#serve looks at your minimum wage job!!!

[luvfromlucifer]

dress however you want!!!!! don’t be held back by stupid things like gender stereotypes or any of that dumb shit!!!!!! personal style is so important!!!!! you will feel 100 times better when you’re dressed in a way that makes you happy!!!!!!

[satoruhour]

ur gonna get sick of seeing me in ur inbox lol but t i’ve been thinking a whole lot about sugar daddies and i need to know what the jjk men would be like as sugar daddies and what type of sugar baby they’d go for and and and their favourite things to do with you, both inside and outside the bedroom 💖 and how likely they are to fall in love and make u their wifey

a/n: i am so normal about jjk men. this shit is so long i got carried away. it’s too long that i’ll need to seperate and post nanami’s and toji’s part in a second post TT pt. 2 here

warnings: long piece, sugar daddy!au, discussions of kinks including daddy kink, creampies / breeding, public sex, exhibitionism, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, facials, cumshots, praise, degradation, dp, threesome, voyeurism, orgasm denial, overstimulation, lingerie, brat-taming, let me know if i missed anything. n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

most annoying sugar daddy eva but he’s one of the fun ones where he feels like your best friend and sponsor all in one

i honestly see gojo not having a preference for specific sugar babies, but he doesn’t like babies who are ashamed of their relationship. like it’s one thing to be private of your relationship but another to introduce satoru as just your trust fund without alluding to your relationship

“he’s helping me with my university fees” like yeah any rich FRIEND could do that but it’s different from hooking an arm around his to introduce you two as a couple

sure maybe he may have blurred the lines at first when touches became more personal and whatnot but at this point he’s basically your boyfriend — even if you don’t want to explain the sugar daddy part, he still wants to be know as your partner and equal

you two “met” at an event where you were paid minimum wage for a waitress job, serving drinks to rich ppl and he’s so entranced with how you move. it’s not until later when he goes outside to accompany geto for a smoke that he sees you and your friends who worked the job together just talking and laughing in the parking lot while you rested your feet 

it was cute and refreshing seeing your laughter after experiencing your stoic expression in the stuffy event even he didnt want to go to. since it was once of the first few events he started attending as a new CEO

made an impression by approaching you when your friends went in and your back was turned but you took him as a creep and screamed and punched him and he’s groaning while you just apologise profusely

it’s his fault, he knows, approaching in such a dark area but he doesnt mind the dark bruise forming on his nose bridge even when his best friend was laughing from a distance and youre helping him off the ground. your hands are so soft and your voice so sweet he swears he wants to protect you from the get go

after that whole hooha, he finds out youre still a uni student trying to pay off fees and randomly asks if you want to be his sugar baby and realises he wants you to be his gf when you’re playing some digimon video game at his house, enjoying your winter break. youre triumphant in the round and he grabs your wrist mid celebratory pose and pulls you to him

are you going to punch me for payback? gojo pfts and laughs, and just says just wanted to tell you i like you and LEAVES dude is so afraid of your answer until youre wrapping your arms arnd him from behind muttering out a finally and hearing the vibration of his chuckle

gojo wants his baby to ask for help when you needs it, and doesn’t mind being spoiled

LOVES to buy you flashy stuff. glittery, bright coloured things (that somehow still look classy) that scream expensive. gojo is very good at persuasion. he listens you dont like it however

i feel like the more he gets to know you, he understands your style more so while some of the things he buys are still fairly gaudy, you’re surprised every time he manages to purchase something that fits your preference. he’s gotten very good at it

gojo wires you money when he feels like it, whenever. he calls what he has a “sugar baby radar” and it’s just him thinking youre panicking over not having money for a textbook or something and just types in a random amount to transfer to you lol

he’s just a chill guy though, who wants to be a good boyfriend as he is a sugar daddy. like yeah he’s had sugar babies before and he enjoys giving but you’ve always hooked him in from day one and he realises he doesn’t just want to give you money but love too

gojo wants a bit of balance in the relationship as well — so he accompanies you to fashion stores to try on clothes but he would also love it if you followed him to tailor stores or watch stores for normal CEO stuff 

you roll your eyes but actually you love every suit he changes into, and you always think of taking him right there

he LOVES his sunglasses that’s one thing he’s always dragging you to look at

and then there is interests that involve the both of you: lingerie shopping lol, jewellery, etc

he gets you a little G.S. initial necklace for your second anni and it looks so cute on you

clingy and so annoying bout it. you love it tho, seeing such a rich guy babble out five more minutes with hair sticking out everywhere.

he surrenders to you easily in the way he lets you crash his place whenever you’re cramming for an exam, or just needs some comfort. his things becomes yours very easily and he smiles when he finds himself wanting to learn how to cook properly when you’re sleeping in

likes to buy lingerie that matches his eyes, but ofc also picking your preferred colour. but seeing the fabric that matches the blue of his eyes drives him crazy, but also he gets to say “my eyes are always on you” and it’s just a reference to how there’s baby blue lingerie on you

HES SO LAME . i swear to god.

also a little bit of a boomer when it comes to younger slang and whatnot and it’s endearing to see when he’s supposed to be a CEO but you can’t help but laugh when he asks you for help on what fomo meant

very open on topics that touchy subjects or sensitive things. he may appear loud and annoying but he’s got depth to him due to his hardships since he was young. like yeah sure a guy who already was in line to take over his father couldn’t have hardships when he was young but he’s always despised this line of work. satoru is still finding a way to break off from his toxic family business to create his own, something that wont come without blackmail and scandals

the first time you heard this you were surprised because you had never seen gojo so serious before. he mentions it’s not obligatory for you to open up as well, but you mumble along about always struggling with money and working jobs to make ends meet. it’s not detrimental, but sometimes you wish there was someone treating you to a small meal or drink

this vulnerable state was early on in your relationship as well, and as you two go along, gojo is so grateful to be able to take care of you. it strengthens your relationship as well, because while you have your funny, hysterical moments, being vulnerable with your sugar daddy turned boyfriend is everything you could ask for

gojo realises the first time he might put a ring on you was when you guys had sex that was intense and broke the headboard LMFAO you two laughed about it during it, but during aftercare you’re patting his chest, telling him how you’ll end work early to meet him at IKEA to get a new one tomorrow — that simple act of going with someone to find furniture like ohhhh my god he was so whipped

like it’s one thing to buy clothes and material things but when you said that, flashes of your possible married life flashed before his eyes and he wants to say i love you but finds you’re already asleep. he can’t wait to actually move out of his family sponsored home into an apartment with you. gojo doesn’t care if it’s smaller than mansions and penthouses. if you’re happy, he is.

n*sfw hc’s below

gojo is open to a lot of things regarding your sex life. he didn’t want to scare you when you first started out but when he found out you’re just as much of a freak as he is he’s going to pound town baby!

not big on the daddy kink ngl (and he also because he’s too pathetic to be called a daddy), but loves using it in the context of cumming in you and breeding you and the prospect of you being pregnant with his child. 

even if it’s not on his checklist right now, he just loves the filthiness and saying things like that

loves to fuck in bathrooms of important events, the cold marble against your skin making you freeze up as your eyes can hardly focus on your reflection. you’re just thankful you were able to find the ‘cleaning’ sign to prevent anyone from entering

loves to tease you and threaten to take away his black card and youre whining. hes annoying, asking you to use your words and youre begging to cum on his fingers.

very playful in the bedroom but he’s always calling you his dumb baby who loves getting fucked stupid by him until theres only money and him on your mind

loves it when you wear the extensions to the G.S. initial necklace, buying four more initials: two for your wrist, two for your ankles so he can hear it jingle when you stroke his cock while your flick your tongue at his tip

r hear it next to his ear when your legs are on his shoulder as he rails into you

on a funnier note he would totally fuck you on a bed of money. just for shits and giggles

loves to film you especially in his office, whether you’re playing with yourself or sucking him off or getting fucked he loves it so much bc of the fact he’s so unprofessional in a professional setting

gojo likes it when you initiate sex, especially in places that are risky and pretty public. his office is a starter, coming in dressed in a tight pencil skirt to mirror his insufferable PA who kept making advances on him. she was demoted the very next day LMFAO

but yeah you wore the skirt to provoke him, pulling his tie over the table while a stocking clad knee rests on his wooden desk. there’s a confidence in you he’s never seen before and he just cant resist flicking his eyes down to the suffocating button up shirt you’ve got on

satoru doesn’t care that his whole office can hear you moan out his name or the slaps of his balls on your ass. or doesn’t really care about the construction workers looking at you two go at it like rabbits from the opposite building

the heat of the glass paired with your body that feels on fire is enough to make you lightheaded but the eyes and ears peeking in on your intercourse is so thrilling to you bc you know gojo can just pay them off to shut the fuck up

loves you on your knees giving him head when he’s in an important meeting, the swirl of your tongue feeling so good on his length

but what’s more he loves giving you head even more. doesnt matter where. office table, washing machine, bed, he’s so in love with your cum and cunt and has to eat you out at least once a day

gojo loves to cum in you but also on your face, especially if you wear glasses. seeing his white hot cum splattered on your lenses and your face while your tongue darts out to lick some of it off he swear there’s a few more blobs of cum that seeps out from his tip

warnings for drabble: reader has glasses, pet names, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, face-fucking, praise, facial, cum eating, semi-public sex 

“baby— sweetness, oh my g-god…” gojo whines out, once the board members are out of the meeting room, rolling his chair back slowly while you follow on your knees, cock still in your mouth. he’s glancing down at you with such need you’d think you’re the one leading the relationship, the hands in your hair tightening when you lick down his shaft before taking one of his balls in his mouth, sucking at the sack while pumping him.

the long acrylic nails that he paid for are on display along with your G.S. bracelet as you pump his dick, slick, wet noises fill the spacious meeting room. gojo almost wants to say something but your head descends on his large cock again, taking him right to the back of your mouth when his tip hits your throat and you struggle to keep your eyes open as you breathe through your nose.

“fuuckk… that’s it. take me s’well,” satoru moans at the tears forming at your waterline, pulling your head off for a moment for you to catch your breath and you know what he wants to do, because his hips cannot resist one bit whenever you’ve got his dick in your mouth. slowly, he starts to move his body off the office chair, thrusting up into your waiting, obedient mouth and he moans so loud he isn‘t surprised someone hasn’t come in already.

“so wet and warm, princess— s-shit, can’t wait to fuck your cute little pussy,” he has a foul mouth, and you moan around his length at the words, hands tensing around his thighs as he continued to fuck your face. gojo is so rough that your glasses are messed up, tilting to one side but you continue to feel up his body. you would get fired like this, sucking the cock of someone who has their pants pulled down halfway while wet, gurgling noises fill the space. but you knew the CEO, the man who’s now whining out your name as his hips start to stutter, eyes scrunched up in pure pleasure before forcing you off his cock, hands stroking his leaking cock in quick movements. you adjust your glasses like a good girl, sticking out your tongue as you admire the sight before you. want my cum all over your face, angelface?

satoru whimpers out that he’s gonna cum! with his heavy, beautiful cock out, pumping harshly before he shoots his load all over you, spilling his white, viscous liquid all over your face and glasses and you swallow whatever that’s close to your mouth and tongue, darting out to lick up the heavy ball of cum still leaking from his sensitive tip, and he jolts on your tongue.

you giggle, hand closing around his length once more and gojo just groans at its warmth. he loves it, he loves everything ’bout you and he can’t wait to turn over the tables later when he hears you say, “again.”

