human and all."

"Oh, ain't you just the sweetest," Sydney teases before walking around Calum to go back to the machines. "Just don't be too sweet on him."

You laugh at her comment, taking hold of the cup in front of you. Something brushes along your fingers and when you look, Calum's holding out a straw for you too. "Thanks. Don't let Sydney be too hard on you."

"Oh--I can handle her," Calum laughs, knowing the glare that's landing him right now from Sydney. "But really, I am sorry about getting that drink mixed up."

You look up to him, noticing the bags that have just started to form and can see he means it. "Calum, it's not the end of the world. And even if it was, at least you were nice."

"God, I really hope it wasn't the end of the world." He's not phased at the sound of his name from your lips. He knows the name tag is pinned to the outside of his apron. But he likes the way it sounds when you curl your tongue around the 'L' in his name.

And the two of you linger in a deep gaze, only for a moment before he hears down the line the shout of needing more clean blenders. "I," he starts, throwing his thumb over his shoulders, "I should probably get back to work."

You nod, "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you around, Calum?"

You say it like it's a question, like you're hoping he says yes. "I'll be here for the foreseeable future," and he pauses, not having caught your name.

You give your name and he tries it over his own lips, then grins when you grin. "Well, good luck with the rest of today," you offer and then take a half step from the counter. Calum does the same, but retreating further into the eye of the storm.

He watches you though, pushing on the side door and then out into the finally morning sunrise. He's grateful for a moment that he works mornings this week straight, clinging to the smallest hope that you step back through the doors again.

Tuesday you don't show, having to leave Monday in the day to out a few towns for a conferences. When Wednesday comes around and the morning's pushing afternoon, Calum's hope wanes, but doesn't completely fade. People live busy lives. He can't fault that. But he just hopes he's not being a fool to watch every person that comes through the door, or even passes by the windows.

And just an hour before shift change, as the day's quieted, Calum's mind fills with the rest of things he needs to do. He has to go to the pharmacy to pick up some toiletries and then try to get home to get a couple readings done before his evening classes.

"Hi, Calum."

He pauses his work on the table he's wiping down to spin around. And there you are, a backpack slug over one shoulder and giving him a small wave. "Hi," he returns, feeling a small flutter in his gut. "Whata-what's on the menu today?" he asks, moving to go back behind the register.

You try to stop him, noticing only a few people in the place sitting with their laptops or books around them. "Oh, no, I-I'm not here to get anything really."

His brows furrow as he spins back around, leaning now up against the part of the counter that finished drinks are served. "Not here to get anything?"

You shake your head. "Well, not right now. I'm on my lunch and came by hoping to catch you, really?"

"Me?" he questions, trying to keep the silly grinning to a minimum.

"Yeah," you nod, and then drop your gaze to the floor. His black Nike's fill up your vision for a moment as you exhale and then look back up to his face.

His cheeks fuller than you remember them being, but maybe it's just because now you're really getting a good look at them. "Well, here I am," he teases with a tuft of laughter.

"So like, I really don't want to ask this while you're working because that just feels awkward. And you totally don't have to answer my next question either. I just wanted to let you know I get it, if you're comfortable with it." And he just watches you rambles, part of it because he likes the way you fiddle with your fingers and use your hands as you talk. Part of it because he's too frozen by fear to respond in any capacity.

So on you continue, "I wanted to know when you got off--so that I could ask you what I really wanted to ask you not when you're working. Because like, that just feels presumptuous and also you're doing service so I don't want to make you feel like you can't say no without it affecting your job. So like, would I be able to talk to you? Once your shift is done?"

"I'm off in about an hour. But if you're on your own lunch break I don't want to impede your work either," he returns.

"I-I can work remotely. I was at our shared office space downtown. But like as long as I have WiFi and my computer I can do my work anywhere."

"As long as you're sure and don't mind having to wait? But also you should probably actually eat on your lunch break?"