✶GETO

doting sugar daddy!!! out of sex life he’s the most ‘giving’, but he has his moments of depriving you of things because you being a brat but yes he’s the softest in the normal context of a relationship

similarly, not much preference for sugar babies but he wouldn’t like babies who ask for too much? idk if that makes sense but it’s more of being given so many options of a type of clothing or bag but still whining to want something more expensive

like the money doesn’t bother him but it’s more of your attitude regarding material things. can’t stand babies who are rotten to the core and are actually spoiled that it ruins the act of him giving you things and of you asking for things because no matter what he buys you’re not satisfied

it also pisses him off if it carries into your way of treating people, dragging him away from his co-workers to only want him for yourself, that sort of thing

yea… that. unfortunately he’s had his fair share of babies like that, bc he’s so generous they end up so spoiled and terrible that even now he’s still getting texts from them. poor guy

he likes if you’re able to bite back with your own sort of fire, he doesnt expect you to if you dont like to but it turns him on seeing you shout at a co-worker for gossiping about your relationship perhaps

he met you through your intern position at his company, and it’s been a few weeks before you’re confused at why the CEO wanted to see you 

hes not one to rush into relationships but he was so interested in seeing you react to being asked to be his sugar baby that he blurts it out and slaps his hand on his mouth. “wrong thing. my bad”

when you’ve been under his care for a few months, he sees how hard you work while completing other assignments at lunch, he wants you to surrender to him when you need the comfort. lets you sleep in his office and reluctantly stroked your hair, shaking when you lean into the affection. ends up sleeping on the floor watching you and gets massive back pain and suffocates when you fall onto your boss at 7am in the morning

unfortunately the two of you were not exactly on the same page that day. you thought it was a one off thing. geto thinks youre already dating. this goes on for a few weeks ;;;

geto NEEVERR asked you out so you were surprised to find that geto wanted to be like, an actual boyfriend and an actual date when he showed you a piece of paper and it was like a new pottery studio that opened down the road

and he just says “i thought we already were dating?????”

yeah like he wasnt giving you more things than usual and being more touchy with you. you didnt want to read into it too much okay!!!!

but it’s fine, because geto was one of the best boyfriend you ever had. youre convinced he would be a great bf even if you werent in this sugar daddy / baby arrangement

geto likes to show you off quietly, a hand on your back and your thigh, or a whisper to your ears that it has the other workers talking, but you don’t mind when the things he says are sometimes the sweetest things. they’re also filthy.

it isnt bc he doesn’t want to show you off, but he likes the attention and gossip when you enter his office for the nth time that day and the eyes on him like he’s committing a crime. he likes the eyes that follow you knowing they can't have you. but he pays them, so they can’t say much

suguru loves to buy things that are for his eyes, going back to the ‘showing you off quietly’ part, like paying for a tattoo on your lower back, an anklet that’s sometimes hidden in your shoe, a belly button piercing, lingerie, he loves it

ofc he loves buying you clothes and dresses too, but he sometimes gets a bit jealous of everyone’s eyes on you so they’re sometimes a little less revealing than you would like

ok i should clarify too: he LIKES everyone’s eyes on you only when he knows he can show and tell them that youre his. but how tf is he supposed to do that with a mere dress??? u get what i mean

he’s not going to be an asshole and not let you wear a revealing piece of apparel that you like tho! but just know what you’ll be getting later at night lol

geto is very on trend as an older person, sometimes sending you tiktok trends you can do or updating you on conventions or events that you are interested in

he likes routine, so everyday he’ll be transferring a set amount of money to you for your daily allowance but sometimes you dont even use it all so it just piles up in your account lol

and he is observant, always wiring you more money than usual if you’re going out with your friends or meeting a friend for a bday, sacrificing his time to learn about your major so he can help you in whatever way he can !!! he’s that sort of bf

gives you handmade gifts sometimes!! it’s soooo endearing when he makes time for it and gives you something that isnt bought w/ money. likes to do those photo ones bc theyre ones that mean more to him, but he also rlly likes writing letters under them and giving you like a seven page letter talking bout why youre a blessing to him

is pretty stylish when he’s not in his suits. likes to wear baggy clothes like he’s nineteen again and he looks young enough to pull it off so you two always look cool when you two go out

weirdly his personality at work and on dates is vastly different from each other. you think that maybe he wants to keep work, work. but later on in the relationship you both realise it’s how you’re so easy-going to be around that he doesn’t have to be dominating with you??? like he’s so okay with you putting bunny ears on him or having his arm hooked around yours instead. basically he’s very comfortable in his masculinity and he wishes he could be like that at work too, but the finance bros would be questioning why this guy was even their CEO

geto listens to you easily. and like i said hes observant, bringing you a glass of water when you’re coughing or opening the blinds of his office when you’re reading. the smile you give him after every favour he does is enough reward for him, and he really doesn’t mind doing all those things for you either.

basically worships you, so when you’re suggesting that his company start having courses for men to learn how to be proper human beings (following your question of why he’s so diff at work vs with you), he’s immediately setting up a meeting to achieve that. the guys who are borderline misogynists obviously leave immediately and hes just like. why didnt i think of that b4????

is always always thinking of you. he’s become so distracted in meetings and conversations sometimes and your spell on him is hypnotising.

the first time he realises he properly loves you (and also wants to marry you) is when you two make love. like yes you’ve fucked and shit but it happens inside a shower where you offered to wash his hair. it’s cute seeing you stand on a small stool to reach his height, but the feel of your fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp is soooo good. and from there he lets you wash his body with the loofah too, scrubbing down every inch until ofc one thing leads to another

he thinks it was your hands that held so much love, washing his body that the sex was slow and had a lot of feelings laced with it.

he also didn’t want to fall, though. but you slipped a little after coming the first time and geto was able to catch you in time. you shared giggles and a little kiss and he thinks that maybe this life forever with you would be one of the best things to happen to him

his resolve solidifies later when he’s calling his usual tiler to retile the showering part of the bathroom and when he ends the call he just goes would i do this for anyone else?

yeah probably not — and so geto buys a ring the very next day

n*sfw hc’s below

very comfortable with letting you take the lead if you want to, but usually likes to be the one running the show

like gojo he is very open to things but only if you’re okay with it. like you have to be the one to bring it up or he’s afraid he’ll scare you lol

gets turned on easily, but he’s very good at hiding it. like the day you wore a revealing dress to his office. it was so difficult not to moan out when he sees you walk through the door. he wanted to stand up and kiss you SO bad but he was in a zoom meeting with potential clients lmfao

but he made sure you knew you wouldnt be teasing him and getting off so easily that day after he asks you to stay where you were and he ended up making up some lame excuse of having another meeting anyway before he leaves the call and locks the door and slams you against it and he hikes up your dress as he places a leg on his shoulder

geto eats you out right then and there

also rmb how i said he gets jealous of ppl staring at you? well suguru loves it if it were to happen in a sexual context and he gets to fuck you in front of everybody. he just cant show them you belong to him at a normal event in a dress he bought, but he’s totally fine with pounding you from behind and letting them watch as you get ruined with tears and mascara running down your face

can be really mean behind doors if he’s not sweet with you. you like to tease him!!!! Sometimes you’re punished for it!!!! geto loves both ends of the spectrum: denying you your high and overstimulating you. he only ever denies you if youre being a brat but usually he likes to make you cum on his tongue multiple times before he’s fucking you

he enjoys your face of want and need, either grinding against him to cum (denial) or pushing him away despite your body wanting it (overstim)

sometimes makes you work for your allowance and tells you to tell him who’s fucking you so good just for some money in your pocket. your pussy is too good so he was going to give it to you anyway 

is not opposed to voyeurism. usually he brings his best friend over to fuck you and bc he’s a whiny bitch, geto gets off to both of you fucking like dogs in heat with a slow pace to his hand. often initiates threesomes with gojo and makes him the middle man, fucking him while gojo fucks you and he loves it every time. sometimes he makes gojo watch the two of you too

but he also loves it when you take two cocks in you, him up your pussy bc youre his, first and foremost, while satoru takes your ass. 

regarding sex, suguru likes it when you take the reins to pleasure yourself. he gets off seeing you use him as ive mentioned in the previous drabble, and just like the denial / overstim part, loves to see your mouth contort into an ‘o’ along with your rolled back eyes. bounce on his dick, ride his face, slobber over his cock while you rub your clit, he fuckin loves it

not big on the daddy thing either, but it depends on his mood tbh. im not sure how that works but he likes when you use it when youre deep in subspace and just going limp as he fucks you and all can manage is moaning out small “daddy’s” helplessly

warnings for drabble: gojo watches, sub!gojo, voyeurism, insinuation of stsg, exhibitionism, m! masturbation, overstimulation, semi-public sex, oral (f and slight m receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, pet names, praise, cum eating, implied threesome + 2nd round

“suguru— no, f-fuck, they’re gonna hear!” you muffle your moans with your mouth, hand clasped tight onto your lips while you’re pressed up against the door. you’ve been like this for three orgasms already, legs shaking while you struggle to keep your knees from buckling under you. it’s like geto doesn’t even care how the office door is so thin, occasional thumps occurring from how geto pushes you against the wood. the workers outside obviously know what’s going on, but they don’t dare say a word.

“let me enjoy this, princess,” he manages to say quickly before going back to slurping up your juices, but while you think your situation is bad, you’re glancing over to gojo in geto’s office chair, hand stroking his cock languidly, but every so often you can see how satoru thrusts his hips into the air, needing anything but his own hand right now. “and keep eye contact with satoru.”

geto purrs out his best friend’s name, pulling your hips towards his relentless mouth as your arousal drips down your inner thighs and legs. across you, there’s gojo who looks like he wants to touch the both of you so terribly, but is only subjected to tearful eyes and his warm hand that doesn’t compare to suguru’s or your mouth, little pants leaving his mouth. he watches as you grind your hips into his best friend’s mouth, the obscene noises of your sopping wet cunt makes him twitch in his hand.

“babygirl… suguru…” he whines out, sweat dripping down his body at the stuffiness of the office while the slick noises of him stroking his length reverberates throughout the room. geto hums at his begging voice, but only sucks on your clit harder and it makes you moan out, hands getting lost in his long black hair while your eyes are threatening to roll to the back of your head. the only ground you have now is satoru’s bright blue ones, a shiver going through you when he whimpers out your name

“you’re doing so well, s-satoru… shit,” you’re calling out to the white-haired male who locks eyes with you, both turned on at such a sight: the sweaty hair stuck to your face and your beautiful sounds, the flush on gojo’s cheeks and his angry tip that’s leaking pre-cum. “suguruu… oh my god—”

“yeah?” he speaks in between slobbering all over your pussy, “so fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” flicking and playing with your puffy, sensitive clit with his tongue until you hunch over him on a particular lick, the leg over his shoulder squeezing him so much that it cramps and you’re cumming suddenly and you’re forgetting about satoru and everyone outside. your head slams so hard against the door that you get a little lightheaded, but the crashing of your fourth orgasm is all you can fixate on as your body shudders and incessant whines escape your mouth.

“my favourite meal of the day,” geto smiles from below you and grins when you mumble out how it’s more of his fourth meal of the day, taking a hand from his hair before he places a kiss on the back of it and spares a glance towards gojo who’s close to crying.

with a nod from suguru, you’re walking on shaky legs before kneeling before satoru, wrapping your lips ’round his tip and that’s all it takes for him to cum, shooting ropes upon ropes of hot semen down your throat as you stroke his base. the other is bucking his hips into your mouth at the sensitivity, moaning out both your name and suguru’s.

“attagirl.” you slyly smile at the praise that befalls on your ears before showing both of them the cum that’s left on your tongue, already excited for the next round.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Help me! I'm hypnotized...

The loser roommate I got stuck with did something to my brain. I didn't think it was possible, but that pathetic fag somehow put me in a trance. I don't remember how: with a pendant or spiral; but it doesn't matter! What matters is that at any second he can say a trigger word, and I end up like this: smiling and flexing like a fucking idiot 'till he releases me.

Sure, I look like I'm alright, but I've been stuck in this pose for two hours. My biceps ache and my shoulders are on fire. Add to that a leg cramp that I cant walk off and you'll realize how awful this torture is.

I'd just been trying to finish an essay (his essay to be exact.) I might be on the football team, but this lazy geek is forcing me to do his homework for him! And even though he ordered me to do that, against my will, he calls me up and says my fucking trigger word! It's fucking ridiculous! I used to go out and party with my teammates on nights like this, but now I'm stuck being this dweeb's mannequin-on-command.

I just know he's going to boss me around when he finally gets here. He'll probably make me cook him dinner again. I'd spit in it if I could -hell, I'd probably poison it if I could- but I know I'll be stuck in my own body again. I hate it when he tells me to smile and serve him like a waiter. God, its humiliating...

He makes me workout during my free time, which I have a lot of now that I can't speak to any of my old buddies. I gotta say that my body's never looked better. I guess their is one upside to being under his control: whenever he tells me to train harder, I have to do it.

The gym is the one area of my life where I can at least pretend that I'm not someone's trained monkey. Still, the fact that I can't even shower without his permission is a pretty harsh reminder. Whenever I get back from a workout, my legs march straight to the table where I sit, flex, and smile while I wait for him to tell me what to do. It doesn't matter how tired or hot I am. Sometimes, he doesn't even let me shower. He just tells me to mop the sweat up with my shirt and then put it back on.

I think the nerd has a thing for sweaty jocks or something. The thought of this creep making me do all this to get his little dick hard pisses me off more than anything...

I applied for a job today. It wasn't because I wanted to. My roommate decided that he wants more spending money, so he turned to me and said that I was going to earn it for him. So it wasn't enough for me to be his personal chef, maid, and eye candy! I have to be his fucking ATM now too?!

The tie wasn't my idea either. He told me to go buy some fancy clothes to make sure I impressed my "future employer." He's such a dweeb, and now he's making me dress like a loser too.

Obviously I nailed the interview. It wasn't hard when he programmed me to say things like "I've always wanted to deliver pizzas," or "I want to be the best employee you've ever had!" He made me sound like such a kiss-ass for a stupid minimum-wage job. Even the guy interviewing me thought I was being a bit excessive! I got hired on the spot, and I'm already scheduled every night this week, because my roommate specifically made me ask for as many hours as possible.

Now that I'm done with probably the most humiliating thing I've ever done, I'm stuck flexing with a tie on 'till that asshole gets home...

I got my first paycheck after a long couple of weeks doing his classwork during the day and delivering pizzas at night. My roommate texted and told me to wait by the front door with my paycheck. Apparently, he's going out tonight with some of his loser friends and wants the cash now. I can't believe I'm about to hand it over to him.

"Hey, handsome," he calls, shutting his car door.

"I'm glad your home, sir. How was your day?"

I do not give a shit about his day! He ordered me to say that whenever he gets back. He's also programmed me to get up and hug him like I'm a fucking queer in love!

"Better now," he purrs, squeezing my butt cheek while we hug, "You should come with me and my friends tonight."

The last thing I want to do is be around him and his pansy-assed friends. "Yes, sir," I smile.

"We're going to a gay bar, and I think you would be an excellent wingman."

My stomach drops at the sound of a gay bar. I don't want to be anywhere near that place, and I really don't want the guy with total control over me parading me around that place like I'm his fucking slut! Where is this going? He wouldn't make me do anything gay, right? The terrifying truth is he could. He could order me to act like a stripper there, or...or worse. Fuck! I don't think there's anything he couldn't make me do. He could order me on my knees right now, and I'd do it with this stupid smile still plastered across my face. He could make me blow his tiny cock, and I'd be helpless to do anything other than enthusiastically suck! I don't want to go to that gay bar. I have to escape.

"Yes, sir," I hear my voice gleefully ring out.

[nvuy]

so… about that drink you ordered — boothill

summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.

notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.

warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.

Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.

This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.

The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.

The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.

There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.

It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.

Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.

He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.

Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.

He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.

A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.

Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.

The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”

“Hard whiskey.”

Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.

The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”

A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”

There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.

“Thanks, Gal.”

“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”

The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.

Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.

“You followin’ me?”

“You followed me first,” you say harshly.

The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”

“‘Thing?’” you repeated.

There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.

Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Boop.”

Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.

Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.

He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.

“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.

Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.

“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.

“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”

He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”

“No.”

He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”

You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.

“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.

You grin.

You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”

After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.

Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.

“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”

Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”

Boothill quietly sips his drink.

At least you can both agree on something.

He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.

You talk too much.

He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”

You lean closer to the image. Pretty.

She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.

You hum. “What’s her name?”

“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.

You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”

“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”

Your brows knit together.

“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.

Boothill grins.

Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”

You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.

Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”

Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”

Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”

Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.

You could feel your face burning.

He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.

“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”

He’s not stupid.

He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

God damnit.

Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.

The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.

You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”

“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”

You grit your teeth.

“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.

You eye him warily for a moment.

“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”

You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.

“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”

You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.

But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.

The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.

You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.

You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.

“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”

Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”

“You are not–”

Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.

Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.

He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.

He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.

You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.

You didn’t.

You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.

He slides his whiskey next to you.

Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”

With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.

You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?

Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.

Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.

Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡

There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.

[radley-writes]

This is the anti-marketing website, etc. etc. etc., but I've seen a couple of these posts do okay and it's Pride month so... Here goes?

Do ya wanna support a queer disabled author who is still slightly baffled that they broke into tradpub?

Do ya like stories about working class uprisings, set against a backdrop of corporate corruption and Superheroes Behaving Badly?

Do ya yearn for a plucky lesbian underdog of a hero, who becomes a supervillain sidekick while navigating her voracious horniness for both her grumpy butch coworker and her straight best friend (oddly specific, I know)?

Do ya want a murder mystery where we know the victim and the killer, but have to untangle the motive?

Do the descriptions "Laughed my butt off", "Me lesbeeb" and "Books that made me want to burn down the government" make you reach for your wallet?

If so, look no further than my debut, Strictly No Heroics!

[ID: cover of a book showing a figure in a gasmask, hoodie and gloves, leant on an old TV. A rainbow pride pin is pinned to their jacket. Text reads ‘STRICTLY NO HEROICS’ in neon pink and green, and ‘B. L. Radley’ in white.]

Have an actual blurb too, while you're reading!

If you're a powerless normie in a world run by superheroes, you need three rules to survive:

1: Keep your head down

2: Don’t make enemies

3: STRICTLY NO HEROICS

When a hero gropes her best friend, Riley Jones breaks all of them.

​Her attempt at serving justice gets her fired from her summer job. Luckily, Sunnylake City’s biggest business is booming (literally, when there's C4 involved).

​Every villain wants henchmen: masked cronies who take their coffee orders, vacuum their secret lairs, and posture in the background while they fight. The HENCH agency provides a steady stream of drop-outs and losers who are willing to get beaten up for minimum wage.

​Riley might just be the perfect candidate.

You can

buy my book here

UK version here

Reblogs are greatly appreciated, and kisses to everyone who's already got their hands on a copy!

[sonotpattismith]

my blues for my brain (megumi fushiguro x reader)

word count: 8.7k inspired by: fate by grey reverend content: angst, fluff, mentions of car accidents, hospitals, invisible string theory, me pretending gojo is still alive for my mental health

“Please don’t leave me here.”

These words were ones all too familiar to you, in an all too familiar scenario. The difference was, it wasn’t you clinging to life with blood soaked skin. Instead, it was the strange boy that had just raced out of the over-priced cafe that you worked at to make a dime during your summer semesters. 

You could recall the exact, desperate words falling from your own lips as a good samaritan crouched in front of you just a few years back, your fingertips just a hair away from death’s door. In an act that would serve to veer you off any sense of understanding for your purpose in life, that person didn’t leave you to die, despite the chaos that was ensuing around him. When you woke, you had more questions that filled your prayers than thanks. 

Why did you live if others had died the same fate that was allotted to your own life? There was meaning to everything that happened in one’s life— at least that’s what everyone told you when you woke in your hospital bed. What was the meaning of this though? Were you meant to find a new purpose in your life; was this meant to steer you in the right path? If so, why did you end up working a minimum wage job as you scraped up enough money for a college education you still had little to no clue what you wanted to do with yet? 

Up until that day, as the pale stranger’s desperate grip on your hand slowly weakened with his waning consciousness, you were sure you had failed whatever god saved you all those years ago. As the man before you opened his eyes for the briefest of moments to beg for your mercy, you thought meaning had finally found you. 

“You’d think for a café in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Tokyo that there would be a little more excitement in here every once and a while.” Your coworker droned as she stared at the front door, which hadn’t opened in exactly forty-one minutes. Who was counting though? 

You shouldered into her with a half-hearted smile as you made yourself a mid-shift drink. Today’s choice happened to be a matcha latte, though you often switched it up for the sake of having something new to look forward to everyday. Peering back at her and then toward the hustle and bustle just outside the shop, you sighed dejectedly. What meaning did standing behind this counter for hours a day have? Perhaps you should be enjoying the life that was granted back to you so fortunately, you thought as you trailed an absentminded finger down the scar that ran down your arm. 

Snapping from your haze, you offered her the most encouraging smile you could muster in the midst of your perpetual existential crisis. 

“Staring at the door isn’t going to make customers appear.” You scolded, and she peered over at you with a bored glare, to which you chuckled lightly. “Quick, pick a syrup, and we’ll put it in my matcha to see if we’re horrible at our jobs or not.”

At this, an amused smile stretched across her face, and she quickly straightened up to look over the options. As you two bickered over which of you had more abysmal taste than the other, the rare chime of the front door interrupted your concocting session. The both of you snapped up like dogs who just heard their food bowl rattle in the next room. 

Appearing slightly out of breath and frantic, a man stepped into the café. There was a determination in his step as he rushed over to the register and rested his hand atop the counter to lean in with purpose. There were prominent, pink scars lining his face, so large in size and quantity that you wondered what kind of trouble someone seemingly your age could have gotten himself into already. Forgoing your growing curiosity, you mustered up a welcoming smile. 

“Welcome! Can I get—”

“Did you see anything strange passing around here just a second ago?” The two of you spoke at the same time, but he paid no mind to your cut-off question as he stared expectantly at you. 

Your mouth slowly shut, brows furrowing in the process as you tried to recall anything that had happened in the last five minutes, but the only memories that surfaced were you trying to decide between lavender or hazelnut syrup. 

“Maybe we have, but we reserve the right to withhold answers for paying customers, actually.” Your coworker chimed in with a mischievous smile, clearly just desperate for any business on this slower-than-usual day. The raven-haired man sighed indignantly.

“This is serious—”

“So is our no loitering policy.” You had to repress a tickled smile at her persistence. She smiled triumphantly as he grumbled and frantically fished a few spare yen from his pockets and slammed them on the table. 

“A black coffee!” He growled his order at her before returning his attention to you, a scowl set deeply on his already intimidating face. Beside you, your coworker mumbled something in reference to his boring order before working to prepare it. “Now what did you see?”

You almost felt bad after the fact, that you could only pathetically shake your head at his question. 

“I’m sorry, I really haven’t seen anything. What are you looking—”

A frustrated grunt from the disgruntled man cut you off, and before you knew it he was storming out of the café. An amused scoff escaped you as you watched him leave, and your coworker leaned against the counter beside you.

“Just our luck— we ask for entertainment, and we get crazy.” She commented with a shake of her head. “He left his coffee, too.”

This made you tear your gaze from the door to the lidded, brown cup she set down on the counter. His yen were still sat messily before you, and you suddenly felt bad for having coerced him into buying something. Peering out to see him speaking to a few pedestrians just outside the shop, you grasped the cup and exited your post behind the register. 

“Hey!” You called out, ignoring your coworker’s questioning as you poked your head out the door. Sighing when he appeared too preoccupied to notice your calls, you prepared to try one more time as he continued his frantic trek through the bustling city. “You forgot your—”

The blaring sound of a truck’s horn sliced through your attempted good deed of the day, and you could only watch in stone-cold horror as the offending vehicle slammed into your distracted customer. His uniform-clad body jolted across the street with a velocity you had trouble keeping up with. Your eyes wouldn’t allow you to stop following the movements no matter how hard you tried though. The steaming cup in your hands slipped from your trembling fingers before splattering across the ground in tandem with the stranger’s blood across the street. 

Vehicle’s horns were blaring behind the truck that had come to a screeching halt. Behind you, your coworker rushed out, shouting words you couldn’t process in your shell-shocked state. You watched with vast, unblinking eyes as his body finally rolled to a stop, and he twitched out in agony. With unwavering precision, you could swear you knew the exact pain that was coursing through his body at that moment; the fear that must be setting his wounds ablaze. It wasn’t that long ago that it was you, laying in uncertainty, at the mercy of whoever might have felt your life was worthy enough to try saving. 

So, you ripped your arm out of your coworker’s frantic grip, and your legs raced toward the scene. The truck driver was stumbling out of the driver’s seat, a horror-stricken expression etched onto his features as you dropped down to your knees beside the barely conscious man. Blood coated the corners of his lips as he continued to weakly sputter up the substance. 