You tap the side of your backpack and only now does he see a small lunch box attached. "I packed it assuming I'd eat at the office. But then I realized due to my travel this week, I hadn't been by and I definitely want to drop by."

And it's the way you say definitely, like you're dreaming while looking at him, or breathless. And maybe you are giving the whole spiel you've just given. The doors open again and Calum glances over, to greet the new person, but glances back down to you. And fuck, your eyes are just too pretty not to get lost in. "Well, enjoy your lunch and our free WiFi and when I'm done, we can talk, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," you rush out, grinning and then watch him shuffle back to the registers. You turn, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth. And holy fuck, it feels like you're in middle school all over again dealing with your first crush. But there you didn't make any moves, especially not as outlandish as this one.

But you just need it to work out--that's all. Finding a table, you settle down, back facing the window, but able to see Calum at the register if you look up from your computer screen. He smiles whenever you catch his eye. The drink doesn't seem to take him long to make and before you know it, he's back out from the register, making rounds to wipe at tables and make sure no one else needs anything before heading back to you.

And he talks as he works, wiping more tables, putting chairs back where they belong. You find out he's in school, working as he takes night classes for his master's in Literature. He finds out you're working remotely for an agency, and though it's marketing, or that's what he gather he still doesn't quite understand it. But it makes you happy and he loves it when you laugh about your coworkers.

And the hour's flown by when the shift switches, Calum disappears to the back for a few minutes and you start the process of shutting down your laptop. But he's back before you get everything tucked away and he slides into the seat across from you with ease and a bit of a sigh of relief.

"You don't have to pack up unless you want too," he says.

And you pause, your laptop in its sleeve. "You really want to hang around your job after hours."

"It's not so bad. It's just the standing that's killer." You nod, understanding the struggle. "So," he starts. "What was this thing that-that you wanted to ask?"

And you can tell he's nervous, his gaze on the table and not on you. And it shouldn't be so goddamn endearing but it is. "I-I wanted to see if you wanted to go out sometime. With me?"

His head shoots up, his infectious grin lighting up his own face, even causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. "I'd love too. I'm off next Thursday--if that works."

Thursday is nothing special, well you have your monthly town hall meeting that's just about the growth of the company, but you could take a half day and then make up the hours next week. "Thursday is good. Should we do lunch since you have classes?"

"Yeah, if you're okay with that. I heard about this new place, it's mostly breakfast but they stay open for lunch."

"Anya's?" you question and Calum nods. "Some coworkers say it's good. But I-I haven't gone yet."

"So there then?" he asks.

"Yeah--is it okay if we do it a little early. 11:30?"

His heart is a thunderous roar in his chest and he's really glad today he work a darker colored t-shirt because his pits are dripping right now. "Yeah, that's fine with me," Calum answers.

The two of you exchange numbers and he helps you carry your bag to the car. You insist he doesn't have too, but he does it anyway and up against the side of your car, you're kind of glad you took the leap of faith. The hat comes off and you can see fully now the mass curls on his head.

"Thanks," Calum starts. "For waiting to ask. I would've said yes, like literally either way. But I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no. I worked retail before this. It's hell with people hitting on you while you're on the clock. Don't even worry about it."

The sun is higher now, getting into your eyes just a little until Calum shifts and blocks most of it. "So I'll see you Thursday, for sure, at 11:30. Anya's."

"11:30 next Thursday at Anya's for sure. But I may also need a matcha latte before then," you tease.

"Oh, c'mon," he laughs. "It's barely been three weeks. And I apologized."

"I'm only teasing, Calum," you giggle.

He takes a small step backwards--he parked in the second row as to give customers the spots up front. "I'll have that matcha waiting on you next time then."

"I'd expect nothing less." And the two of you give one last wave before he spins completely around his apron thrown across his shoulder and he pauses for cars before crossing the parking lot. And you know you shouldn't thank the heavens you asked for a lunch date at the sight of his ass in jeans, but you do.