“Oh my god,” You babbled mindlessly, hands hovering over him as you contemplated what to do. As if reacting to your voice, his head swayed in your direction, but his eyes remained shut. He was pale— dare you say even paler than he was when he walked into your shop just moments ago. “Call an ambulance!” You shouted at the truck driver, who seemed to be too shell-shocked to spring into action himself. Upon hearing your frantic order, he immediately began fumbling with his cellphone. 

Turning your attention back to the stranger, you noted he was now struggling to pry his eyes open, a deep navy color squinting back at you. 

“Can you hear me?” You questioned, fingers twitching with the urge to turn him on his side in an attempt to prevent him choking on his own blood. You didn’t know what was broken though, so you opted to carefully tilt his head toward you. He only stared deliriously up at you as blood began to ooze from the side of his mouth. “Is there someone I can call? 

Megumi’s mind was in a state all too familiar to him though. It clung on the border between life and death, and, in the past, it was a constant struggle of whether or not it was worth fighting to get through. Now though, he was desperately grasping at the straws of his consciousness. It was his first mission by himself after the trauma his mind and body had endured during the Culling Games. After everything he’d gone through, all the battles he’d fought and the mental strife he’d worked through, this couldn’t possibly be how he left this world. A meaningless and pitiful death— is that what he would have to show for when his friends asked what became of him in the end?

“Hey, hey, stay awake, okay?” Megumi was pulled from his wallowing thoughts by the frantic voice above him, and it sounded as though he was under water, though it wouldn’t surprise him if there was blood in his ears as well. His lips parted, but all that left them was a strangled groan. Your fingers, still warm from his black coffee that had just been clutched in your hand, squeezed gently at his cheeks as though to rouse him from sleep. They slipped from his face and fell into his hand, giving his fingers a soft squeeze. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Weakly, you felt his trembling fingers grasp back at your hand. You found yourself smiling encouragingly at him, though you doubted he could see it. The sirens of an oncoming ambulance had you looking behind you, and you could see the flashing lights in the distance cutting across the traffic. From your peripheral, you saw your coworker racing out toward you, pushing through the small crowd that had formed. 

“He just— it came out of nowhere. He’s—”

“He’s suspicious as fuck.” She finished for you, concern pooling in her eyes as she grabbed your free hand in an attempt to tug you up. As you stumbled a bit, you felt the stranger’s cold hand grasp at your wrist, turning your attention back to him. “Let’s go, the ambulance is already here. This guy was probably caught up in some seriously shady shit.” 

She was right, and you knew it. It was evident from the grotesque and oddly placed scars that lined his face, the strange uniform he donned, down to the odd questions and abrupt departure he had graced you with before the accident. Still, your memories of meeting the exact same fate kept you empathetically tied to his side as you peered down at him apprehensively. He opened his eyes once again, and it appeared as though he was mustering every last bit of strength he had left. His fingers wrapped around your wrist desperately as his lips parted to plea with you.

“Please don’t leave me.”

It was a cry that was so uncharacteristic of him, but he only knew one thing at the moment. The warmth of your hand and the soothing sound of your voice was the only thing tying him down to the land of the living. Without your grounding, he felt he may slip away, resigned to the fate he had just fought so valiantly to avoid. 

The plea clutched at your heartstrings as the paramedics rushed to the scene. They were bustling around you, asking you questions while simultaneously shouting foreign terminology at each other as they immediately began tending to the situation at hand. Your eyes remained locked on the stranger’s as they slowly drifted shut, and he offered one last desolate squeeze to your hand before darkness seemed to consume him. 

“Ma’am,” The gruff voice of the paramedic beside you pulled you from your trance, and it was then that you noticed the tear that slipped down your cheek. Blinking it away, you looked up at the man, still shell-shocked. “Do you know this man?”

“I…” Your words got caught in your throat as his final plea rang in your ears. Glancing up, you saw your coworker on the other side of the sea of medical personelle, shaking her had at you with wide eyes. In your palm though, the limp, cold hand of the stranger still lay. “He’s my partner.” You lied in a haze, watching as they prepared to carefully shift him onto a stretcher. 

Your lie earned you a ride in the ambulance beside him, staring in an absent haze as the team moved like ants around him, peeling his lids back to check his eyes with a tiny light, cutting his shirt down the middle to check his vitals, prying an oxygen mask over his parted lips and expertly starting an IV on his limp arm despite the rustling of the fast-paced vehicle. They attributed your inability to answer any questions to your shock, which was partially true, but you also feared revealing your white lie to them with the wrong responses. 

Police were awaiting you at the hospital when the ambulance came to a screeching halt.  They questioned you about the accident and what you had seen. You complied easily, however couldn’t help but grow nervous once the staff at the hospital asked you to fill out paperwork on your ‘partner’s’ behalf. 

The pen in your hand shook as you stared down at the first blanks. 

FIRST NAME

LAST NAME

Of which you knew neither. 

“Is everything alright?” The soft voice of a compassionate nurse questioned as she typed away at her computer, likely awaiting your information to complete his admission. 

You looked up at her patient eyes, and you couldn’t hold back your lie any longer, explaining to her what had actually happened. Her slow nod made you feel guilty, as she thanked you for your honesty and explained the paperwork would be different now as they had no way to identify the stranger. He had no identification on him, and the cellphone they’d found in his pocket had shattered in the midst of the accident.

Perhaps you should have gone home after you’d given them all the information they needed, but you stayed in the small waiting room, anxiously bouncing your leg and chewing on your lip. As hours seemed to pass by, you’d perk up each time someone would come in, hoping any of the visitors would be coming to claim the stranger that was currently being tended to in the intensive care unit. They each came and went though, and you remained the only one awaiting him under the fluorescent lights. 

Your eyes were beginning to burn when the nurse you had spoken to hours prior walked carefully up to you, that compassionate smile everpresent on her lips. 

“I know there’s no relation, but I thought you’d like to know his condition is relatively stable as of right now.” She offered, causing you to sit up in the stiff, plastic chair. 

“Thank you— really.” You sighed breathlessly to which she nodded in return. For a moment, you wondered if you were overstepping by asking for anymore details. Casting your eyes down to your lap, you chewed pensively on your lip. She seemed to take note of your bashful apprehension, smiling knowingly. 

“You’re currently the only contact we have for him. There wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to pay him a visit.”

So, with your fingers wringing nervously at the hem of your shirt, you followed the nurse through the unit and to the room he was occupying. Though you had seen first hand the damage the accident had done to him, you still had to bite back a shocked gasp upon seeing the various monitors he was hooked up to, as well as the clear tube running into his mouth and down his throat. You had endless questions for the god-sent nurse, but she had already mentioned that her shift was ending, so you didn’t want to hold her any longer. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet, but they can still hear you, you know?” She explained with an encouraging smile as she leaned against the doorframe. Tearing your gaze from the various lines and tubes connected to him, you peered back at her in shock, but the nurse only nodded affirmatively at you. “It helps. Especially since he’s by himself.” 

Following her polite goodbye with a promise that she’d be back on shift tomorrow morning, you were left alone with the stranger. It was silent in the sterile room, only the persistent beeping of his monitors filling the space around you. A shiver ran down your spine as if the below normal temperatures of the hospital were finally catching up to you as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you had stayed back to drink your stupid, black coffee.” You began hesitantly as you circled the raised bed. Pursing your lips, you slowly sat down on the chair beside him. Toying with the end of the blanket that hung off the bed, the ragged rise and fall of his chest caught your attention, and you wondered how much of it was thanks to the tube running down his throat. “I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.” 

As an assistant came in to check on him, you peered awkwardly down at your lap while they checked his vitals. Once done with the routine checks, you watched her move the blanket back over him and gently adjust certain chords to settle more comfortably around him. It made your heart warm that they seemed so attentive to his comfort, even if he wasn’t conscious enough to notice. You thanked her quietly as she departed from the room. 

“You know the nurse’s assistant was the only one in the room with me when I first woke up after my accident.” You explained to the unconscious man before you. A fond smile settled onto your lips. “My parents had stepped out for a while just to get some food. Just their luck, huh? He held my hand while I was waking up so I wasn’t all by myself. It meant the world to me.”

It felt as though Megumi was trapped right back in the barrier between his mind and his soul— helpless to find an escape. This time around though, he had more of a will to fight. There was no way he had gone through everything and exhausted his mind, body, and soul, all to meet his demise because he didn’t look both ways before crossing the damn street. Another part of him wondered if this was fate granting him mercy. Perhaps if he didn’t die here, hooked up to all these tubes and machines, his cards held something sacreligious— a gruesome and grotesque death rather than the comparably mundane one that had befallen him. After all he’d been through, maybe this was blissful; the only happy ending that could be promised to him. 

As he lay in that strange veil of unconsciousness though, as if at the bottom of a pool, looking up and barely able to see the sun’s light poking up from the surface— someone was there with him. Your voice sounded as though it was just above the feet of water that separated him from life, muffled but still familiar. It was the same voice that had coaxed him into trusting his body to let go, not knowing whether or not it would be strong enough to reemerge again. 

His brows furrowed— that he could feel, and he willed himself to swim up to the surface as the soft hum of your tired rambling filled his ears. Why were you here? Why were you still here? The sorcerer needed to know, and the urge pushed him to keep struggling against the surface pressure that weighed him down. 

You weren’t sure how long you had sat there mindlessly babbling to the unresponsive man. Wariness was beginning to weigh down on your eyes and shoulders though, likely because you had been up since four that morning to prepare for your shift. If you stopped talking, you thought you might flop over and pass out yourself. He couldn’t be by himself when he woke up, you determined. 

Some staff had come in and dimmed the lights in the room what seemed like hours ago, so they weren’t so harsh in your tired eyes as you tilted your head back to stare at the ceiling while spewing out anything that came to mind. 

“My coworker finally texted me, you know. She said the only weird thing that passed by the shop today was you. Are you in some kind of gang? It would explain the uniform and all the…” Your rambling slowly died out as the sound of sheets rustling filled your ears. In an instant, you were sitting up properly in your uncomfortable chair. His hand twitched against the sheets, and you breathed out in anticipation as you watched his face contort in discomfort. The chair you had been occupying for hours slid back as you stood up abruptly to get a closer look. “Hey— can you hear me?”

Megumi forced his eyes open with what seemed like all the energy left in him. He half expected to be in Shoko’s infirmary with his friends hovering obnoxiously over him, or even in his room where he’d awake in his bed and realize he’d dreamt the entire scenario. The blinding, white ceiling tiles above him were different from the ones he’d grown accustomed to over the years though, and the dull ache radiating through his body served to remind him that he certainly hadn’t been graced by any reverse cursed technique. 

Those mysteriously dark eyes stared incredulously up at the ceiling, and you could see the confusion begin to morph onto his features. All too soon, that confusion shifted into panic as he tried to speak, only to be met by the grueling realization that there was a tube shoved down his throat. 

“It’s okay!” You quickly reassured, placing a careful hand on his shoulder to redirect his attention. With the little he was able to move, his eyes shifted as fast as he could manage to look at you, wide in subtle horror. You took your eyes off him for a second to push the nurse call button to alert them of his waking. “You were in an accident. You’re in the hospital.”

As he peered down at the state of himself, he only seemed more unsettled. You figured it was the mangled state he was left in that freaked him out, but what was going through his head was the mission he’d left behind, along with the curse that was likely still running rampant. Still, his inability to speak paired with his limited mobility certainly didn’t do much to settle his nerves. You watched him become more agitated as he attempted to move each limb to no avail, likely thanks to the arsenal of drugs coursing through his veins. 

“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You insisted, peering out the open door to see if the nurse was nearby. Looking around the room, you left his side for a moment to quickly snatch up a marker from the white board on the wall. You uncapped it and placed it in his hand, securing his weak grip around it before offering your arm. “Is there someone we can call? What’s your name?” 

As he stared incredulously down at your offered up arm, your questions were a jumbled mess in his disoriented mind. All that kept running through his head were questions of who the wide eyed, eager girl at his bedside was, and why her voice had been the only thing he could recall from his supposed accident. Megumi’s fingers trembled as they fought to lift up the marker. A muffled grunt escaped him as he tried to get a grip on it, and it clattered to the floor along with the last string of his patience. 

The sound of the marker clanking against the squeaky clean floor rang in his ears, taunting him in his weak state. Just as he began his attempted thrash against the scratchy sheets, the nurse finally stepped in, picking up her pace a bit as she saw the state of agitation he was in. In an instant, she was dialling someone for help, though you couldn’t be bothered to listen to her, desperate to get any answers out of the stranger. Once again, you offered up your hand to him, placing his fingers against your awaiting palm.

“Trace it on my hand, something—”

“Don’t push him.” The nurse urged as more staff members seemed to flood into the room. She was maneuvering over to the line of his IV with a syringe as she attempted to deescalate the situation herself. “He wasn’t supposed to wake up; if he becomes too agitated he can injure himself further.”

“Wait—” You attempted to stop her as she pushed what you assumed was something to calm him down into his line. Logically, you knew it was in his best interest, however your gnawing curiosity had you hoping he would stay conscious for the least bit longer to provide any answers. It only took seconds though, as the drug flooded his system, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to settle back against the flat bed. His eyelids moved torturously slow as he blinked hazily, and you knew the opportunity had found its way to evade you. 

“I-I’ll wait outside.” The dejected reminder fell from your lips, though you were sure the staff were too occupied to pay you any mind. Just as you moved to get out of their way though, the stranger’s weak fingers laced around your hand. With the waning of his already deplorable strength, you felt the pads of his digits press against you, urging you to stay. Looking up with a quiet gasp, you found his half-lidded eyes on you, a desperation in them that seemed so misplaced on his hard features— even if you didn’t know him. 

Megumi thought maybe if he held onto the now familiar presence that had been beside him all this time, that it would be the one thing to keep him alert enough to continue pushing through the haze of his unconsciousness. Whether it was your continuous, honied voice that pulled him from his drug-induced coma, or the fact that he’d pulled himself out of the depths of chains much stronger than the pharmaceuticals currently in his system, he didn’t know. What he did understand, was that your gentle fingers brushing against his knuckles was practically the only thing he could still feel, and it brought him a comfort he was not prepared to surrender just yet if he were to be pulled under again. 

So, you clung on to his hand as his eyes slowly shut, bleary irises focused on you till the very end as the staff bustled around the room and spoke with the doctors. Even as you felt your own lids growing heavy that night in the darkness of the intensive care room, you couldn’t bring yourself to untangle his fingers from yours. Unable to fight the gravity that weighed down your body to remind you you had been up since four that morning, your head slumped forward and rested on the edge of the bed beside your conjoined hands. 

You hadn’t the energy to think about how odd you may have looked clinging to a complete stranger as you snoozed. Instead, the embarrassment hit you when the kind nurse from the previous day, seemingly having recently clocked in for her shift, gently woke you the next morning with a prepackaged breakfast sandwich. With burning cheeks, you used your free hand to frantically smooth your disheveled hair down and wipe at your under eyes that were undoubtedly smeared with yesterday’s makeup before accepting the food with a shy but grateful smile. 

You waited for her to finish her morning checks on her patient before tearing into the sandwich as your rumbling stomach was demanding of you. In the meantime, she updated you on his condition with jargon that you tried hard to keep up with, but it was offensively early in the morning. Nodding along, you suddenly wished you had paid more attention to all those hospital dramas your roommate used to watch incessantly. A relieved sigh escaped you when she departed, letting you know to press the call button if you needed anything. 

“You’ve really gotta get it together soon, dude.” You commented through a mouthful of bread as you peered over at him thoughtfully. At the very least, you thought, his hand seemed warmer than it had yesterday, and you could only hope that was a good sign. “This hospital food sucks.”

Tossing the wrapper into the small trash bin nearby, you huffed out a sigh. Leaning in closer to him, you hesitantly pushed the thick, black hair away from his face, brushing it gently back against his scalp. A gulp forced its way down your throat at the sight of the thick scars that lined his eyes, and you found yourself carefully brushing against them with baffled curiosity. 

“Who are you?” You whispered, and for a moment you could swear his brows twitched into a furrow.  

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s bad luck to cheat death?” A smoothly amused voice beckoned from the doorway. 

You instantly flinched away from your hovered state over the stranger, the hand that was grasped in his tightening in surprise as you looked up. Leaning against the entry was a tall man that nearly took up the entire door frame. His hair was a striking white that almost rivaled the blinding lights of the hospital room. Though concealed behind dark-rimmed sunglasses, you caught a glimpse of his startling blue eyes as he seemed to tilt his head in amusement at the scene before him. What captured your attention most of all though was the uniform he donned— one nearly identical to the one the mystery patient had been wearing during the accident. 

“Geez, after all you’ve been through, and a truck is what takes you out?” The man’s quip was this time directed at the John Doe, shaking his head with a smile as he slowly strolled into the room. 

“You know him?” You breathed out in relief, watching the fond expression on the man’s face as he scanned over the injuries. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, he’s my student.” He responded casually, hands shoved into his pockets as he circled the bed curiously. “I assumed he was just ignoring my calls. Go figure, huh?”

The casual lightheartedness in his tone only served to confuse you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that of all the people that came to claim this stranger, his teacher was the first? On top of that, how was he not brimming with concern upon finding the student he seemed so close with in intensive care? Your eyes skimmed down the strange uniform on his long body, lingering just a tad too long on the swirled button on his chest. 

“So, what’s the deal? You a girlfriend he didn’t tell anyone about?” 

Snapping up from your trance, you felt your face heat at his accusation, and you quickly shook your head. The corners of his lips twitched up in amusement. 

“I saw the accident happen.” You explained, allowing your gaze to drift back down to the patient. The edges of your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you recounted the events of the last twenty-four hours, and you were struck by the absurdity of it all. “He… he asked me not to leave— you know, before he passed out.”

“So you didn’t?” His question sounded more like a statement, you noted. You nodded with a soft sigh. Peering up at the teacher with a pursed lip, your free hand reached up to graze the oddly-shaped scars on your upper arm. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just… was in a similar accident not too long ago. So, I empathized with him— that kind of fear, you know?” You felt the need to explain it to him, as you were sure you looked like some sort of stalker at the moment. The man didn’t respond, peering pensively down at you for long enough to make you squirm in your seat. “I guess I should go now.”

A wave of unnecessary guilt crashed in your chest as you slowly stood from the chair you had been in for countless hours. Giving once last, lingering regard to the unconscious man, you gulped down the confusing lump in your throat and smiled softly. 

“I hope you find whatever you were looking for.” You whispered, gently sliding your hand from his and placing it carefully over the blanket. Nodding respectfully at the man who had been silently watching the entire encounter, you began walking toward the exit. As you hand grazed the door frame, you turned around apprehensively to find the white-haired man already peering back at you knowingly. “What—What’s his name?”

With a fond smile, the man looked back down at his student as if to say we have a lot to catch up on when your ass wakes up before looking back at you. 

“Megumi.”

His name rang through your mind in the droning days that followed your fated encounter. With every order you rang up, his frantic entrance replayed in your head. Each unfruitful study session paved way for the cinematic replaying of his awakening, projected onto your imagination over and over until it became your favorite film that lulled you into relentless, insomniatic nights.

You wondered if his condition had improved, if he had left the hospital, if he was wondering about the girl who he clung onto at his most vulnerable. As the days dragged on, and you wistfully poured out a customer’s black coffee, you realized you had left those answers behind in the hospital room that morning. Still, the more logical part of your mind told you it was for the best given the concerningly curious circumstances of his accident. Additionally, the equally mysterious man that had come to claim Megumi only fanned the flames of your suspicions. 

Despite the impending sense of danger that came each time that supposed teacher’s words rang in your head—

“After all you’ve been through, and a truck is what takes you out?”

You weren’t sure if it was your concern over his recovery, or the gnawing curiosity about the life he led that had you walking back into the hospital almost a full week later. Whichever it was, it was strong enough to push down the nerves fluttering in your stomach as you walked up to the familiar reception front desk. It was the same woman that had you fill out the paperwork when he was first admitted, and, despite it taking her a bit, she remembered you. 

“Listen, I’m really sorry, but the process isn’t as easy now that someone signed his paperwork. I can’t disclose any information to you.” She explained apologetically as you slumped forward on the cold desk. There was a certain sorrow in her eyes as she watched you sigh in defeat. 

“I mean— could you just tell me if he’s okay?” You pleaded, already dreading the thought of having to leave that day with no answers. 

“I wouldn’t even be able to confirm or deny that that patient is still in our system.” It seemed it was upsetting her just as much to deny you, and it wasn’t your intention to make her job anymore difficult than it was. “I wish I could have been of more help to you.” 

You nodded in silent understanding, offering a grateful smile nonetheless as you pushed off of the desk to take your walk of shame out of the building. Perhaps it was a sign; the thought fleeted into your mind on what seemed like the endless trek to the door. This denial was the closure you needed to move on from this bizarre, chance encounter that happened to mimic one you witnessed firsthand just years ago. In stark terms, whatever seemed to be lying at the bottom of the mysterious well that was Megumi— wasn’t your business.

In the same notion though, maybe it was fate that that oddly large, white haired man was strolling into the very doors you were trying to exit, coffee and a paper bag clutched in his causal grip. Your mouth opened and closed as you looked up at him, unsure if he’d even recognize you or care enough to acknowledge your being there. As if sensing your silent stare, he glanced up from his phone for a moment, doing a small double take upon seeing you.  

“Pick up another straggler?” He teased, sliding his phone into the pocket of his uniform with a known smirk. His head tilted toward you. “What was it this time? Just so happened to be around when they mysteriously fell out a window?” 

Despite the fact that his seemingly playful nature was making you feel more comfortable, you still couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face. Attempting a breathless chuckle, you smiled nervously at the man. 

“The hospital should start paying me commission, huh?” You quipped with apprehensive amusement. A short but genuine laugh broke through his teasing facade, and he nodded for you to walk with him. Pushing past the slight shock of how easily this was going for you, you stumbled after him. 

“I’m assuming you’re not here to see me?” 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you watched the bright tiles passing under your feet as you followed him through the hospital. Once again, you were hit by the realization that you were meddling in something you seriously had no business in. Still, the nonchalant man leading you through the hallways didn’t seem to have any sort of reaction to your curiosity.

“I’m really sorry if I’m overstepping, it’s just been kind of eating me alive.” You confessed with a halfhearted chuckle.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, our little overachiever isn’t in intensive care anymore.” He informed with an almost proud smile. 

“Really?” You didn’t intend to sound so relieved, but it was an almost instantaneous reaction. 

“Yuuup. Officially graduated.” He confirmed as he wiped mock tears from under his sunglasses. “Go see for yourself, his room’s right here.” 

As he stopped in front of a cracked open door, you hadn’t even realized the man had been leading you to pay Megumi a visit. Glancing up at him unassuredly, you didn’t have a chance to ask if he was sure before he was waving you off nonchalantly.

“Actually, if you don’t mind taking my stuff in there.” The teacher requested, not giving you a chance to protest as he shoved the coffee and bag into your hands. “Forgot my phone in my car.”

Your brows furrowed for a moment, cause you could have sworn you had just seen him slip the aforementioned phone into his pocket just as you ran into him. There was no time to question it though, because in an instant, his freakishly long legs were traversing him back down the way you came in. With a barely noticeable huff of disbelief, your gaze drifted to the cracked-open door in front of you. You shook your head before pushing in anyway, trying to be mindful of the nearly overflowing coffee cup that was desperately trying to spill onto your hand. 

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath with a flinch as you felt a scalding drop offend your skin. 

“You’re not Gojo.” 

“Shit!” You repeated with a start, posture jolting up to face whoever it was that damn near just sent you to the afterlife. 

What you hadn’t expected to see was the very awake and very alert Megumi sitting up in his hospital bed. His mouth was free of the tube that once restrained it, though you could still hear the after affects of it in the rasp and crack of his voice. In fact, the only thing he appeared to still be connected to was an IV pole and what looked like a heart monitor. 

You could have killed the tall stranger, whom you presumed was the Gojo character he was talking about, for not thinking it important to warn her that Megumi was no longer unconscious before you waltzed into his room so nonchalantly. In truth, you expected to drop by, see with your own two eyes that the man hadn’t succumbed to his injuries, and be on your merry way. 

“Ow! Fuck,” You were babbling at this point, pacing around for anywhere to put down the damned coffee cup that had just scalded your hand in tandem with your startled jump. The black haired man watched you silently, almost moving to get up to help you before he remembered the brace that wrapped his right ankle. “I’m so sorry— I had no idea you were awake.” 