Inside your car, you laugh at your own giddiness. It's only one date. And who the hell knows how it's going to end--but for fuck sake, you did it. The phone rings through the bluetooth of your car as you dial your best friend to tell them the good news.

And unbeknownst to you, Calum sits in his car too, smiling to himself as he texts his housemates about scoring a date with you. And the entire thread rattles his phone from the coffee holder.

[thestarrynightslover]

It’s a Good Day to Have a Bad Date

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,383

Warnings: Slight mentions of an OC with criminal priors, violent tendencies, and a juvenile record. A teeny-tiny bit of angst.

Summary: The reader meets Jay as she's trying to find out stuff about the guy she's about to go out with and ends up switching dates.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: Just to make one thing clear: I did some research on Illinois's laws  (not sure I got it right tho) and, apparently, this fic is very inaccurate. But I really wanted to pursue the idea, so just humor me, please 🙏🏻. Anyways, I had a lot of fun while writing this and thought about making a part two... But I'm not sure. Tell me what you think! 💗

| masterlist |

You inhaled deeply one more time before you walked into the police district. There wasn’t even a real reason for you to be so nervous about it. You weren’t a victim and you weren’t a criminal. So, what’s the worst that could happen? 

The worst that could happen was, of course, you getting a bunch of cops mad at you because you went to waste their time with some pathetic whining. It was decided, you were gonna turn back around right now, while you still had time, and just go home.

On second thought, though, it was a matter of public safety. Your safety. Which was just as valid because you were just as much of a U.S. citizen as anyone else. So you went in. 

Shit. The place was almost empty, which meant everyone would notice if you left. And they’d ask questions, so you figured you’d, at least, get ahead of them, as you walked shyly towards the front desk. There, you were met by an older woman who looked bored, and still, terrifying.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked you, while cautiously checking you out. Oh my God, she thought you could be a victim! You were such an idiot.

“Um, it’s, um, it’s actually nothing, really. I shouldn’t even have come here in the first place.” You told her while smiling a little. What you didn’t know was that what you said had only raised more flags in the sergeant’s mind, even catching the attention of a tall man writing some things down on a paper at the corner of the counter. The young detective stayed back because he knew that Platt would know how to manage the situation, but continued listening to every word of the conversation.

The sergeant, then, took her glasses off, setting them on the counter. “Listen, miss, my name is Trudy Platt and the reason why I became a cop was that I wanted to help people, in every way that I possibly could. So, if you need my help with anything, just tell me what it is. And, I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to give it to you.” She assured you and, as much as you felt this huge sympathy for the woman, you also felt even worse about making her waste her time. So you tried to fix things.

“Oh, my God! I’m so, so, so sorry! I’m not a victim in any way, thank God. I said that I shouldn’t have come here because I’m not even sure if what I wanted to ask is legal…” You told her with a nervous laugh. Hearing that, the Sergeant’s eyes sparked with curiosity.

“Well, then I probably won’t be able to help you.” She told you, stressing the ‘probably’ and making the man at the end of the counter shamelessly turn his face in your direction in order to better hear your conversation. “But… Since you’re already here, and it’s been such a slow day for the District, maybe you should just ask me whatever you want to and I’ll be the judge of whether that’s legal or not. After all, unless you’re some sort of lawyer, I should know more about the law than the average civilian.” The Sergeant skilfully baited you.

“Um, no, I’m not a lawyer.” You confirmed with a small laugh while tugging some of your hair behind your ear. “Actually, since I’ve just recently moved here to Chicago ⎼ to Illinois, really ⎼, I’m probably a lot below your average civilian.” You stated with a giggle. At that, the guy that had lost his discretion about eavesdropping started chuckling a little himself, to which the older woman responded with a look you’d absolutely hate having directed to you.

“So, Chuckles, you have nothing better to do than to stay here listening to other people’s conversations?”