Your frantic apologies continued spilling from your lips as you ran your stinging hand underneath the sink that sat in the corner. You did it partly to soothe the pain, but another part of you just didn’t think you could face the poor man after completely invading his privacy. 

“That weird guy with the sunglasses told me to come in, but then he just—”

“You were the one that stayed with me after the accident, right?”

Unable to gage the flat tone in his voice, you slowly turned the faucet off before finally turning to face him. In the time you hadn’t been looking, it seemed he had pushed the hair out of his face, and he was sitting up a little higher in the bed than you remembered. The book in his lap laid open and forgotten, his large, dark eyes focused intently on you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You admitted softly, wiping your hands nervously on your bottoms. “You were outside the cafe—”

“I remember.” He stated flatly, making you bite down harshly on your bottom lip. Megumi was coming off as rude, guarded, irritated— he knew he was, but he couldn’t for the life of him gather his thoughts well enough to express the gratitude he felt for you. Even more so though, he couldn’t possibly bring himself to understand the curiosity and fondness that had been festering over the past few days in your absence. 

A silence enveloped the room, and you suddenly wondered where the hell his teacher was— desperate for anything to break the tension. 

“Well, I should probably go.” You finally mustered out, setting the bag and cup down onto the counter before turning to leave. “I-I’m glad to see you’re doing better. Sorry again to—”

“Wait,” Megumi urged, leaning forward so quickly it had him wincing with the pressure on his injured ribs. Your hair swayed as you whipped your head back at him in question, and you thought you saw the slightest pink hue on his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m… on a lot of meds. You don’t have to leave.” 

His excuse made your brow slowly quirk up, an amused smirk barely concealed on your lips. Attempting to push down your amusement, you pursed your lips and glanced out the door for any sign of Gojo’s return. Upon seeing only the hospital staff bustling around, you slowly made your way over and sat down on the chair beside his bed. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at one another in silence, both of you unsure of what to say next. 

In your brief study of his now conscious face up close, you noticed each sharp feature of his, from his straight nose, to the strong line of his jaw. Somehow, despite their dark hue, his wide eyes seemed to soften his face even if just minimally with every caress of his long, thick lashes against his cheekbones. You wanted to avert your eyes to stop the incoming flush in your cheeks upon the sudden realization that Megumi was incredibly attractive, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away.

In a last ditch effort to preserve any dignity, you were grasping at straws to say anything. 

“What were you look—”

“Why did you stay?” 

The both of you began simultaneously, but his question made you clam up. There wasn’t malice in his tone, but a raw curiosity instead, an urge to understand. His brows were slowly settling into that familiar furrow you remembered seeing on his sleeping form constantly. 

“I— You asked me to.” You answered simply, your voice quieter than it was before. A small huff of breath raced out his nose at your response. 

“So you just do whatever strange men you just met tell you to do?”

“I think I preferred you when you still had a tube down your throat.” You laughed breathlessly, a little shocked at the sass that emanated from the seemingly reserved man. Almost immediately, he rolled his pretty eyes at your comment, but there was a ghost of a smile threatening to assassinate the cool-boy persona he had built up. 

“Why did you stay?” Megumi asked again. There was more conviction in his rasped tone this time. Subconsciously, your hand creeped up to grasp at your scarred upper arm, and he followed the motion intently. His gaze narrowed slightly at the raised skin, a hint of recognition flashing in his eyes as he continued to stare. 

“Two years ago, I was in a similar accident. There was all sorts of hell breaking loose in the city, so I didn’t think anyone would help me, you know?” You recounted with a sad smile, feeling your breath tremble at the memory. “I still don’t know how they got me out— some guy that was around. He almost ran right past me. I never got to thank him, or ask him how he got me out from under the car. I was already in the hospital when I woke up.”

He processed your words for a moment, blinking slowly down at your scar as the puzzle pieces seemed to click together in his mind. It sounded too familiar— just as the marks on your arms were ones he’d surely seen before. 

“And that scar—  you got it from the accident?” He assumed, though he already knew the answer. You nodded, looking down at it yourself and allowing the tips of your fingers to trace each curve. The corners of his lips twitched up on their own accord, eyes softening with the revelation that fate had always been on his side. “Kind of looks like a bite.”

There was a subtly bemused tone in his voice. You didn’t quite understand where it was coming from, but as you inspected the mark closer with this perspective, you hummed in fascination. 

“I don’t really see it.” You mumbled. 

In an instant, his fingers had reached out to fold gently around your arm. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him in surprise, but he was still focused on your mark with a soft fondness. Swiping his thumb over the raised skin, the pads of his fingers mapped out the familiar canine marks of his demon dog. 

As if the feel of it ignited his memory, he could almost perfectly recall the sight of the large hound tearing through the wrecked car as Megumi exorcised the curse that had been at the cusp of the mangled traffic jam. Working on his command, the boy watched as the dog emerged, dragging a girl out of the rubble by her arm. The skin around the bite was already bloodied and bruised, but you certainly still had more of a chance of survival than you had before the damned bite. 

At once, there was an understanding in his still foggy mind that the machinery of right and wrong he had grown accustomed to over the years was far more prophetic than he ever cared to give it credit for. It didn’t matter what reason you gave him for staying by his side that night, because he already understood it wholeheartedly on a much different level than he had anticipated. Megumi had always been the type to search for reason in his own kindness while cynically picking apart the kindness of others. After all he’d been through, perhaps this was the final nail in the coffin of his nihilistic pattern of viewing his moral compass. 

“See, Megumi? I told you your knight in shining armor would come back for you!” That familiarly sarcastic voice that you had now been able to name Gojo, had the both of you flinching back from the unexpectedly intimate moment. Megumi’s face seemed to sour instantly as the man strolled into the room with a wide smile. “This kid was driving me insane, asking me about you as soon as they pulled that tube out of his throat.” 

The patient grumbled, and if he had more strength and less shit hooked up to him, he would have thrown a pillow at his teacher. Glaring dangerously at him, Megumi swatted his hand away as the older man began to ruffle at his hair in mock affection. Despite his clear mortification, you smiled amusedly at the scene before you. 

“Thanks for looking after the little guy for me.”

“I’m starting to think I should get a job here.” You joked back as you stood from your chair. You looked back at Megumi, who’s hard gaze was slowly melting into subtle confusion as he watched you rise. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You bowed in thanks to Gojo before making your way to the door. 

“You’re leaving?” Megumi stopped you at the exit for the second time that day. Had you looked now, you would have caught the deadly glare he shot his sensei’s way for ruining the moment. 

With your hand on the door, you turned around to offer him a warm smile, one that had his shoulders slumping forward as if enveloped in the most welcoming of blankets. 

“Gotta get to work.” You explained regretfully, chewing on the inside of your cheek. In a spark of confidence that was surely spurred on by the fact that you still had endless questions for the man, you continued with a bashful grin. “But you know where to find me. Maybe you can actually stay for your order this time, hm?”

Gojo almost had to turn away to hide the laughter bubbling in his chest upon seeing the dumbstruck expression on Megumi’s face as he could only muster up a small nod. You found yourself nodding along with him. 

“I’ll have your order ready.” You teased with a wink. “Black coffee, right?”

The boy breathed out in disbelief, watching with pink tinted cheeks as your hair swayed behind you while you took your leave. He wished with everything in him, since fate seemed to be playing so mercifully with him these days, that his ankle would miraculously heal in time for him to chase after you to catch one more glimpse of your glittering eyes and incandescent smile. Perhaps he had already had his fill of fate’s luck for one lifetime though, because he could only remain seated dumbly on the hospital bed, jaw hanging down just a hair as he breathed out. 

“Right.”

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[dianesdiaries]

what you are| Homelander x Y/n

-After getting ahold of Homeland's animalistic nature, Vought's international decides to hire a psychiatrist to examine his behaviours. But he can see right through yours

NOTE: no smut! this short fic contains convo w/tension, suspense/ js a fun piece on the boys!

In the three minutes it took me to take in my situation, I could feel his gaze getting warmer. The aroma filled with the silence of a faint fan, the distilled white walls that caved into his head. My eyes slowly met with his, intoned into the rage that conceived into madness.

"Surprise visit?", the supe seemed unamused with my presence, the silent creaking of his chair rocking back and forth. We both knew damn well those cuffs could come off any second. We both knew Vought could do nothing if he killed me. I think it excited him. I sat down cautiously, leaving a gradual space between his palmed hands and my worksheets. "You seem- out of it lately. More or so then often. I'm here to help you through these times but you need to cooperate with me", my words held stern through my fear. The rapid pumping of my heart thumped with every crack of a smile he made. "Fix.. You want to fix me? that's ironic", the man scoffed and leaned back into his chair. his eyes met mine once again, demanding an answer to the quiet that held curiosity. "You seriously think you can walk in here and try to fucking fool me? What a joke. They want to hold me in here like some sort of mutt- while you have more to be scared of then you think". The room fell still again. I desperately looked for somewhere to avert my gaze, but fell back to base one. But I held my ground. As long as he left me time to stall, I could do my work. And leave. I worked mercilessly at my sheet, writing down whatever could come to mind to seem productive.

"Wasting my fucking time with this..."

I darted up to check my client, watching him carelessly stare into space. The plan was working. The more he could keep thinking, the more I could write down. I never admitted it, but being a super in silence had more benefits than you think-

"I know what you are".

My vision blurred in circles. My heart was alive in my stomach. "Excuse me?..-"

"Let's be honest, okay?", his words were empty, his hair hung low below his eyes as I could feel my body overheating. "You were given the gift, of being a better being. Of being superior to a world of sheep. And you're fucking ashamed. Like a waste of good product". I slowly stepped back from my chair, collecting my sheets that scattered onto the ground in the whip of a chain. The cuffs dangled, and scraped slowly to the rhythm of its fall. The floor swarmed my gaze, small trickles of tears bubbling in my eyes. Torn cloth met the warmth of my body, his presence towered over me. At this point, his thoughts were unreadable. I couldn't possibly make out how he felt in this moment but vast- nothingness. His breath was cold, the brace of his hand on my shoulder gripping. "Look at me. I said, look at me when I'm talking to you". I could feel my breath tremble as I raised my head to meet his gaze, the grin he had wiped off slowly. Homelander laughed at his irony, the madness breaking with every breath. "You come in here, and you tell me I have fucking problems? You can read people's minds and still choose a minimum wage fucking job!", my tears looked crocodile in his presence. His fingers slowly met my chin, tilting my head upwards in a jolt. "But it happens to the best of us, right? Nothing wrong with some slack. You wanna live serving them? Or a life of serving your kind?", my head shook up and down vigorously at his statements, my words entrapped in my throat. "Then you'll do the right thing, yeah Y/N?", his eyes began to light a crimson red, a smirk drawing on his face at the sound of fear in my cries.

His hand slowly made its travel down to my throat, grasping at the grooves as my hands searched for my keycard in a survival instinct. His grip tightened at every second I wasted, his soft chuckles at the heinous act sent chills down my spine.

BEEP!

My body collapsed at the release of air, grasping onto every breath I could take. The vigorous buzzing of his eyes fell into a still blue, looking down at the fawn of a supe he was looking at. His steps marched slowly out of the room, the sound of metal the door cranking open at his sight. "Thanks for the chat. It was a cute try, at least".

[storm-angel989]

Eres jodidamente estúpida, niñita?

MAJOR SHOUT OUT TO absolut3lyn0t  for ALL the help with editing and for teaching me Spanish! I can't WAIT to use the things I've learned in the Outside The Office series!

Enjoy!!

I strutted across the stage with the confidence instilled in me by three of hell's most powerful overlords. My hair on point, my smile perfected, my outfit, killer. And my VoxTech watch that served as a location tracker? Sitting in my locker at school alongside my phone. As far as my family knew, I was staying late for volleyball tryouts. 

Walking through my highschool hallways, it was impossible to miss the plethora of help wanted posters plastered all over the walls. The job description was simple, requiring nothing more than excellent customer service skills and a large, bolded eighteen plus only need apply. The pay started five dollars above minimum wage, with the promise of hefty cash tips. 

The money was really what caught my attention. After listening to my father bitch about last month’s credit card bill, I decided it was time I started working, without the hovering of my father, my Uncle Valentino or my Aunt Velvette. I needed money that wasn’t connected to them in any way, shape or form- dollars I could spend how I pleased, and without their input. Unfortunately for me, my father owned VoxTech, the biggest company in all of hell. Even as his daughter, I couldn’t be sure where its tendrils spread. Whatever job I chose, I needed to fly under the radar. 

School first, you have more than you need and access to anything you could possibly want. Is what my father had told me when I first asked if I could start working. You have no reason to get an afterschool job. Focus on being sixteen, kiddo. 

And I knew damn well if my location popped up in some new place consistently, I would be discovered and forced to quit on the spot. So as soon as I made the decision to apply, I made it a point to tell my family I was trying out for the volleyball team. 

Glad to see you decided to leave behind that silly job idea, my father had said over sips of his morning coffee. Believe me, someday you’ll wish you didn’t have to work so much. 

As if. 

I walked into the address listed on the flyer, noting the shift in scenery as I made my way deeper downtown. Open interviews, they called it, two pm to ten pm. I had already filled out the application on the bottom of one of them, if you could even call it that. Three easy to answer questions. 

Age? I filled in eighteen.

Availability? After School hours. 

Size? I scribbled down the number. 

I followed the directions to the address on the flyer and handed my application to the demon at the door.  The place itself looked a little run down, done up in red, black and gold. But it certainly gave the appearance of being a high end facility- especially with the long stage and the pole at the center. 

I was quickly ushered inside and seated across from a shark demon in a red fedora. He looked me up and down and just like that, I was handed a uniform of red and hired me on the spot for the shift that started ten minutes ago. 

“With your body, I mean, your smile, you’ll make an excellent addition to our team,” he praised. 

“What exactly is my job title?” I asked as he led me to the dressing room.   

“Waitress,” he responded easily. “But really, you’ll do a little bit of everything. And don’t worry, we’ll provide everything you need.” 

The first few days were simple. The manager assigned me a false name the first day, and I quickly learned that while I was working, that’s the only name that was called. Honestly, it was the most difficult part. The rest was relatively simple. 

Every two hours the girls were required to meet behind the stage, walk across and out down to the pole, take a swing around with a smile as an announcer introduced us by name. It was nice, honestly, to be valued like that. The rest of the responsibilities were easy. Dress up, smile, flirt, take drink orders and find a reason to bend over. To say I didn’t enjoy it would be a lie. The money was good but the attention? Even better.

The fourth day, however, the manager pulled me aside at the start of my shift. 

“Hey, reader. The big boss is coming in. Check out his new hires. I’m putting you with him. Be extra nice. He’s known for leaving hefty tips and promoting on the spot. Trust me, you’re gonna want to keep him happy.” And with that, he pushed me towards the stage. 

After introductions, I put on my biggest smile, adjusted my dress so that it revealed just a little bit more and walked confidently over to the VIP booth. Time to impress the boss. 

“Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?” I purred as sultry as I could. “My name is Reader’s False Name and I’ll take care of anything that you desire.” I leaned forward onto the table. “And I do mean anything…” I reached out and set my hand on the red jacket of the man I assumed was the boss. “What can I get you tonight, sir?” 

He looked up at me and instantly, his expression turned to anger. Cold fear shot through me as I recognized the all too familiar features.

“U-uncle Valentino? Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered as I took a step back. 

“The better question is what are you doing here, niñita?” He growled as he stood up. He pulled his coat off and yanked it around my shoulders, effectively covering my entire body. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me towards the back towards the dressing rooms. The door slammed shut behind us. 

I tried to wriggle away, “I work here! I got an afterschool job after Dad got on my case last month.” 

I didn’t think his expression could twist into deeper disgust. 

“I changed your diapers! You can’t be working in my clubs!” He snarled. 

I crossed my arms. “Uncle Val, I’m sixteen!”

“Eres jodidamente estúpida?” He took a deep breath. “That’s half the issue! Who even checked your age una perra ciega?! What fuckwit hired you?” He paused and pulled out his phone. “You know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. You’re fired. Whoever hired you is fired, hell I might shut this entire fucking club down. Oh, and it goes without saying that you’re fucking grounded!”

I looked at him incredulously. “You’re grounding me for getting an afterschool job?”

“No, reader, I’m grounding you for taking an afterschool job at a strip club! Oh, and for leaving your watch at school. We make you wear that for your own safety, muñeca! You could have been killed, or raped or worse!” 

He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me towards the front door.  I caught my father’s name on his phone screen and my heart sank even deeper. Fuck. 

 “You’re going home with me right now, bebita. And keep my jacket on, I don’t want to see your tits ever again.” He practically spat as he shoved me into his awaiting limo. 

I sat next to him for the duration of the ride, my arms crossed as I listened to the phone call between him and my Dad. From what it sounded like, I was about to meet my maker.

“Phone. Now.” He demanded as he outstretched his hand. “Or did you leave that at school too?”

At least he sounded a bit more calm. Maybe I wouldn’t be in as much trouble as I thought. 

“It’s in my locker,” I mumbled. “Along with my homework. So if we could stop on our way home…”

“Delay the inevitable all you want, your father is pissed. And so am I.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I mumbled as we stopped in front of the school. “I’ll go in and…”

He snorted in amusement. “Like hell you will. I’ll go inside and get it for you. What’s your locker number and combination?” He leaned forward, “it’s in your best interest to tell me, niñita.” 

He was probably right. I sank back as I watched him walk into the front office of the school as if he owned the place. Come to think of it, there was probably a high chance that one of the three did have some sort of control over the school. I leaned my head against the window as I waited. I would never be allowed to grow up, hell, after this Dad might not even let me leave the V tower. 

Valentino stalked out of the school moments later, my pink backpack slung over his shoulder, and one of the flyers in his hand. The other hand held his phone and I winced at the furious slurry of English and Spanish came flying out of his mouth. Several curses later, he ended the call and turned to me. 

“Any of your other amicico’s get involved in this? Fess up now, or I promise I will make sure that you lose every privilege you have.”

“Not that I know of,” I mumbled quietly as I pulled his jacket tighter around myself. “And I would tell you if I did.” 

“I would hope so, cariño,” he grumbled as the limo stopped. “Word of advice? I would go straight to your room and change. The less of you your father sees, the better.” 

We rode in silence in the elevator and as we stepped off, I came face to face with the furious faces of my father, Vox, and my Aunt Velvette. Uncle Valentino walked towards them and wordlessly pointed to my room. I tried to scurry away as quickly as I could. 

“Change, wipe that clown makeup off your face and get your ass to the living room,” I heard my father shout. 

I thought the makeup was pretty, I said to myself sarcastically as I stood in my bathroom shower, scrubbing it off. Without the makeup remover the restaurant, or should I call it a club, provided, taking it off took ten times longer. I pulled on my leggins and a sweatshirt and braided back my now wet hair, hopeful that by removing any trace of the club I would somehow lighten the punishment that was sure to come. I slowly made my way out to the living room. 

“Come sit, little princessa,” Valentino gestured. “Join us.”

I kept my eyes down as I made my way across the living room and sank into my usual seat on the couch. 

“Look at us, reader,” my fathers authoritative voice filled the air. “And start talking. The floor is yours.”

A few heartbeats of silence while I tried to gather my thoughts. 

“You know, staying quiet won’t help your case,” Velvette interjected. “Come on, talk to us. Honestly, I think it’s pretty funny.”

“There is nothing funny about seeing my little princessa half naked, tits out, in my own fucking club,” Valentino shot back. He mumbled something in Spanish that sounded vaguely insulting.

“And let’s not forget the danger you put yourself in,” Vox added. “You left your phone and tracker in your locker at school. You’re lucky I don’t have the doctor put a chip in your arm.”

“I didn’t know it was a strip club, okay?” I said in exasperation. “I just wanted to make my own money! I got mad when Dad went through the credit card bill last month and I just, I just wanted privacy and to buy what I want without being questioned! And I’m willing to work to earn it, but Dad wouldn’t let me.”

“Reader. You’re sixteen. You need to focus on schoolwork, grades and being a teenager- you’ll have plenty of time later in life to…” my father began.

“Vox, her request isn’t unreasonable,” Velvette cut him off.  She looked thoughtful. “Nor is your idea about the chip in her arm.”

All three of us stared at her in disbelief for completely different reasons. 

“I am not letting Dad put a chip in my arm-” I began.

“She is not going out to work,” my Dad shouted at the same time.

“Eres jodidamente estúpida?” Valentino added. “The fuck, Velvette?” 

A grin slowly crept across her face. “Well then, it seems we have a few bargaining chips on the table, don’t we?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” I said.

“Yeah, neither do I,” my father added. 

“Well the way I see it, we have a few options and plenty of room for compromise,” she said with a glance at Valentino. “On one hand, reader could concede and let Vox put a chip in her arm in exchange for being allowed to get a job. Or she could come work for one of us, and have the money deposited in a private account. Or a third option, Vox if you’re so hell bent on her focusing on school, and she wants privacy so damn bad, let her open her own account in her own name and deposit money into it each week. This way she gets the privacy she wants, and you get her staying focused on her studies.” 

“I’m not letting you put a tracker in my arm, so that options out,” I replied.

“And I don’t want you working at all- not for me, not for Velvette, and certainly not for Valentino,” Vox added. 

A look of understanding broke across Valentino’s face and he grinned widely. He leaned back, “then I suppose the third option is the only one that fits, hm amicito?” He took a sip, “I do have to ask though princessa. How exactly did you plan on cashing your paychecks without your own account?”

I felt myself turn red. “I…wasn’t planning on cashing them and just using my tips.”

“I can’t decide if that’s clever or stupid,” Vox muttered. “But fine. We’ll go open your own bank account tomorrow and I promise to keep my eyes off of it. But you need to promise to keep focused on your studies, got it?”

“Deal!” I said excitedly. 

“Also, I think you owe your Uncle Val an apology more so than any of us. I haven’t seen him that scarred since, well, I’ve never seen him that upset.” Vox added. 

“Sorry, Uncle Val,” I muttered. 

He looked pained, “you’re growing up, mi amore. But this isn’t the place for you to be, ever again. I fear what would have happened to you if I hadn’t chosen to come in tonight.” He stood up and planted a kiss on my forehead. 

“Your jackets in my room, Uncle Val. I promise I’ll give it back,” I muttered as embarrassment flushed through my face. “I guess it was kinda sketchy.”

“Common sense, niñita. I cannot wrap my mind around why you didn’t turn around as soon as you stepped into that neighborhood.” He turned to walk towards the kitchen. “Discussion for tomorrow night, I suppose.” 

I frowned, “what’s tomorrow night?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Your papi, Aunt Velvette and I came up with a brilliant consequence, if I do say so myself.”

Dread knotted in my stomach. Uncle Valentino was well known to be the most…creative in his punishments. 

“I signed you up for volleyball, mi amore. After all, isn’t that what you wanted to do?” He gave me a wicked grin. “And I’ll be the one…ensuring you arrive in a timely manner for the next eight weeks. And don’t worry, your papito already brought you all the equipment you’ll need.” 

I groaned. This had the potential to be not only incredibly embarrassing in terms of my abilities, but also I somehow doubted he would sit there quietly. The image of him sitting on the bleachers, screaming into the phone, cursing in Spanish and English made me want to die right then and there. “Uncle Val, I hate sports. And I hate team sports even more.”

“Then maybe next time you’ll think before becoming a stripper, hm conejito?”He patted the top of my head and sashayed towards the kitchen. 

He couldn’t be that angry if he was using my childhood nickname. I leaned back on the couch and tucked my knees up. 

“You’re lucky that's your only consequence,” my father grumbled as he scrolled through his phone. “That chip idea isn’t off the table, you know.”

“We’ll get your bank account set up after your grounding is done,” Velvette reassured me. “In the meantime, what do you all want to do for dinner?”

Thank god Velvette was the master at changing the subject.

[noowayybroo]

I can't think of a name for this fic.

Hi! It's been a while!

So one of the first Resident Evil fics I read was about Leon saving you from an abusive ex! And I desperately wanted to find more of these!! But I couldn't :( So! I wanted to write one! But before doing that I thought... Leon's a sweet boy - n I heard he had an ex or something before re2?? but maybe I'm wrong?? So what If YOU, dear reader, ran into absolute sweet baby boy Leon (just the one I have in mind but play it however you want if you can) and helped him through a dodgy relationship or breakup?