“First of all, it’s detective,” he started in a mocked smug tone, “and, second: no, uh, I actually don’t. I came to fill this paperwork down here exactly because we were about to kill each other upstairs, just to get out of the boredom.” He added, raising some paper files he had in-hand. “Besides, you know how much I, too, love to help people.” He said while shooting you a charming smile. Okay, that guy was pretty handsome. “Jay Halstead, nice to meet you.” The detective informed you, holding out his hand.

“Right, um, nice to meet you too, sir.” You replied, shaking his hand. “I didn’t even say my name, what a clums!” You joked while patting yourself on the forehead. “I’m (y/n) (y/l/n).”

“Okay, just, please, lose the ‘sir’ with that one, otherwise, he’ll never let it go.” Trudy chipped back in the conversation.

“So, what was it that you wanted to ask the sarge? I can assure you that we’ll let you know if it’s illegal. After all, two judges are better than one.” He suggested, all smiles.

“Since when?” The sergeant practically barked at the younger man, just to add: “You know what? You wanna be here at my front desk, Halstead? Then be here, but be quiet and let the lady talk.” She bluntly ordered him, who decided to do as he was told.

“Alright, um, it’s just that this guy who I don’t really know anything about asked me out and I said yes, even though I got a bad vibe from him?” They just stared at you with their jaws dropped, so you added: “Pathetic, I know. But I didn’t really wanna judge him without any proof, or anything like that, so I figured that, maybe, I could try and check if he has any criminal priors or something.” You finished with a tiny embarrassed smile.

“And why on Earth would you think that we could give you this type of information?” The sergeant asked you, her expression being one of pure shock.

“I, uh…” You didn’t really want to embarrass yourself even more but felt the urge to explain anyways. “It’s just that I’m a small-town girl, okay? And, over there, everybody knew my family, so, whenever I wanted to go out with someone, my dad would just ask his buddies at the Sheriff’s office to look the guy over. And he always told me that that was really important, so, when I moved to the state’s capital, I just wouldn’t go out with anyone unless a close friend vouched for him. Because I was terrified of what I’d see and hear on the news. But here… I don’t really know anyone yet.” You blurted it all out, to two strangers! To two cops who probably had something, or somethings, better to do than to listen to your whining. “Anyhow, I’m really sorry that I wasted your time, guys. Won’t happen again.” At that, they exchanged a look, and the sergeant said:

“You know what? You’re right, kid. The world is a dangerous place. And, unfortunately, it is even more dangerous for us women. So I’m gonna look the guy up. But I’m not gonna tell you exactly what it says if something comes up.” She told you, much for your surprise, and, then, turned to the detective, saying: “If you say a single word about this to anyone, and I mean anyone, Chuckles, I swear to God that I’ll cut your tongue out myself.”

“Geez, sarge. How can you swear such an ugly thing like that to God?” He asked her, in a mockery tone, while making a hilarious expression.

“Ha! Keep that up and your tongue won’t be the only thing I’m gonna cut.” She threatened him again and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter when he made a shocked expression and put his hands protectively over his crotch.

“For your information, I wanna help the girl just as much as you, so I wouldn’t say anything. You didn’t have to threaten me.” He tried to recover, as you handed her a small piece of paper with your possible date’s name.

“Oh, I know. But I wasn’t about to miss out on the opportunity.” She shot back at him while typing the name on the District’s computer. “Okay, here it is... Wow."

"What? What is it?" You asked her, as you watched the detective perk himself over the counter to look at the screen.

"Jesus. This guy's got himself quite a rap sheet." He commented, making you shiver, thinking of what could happen to you, if you went on with the date.

"What exactly do you mean by that, detective?" You asked the man who probably noticed your discomfort, because he spoke again, in a tranquilizing tone:

"No, relax. It's nothing too bad, like violent or anything. But there's some pretty nasty stuff here." He told you, not really making you relax.

"There's something here, though." That caught the detective's eye again. "His juvenile record is sealed, the only thing I can see without a warrant is an observation from his caseworker. She says something about him having violent tendencies." She told you with a sigh, taking her glasses off again. "Look, I know that I can't tell what to do and what to not do, (y/n), but, as a suggestion? Stay the hell away from this piece of work. You seem like a nice enough girl, I'd hate to see you come in here as a victim someday."

“Oh, God, no! I heard you loud and clear, sergeant! Don’t worry about it, I’m canceling that date ASAP!” You exclaimed, agreeing with her.

“That’s great!” The detective spoke this time, sounding a little too happy about the fact that you were about to cancel a date with a man who had criminal priors and violent tendencies. So both you and the other woman stared at him. “Err, I mean because you’re not gonna go out with him.” You just giggled a little at the way he was digging an even deeper hole for himself. “Because he’s a bad guy.” He added, once again getting a glare from Trudy. “You know what I mean.” He finished, defeated, not looking in your eyes.

“Well, uh,” you started, trying to keep yourself from laughing too hard, “anyways, I can only thank you both. You guys got me out of something that could be really unpleasant, to say the least.” You told them, a bit more serious this time.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Just glad we could help.” Detective Halstead said, smiling kindly at you.

“Yeah. This time, I actually agree with you, Halstead.” The sergeant half-joked.

“Aw, that’s very kind, but, really, thank you!” You restated your gratitude, then asking: “I should probably get going now, right? Stop wasting your time?”

“It’s not like we were doing much before you got here-” Trudy began saying, but was interrupted by the detective, who quickly told you:

“Yeah, you should go. You know, cause a police District…” You knew he was right, but those two seemed like really nice people, especially after having helped you dodge a bullet, so to speak, and you’d hoped that you were finally making some friends in the Windy-City. “Anyways, um, lemme walk you out.” He offered you while motioning to the door. At that, you and the sergeant shared a look that told you she also found it weird that the detective would wanna walk with you through such a minimal distance.

“Uh, um, o- okay.” As you and Halstead walked towards the exit, you couldn’t help but notice what nice features he had. Like, your mind just kept going back to what a good-looking man he was.

“So…” He trailed off.

“So…” You answered, not really sure about what to say.

“You know, um, it’s gotta be a hell of a bummer for you. Being here in Chicago without knowing many people. This city… It’s all about finding your community.” He told you in a sympathetic tone.

“Hum…” You breathed out as you thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, well, I guess that I can only hope I’ll have better luck at making acquaintances the next time I go out to explore it.”

“Right.” The detective agreed. “Uh, listen, I know that this may sound a little too forward, but, maybe, I could show you some of my favorite places, someday? I mean, only if you’re interested! Because I don’t want you to feel like-”

“Actually, I’d very much like that! If it isn’t going to be any trouble for you…” You cut him off excitedly.

“No! No trouble at all!” He quickly assured you. “Um, thi- this is my card.” He said, lifting up a small business card for you to see. “I’m gonna write my personal number on the back of it. Call, or text me when you have some time to go out. Or if you just want someone to talk…” The handsome man added with a smile. God, what a smile.

“Okay, um, thanks, dete-”

“No, please! Call me Jay.”

“Alright,” you acknowledged, a little nervous this time, “then, thank you, Jay. Just, be advised, I can be very talkative sometimes, which means you might regret giving me this.” You warned him with a sly smile while waving the card in front of his face.

“Huh.” Jay pretended to consider it for a moment. “Is it too weird if I say I have a feeling that I won’t regret it?” He then asked you with a cute shy smile.

“Well, it sure isn’t weirder than me saying that I really hope you don’t regret it.” You confessed to him with a wink.

“Hey, are you two gonna take that flirting elsewhere on your own, or do you need me to get you a room?” You heard Sergeant Platt call out, blushing immediately.

“I’m so sorry about that!” Jay told you, looking a little flushed himself. “You should probably go now.” He added with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, I think you’re right..” You agreed, but, as you were turning around to leave, he grabbed your wrist lightly, saying:

“Just… Don’t forget to call.” Hearing that, you snickered a little.

“I have a feeling that I won’t.” You told him, almost repeating his previous words, which got some chuckles out of him.

Now you understood the nickname.