Characters: Leon Kennedy, Reader

Warnings: Not NSFW. GN reader cuz YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL! WHY WOULD I EVER WANT TO EXCLUDE YOU, HUH!?!?!?! No mention of age but faint job and relationship to Leon suggestions. Hurt / Comfort. Please be careful there's gonna be an abusive / manipulative partner mentions but they will be hopefully brief n quiet and the fic will focus mostly on happy Leon at the end!!! Not really a warning but written with dumb GB money n phrases n stuff so sorry if that upsets you XD

"That'll be £5.29, Sir"

"Just 99p, please."

"You want the lucky dip?" ... "Just one?" ... "£3.99 please."

"You know I need to see your ID if you want those, right?"

Another day, another dollar. Another day in this dumb shop, working late shifts for what? For minimum wage and abuse from drunken low-lives. To put it simply, you worked at an understaffed corner-shop, and always had the late shifts, because you always had the time. Same old same old. Time passed slowly, each night felt like a repeat of the last, and all you did was stare at the clock and wait for your shift to end.

Wednesday through Sunday.

Same old?

Same old.

Soft baby-blues, yet just as able to pierce, were not what first earned your attention. Nor was it the silvery blonde hair that fell upon his face in neat locks. Surprisingly, nor was it that face: so soft, so pure... Quite cute. Sweet, maybe?

Ok, stop making assumptions. The young man who's just entered your store alone seems quite flustered, in a rush. Yet you notice how he takes time to establish eye contact with you and give a swift, polite nod, acknowledging you.

You gladly return his gesture and your chest flutters a little as you share a kind smile before he disappears into the rows of aisles. You think to yourself as you watch the man's head bob around the rows of products, no longer able to see his expression. You subconsciously attempt to look a little more presentable. The thing was, customers this late at night weren't usually so polite. They didn't give a damn about whether you were there or not, unless they were trying to steal something. Wait, what time was it again?

10:04

Oh. An hour 'till home time. Great, your feet were killing you. You're shaken from your mundane day-dream as the man strides quickly up to the counter. His hands are full of microwave meals and booze. He reaches the counter long before you're focused and ready to serve him, but waits patiently despite his rush. He hands you his ID, although you'd probably have let him go without it, pays in cash and scrambles to pick his things up again.

"You need a bag?" you ask quietly, feeling almost reluctant to disturb his rush.

"N-nah thanks I got- it's not my money I don't need it-"

"It's on me." you state, soft yet assertive, grabbing his items and shoving them into one of the more expensive carrier bags. You catch him off guard completely. He stands there, frozen, as you pick the rest of his items out of his cradling arms and bag them, before shoving them back to him all packed.

"Wh- T-thanks!" He beams, hesitant. He gives you a wide, genuine smile, nods, and leaves. Just like that, he's gone. Polite, kind customers were so rare that you couldn't blame the tornado of butterflies within your stomach. To think, also, that he was so grateful for one carrier bag, something most patrons would spit on you for not supplying free. Your gaze rests on the sliding door where you last saw him, wondering if you'd ever do so again.

10:07

Uggghhhhhhhhhh....

The next few months come and go. Summer soon becomes Autumn, the nights get longer, the air gets colder and your enthusiasm for this damn job remains absent. Something that did happen, though, was that you saw more of the cordial gentleman from that night. He seemed to have been the only nice customer that came back. That, or, there was something particularly memorable about him...

Gross. Stop it.

Always kind and polite, you loved exchanging smiles with the man as he went about his shopping. You wondered why he'd been so shy.. Or at least, you'd imagined him to be shy, thanks to his timid voice and the way he stole glances at you from above the aisles.

He lets people with fewer items jump ahead of him in line, thanks you extra graciously as he leaves, and sometimes, rarely, makes small-talk with you when it's just the two of you alone. Sometimes, he likes to ask how you are, and, if a customer or your manager has given you a hard time in any way, he hurries over once you're alone to reassure you.

"Don't listen to them, c'mon... What do they know, huh?"

"You're amazing! You're doing your best and that's more than enough!"

"Those jerks don't know how lucky they are to have you!"

On one night, you're helping him pack his bags as he's counting his change to pay you, and you can't help but notice some... markings on his skin. They look like bruises, maybe hickeys? But in strange places. There are some scratches too. Where are those from? You ponder, holding out your hands for his change without thinking. Is he... alright? ...Do those hurt?

You're snatched back to reality by the sound of the change he'd just handed you falling and clattering on the counter and floor around you.

"Shhit - Sorry-", you hiss, going to pick up the coins, but before you can move, he's already shuffled to the side of your counter and is crouching down, picking up each penny with care. He hands them back to you, a little more caring this time in case you'd drop them again. He seems concerned. This time you keep a firm grip on the coins.

"Sorry... Should have brought notes..." He apologises, sincere. "Next time, sorry." No matter how much you tried to reassure him as you counted his change, he kept apologising and cursing himself. You couldn't judge him, but you just wished he wouldn't. It was your mistake, not his. He shouldn't bully himself over your issue. You stand there in silence for a while, handing him his receipt. "Thank you, but are you okay?" he asks, tentatively.

"I'm alright... I just- Are you okay?" You can't help but whisper. You feel terrible, prying about his personal life, but you were just so curious. You were worried for him. His confusion dissolves into a pool of concern as he follows your gaze to his own hands and neck, and he quickly shies away. He looked hurt, as if your stare had wounded him, as if you'd accused him of something. More so, he looked as though you'd uncovered something he'd rather leave hidden.

He does his best to assure you, swearing up and down that he's alright. He tells you he does a lot of training for his job, which made some sense with his figure, and that sometimes things can get a little rough. You didn't completely buy it, but he was gone just as quickly as he'd come - signing off with a polite nod and a 'good night' and disappearing into the cold.

Worsening your suspicions, the next time you saw your favourite customer, he was even worse for wear. His hair was tussled and messy and his features a little more scratched up and grizzly. Worst of all, this time, that lovely smile of his just felt fake - empty. It was as though he smiled for you, to show you something that wasn't really there. You greet each other. You make small-talk. As soon as he notices that his scars are visible, he takes off.

The next time you'd seen him was midnight. You'd been instructed to close the shop early after waiting for a co-worker who'd never turned up to take the next shift. The rain splashes down around you as you grumble to yourself, fiddling with the flimsy lock on the shop's door. You'd put down the metal shutters, turned off all the lights and closed up. Your priority at this time was simply to get home. You were tired, stressed and quickly becoming soaked through. All you wanted was to get home, kick off your really-painful-right-now shoes and-

...hear loud footsteps approaching you from behind.

Running.

Running?

Running towards you?

You turn quickly, heart racing, only to be met face-to-face with a really, really desperate looking gentle-customer. He greets you, panting, exhausted.

He tells you he's confused; he thought your shop was 24/7. You explain the situation to his sympathetic ears as you both stand there, equally soggy and dripping beneath the falling rain. You stand with him in silence, letting the downpour claim you as he catches his breath (or works up his confidence.)

"Did you need something?" You help him. He's hesitant, but you know he ran for a reason. Your eyes grasp his as you stand together, looking like fools on the corner of a dimly lit street.

"It- it's... I didn't want to have to ask you but could I PLEASE buy something I really really need it I'm so sorry I'll pay you extra I'll-" You cut him off, already opening the shop back up. He needed your help and you weren't about to deny him it for any reason, not since he'd been so kind to you.

You both hurry into the shop, setting up the till whilst he gathers what he needs, and then it's time to check him out and leave. He follows you out as you lower the shutters the rest of the way and lock up once more, and you wonder to yourself as you do so why he hasn't left yet. Looking up at him from your hunched over position, you see him watching you eagerly. He seems to want to say something, probably to thank you or say goodbye, but most likely feels it might be rude or abrupt.

"Thank you... Thank you very much." his voice echoes beside you in the empty street. Vivid street lights shine down on the both of you, cool colours complimenting the cold air prickling your skin. When your eyes meet, he shoots you a soft smile. You dread a 'goodbye'. You're certain it's coming. "Listen... it's really cold out.. and the rain-"

"Yeah, I know... Is this where we say goodbye for the nigh-"

"Do you want a lift?" the man interrupts you suddenly. His voice is all too timid, but he does his best to speak up over you before you mention parting ways. He doesn't think he could hear that right now.

Not that you'd know, but something about your kindness and generosity to him was affecting him in a way it shouldn't have, considering that he was in a relationship. Swiftly, the man spots your discomfort and surprise, and quickly chimes in, "My name's Leon, by the way, Leon Kennedy-", There's a long pause, "Sorry... I thought it'd... You should know that at least... Before you even think of getting in my car-"

"Are you sure?" It was your turn to cut him off this time, call it payback.. or something. In reality, your excitement just got the better of you. You wanted to speak with him, get to know him, and this would be the perfect chance!

I mean, of course, there was stranger danger, but look at him! He's harmless! Lil' (big) guy couldn't hurt a fly! Besides, by now, you felt like you knew him, at least a little. The rain poured down, soaking through you, and you didn't live far so you were sure it wouldn't be too out of his way...

"I know it's weird and sudden, I was just wondering, you don't have to..." Come on, he had to be nervous with this amount of babbling.

"Of course I'd be very grateful, thank you." You ease him, earning a relieved and somewhat excited look from him as he quickly shows you to his car which is only a few meters away. Leon juggles his shopping whilst helping you into the front before storing what he's bought in the boot. You let him know where you live, to which he gives a happy nod and an 'ah!', and finally, you're on your way. Homebound at last.

You and Leon make great conversation on your way home. Almost like a dream. You hadn't spoken to him more than five minutes in one go before, and yet it felt like you were the closest of friends. He liked your music, he was inspired by your hobbies. Your dress sense enthralled him, and he always complimented you and piped up in disagreement whenever you put yourself down. On the short drive, he really opened up to you, and, by the time you were clambering out of his front seat, he was entirely cool and collected... and slightly attractive. You didn't read that.

As you lean through the window to give him one last thanks, you bump your head on the window frame. Tender laughs and giggles were shared, before he disappeared into the night. You stumble home and fall asleep in much a better mood than you would have been in should he not have shown up. He probably had no idea, you thought, but Leon saved your day. You'd have been moody, sore and disgruntled all over, but thanks to him, you slept easy and you dreamt happy.

You wondered how he'd be sleeping that night.

That was the last time you'd seen Mister Kennedy for quite some time. Moreover, the next time you did, he was not alone at all. Someone who you could only imagine to be his partner clung to his arm as they sauntered into the shop beside him. You weren't one to judge, especially not a book by its cover, but this new face simply exuded possessiveness. Ok, alright, he has a partner. That's not so bad-

Your heart cracks a little when Leon doesn't even look your way upon entering the shop. You imagine he always did, to check who was there, but this time he seemed to know you'd be there, and seemed un-phased. Alright, this is okay too. He can't be making eyes at me and getting all friendly with a special someone around. You watch as he's paraded around the shop by his presumed partner, who is certainly making evil eyes at you. They speak loudly at him, make him carry everything and overall just seem like bad news.

Quite frankly, it pisses you off.

Leon stays quiet as they walk around, occasionally replying to his accomplice, and even when it's time to pay, which they make him do, he doesn't look at you. Could he be ashamed, maybe? Maybe he was upset at you. Or maybe... No, did this person have an issue with him just speaking to people? That wasn't very cool at all, to put it all too lightly.

You tried not to let it affect you, you really did, but when the next few times you saw Leon that month and he had them glued to his shoulder, you felt your joy and confidence being eroded with force. Each time, you'd get no input or interaction from Leon, and his lovely, charming personality seemed to be a distant memory. From his partner, which you were now sure of, given that they'd made a point of kissing him in front of you, you received the lot. This included glares, snide comments and even a service complaint which fortunately your manager did not buy.

His silent visits left you alone with your thoughts, and it was agonising. Your mind wandered as you watched him, actively dodging glares from his partner. You didn't like the way they looked at you, a stranger, when really, what did they have to dislike about you? You didn't like the way they held him so close, pulling him in like he'd run if he had the chance. Well, would he? You didn't like how he never smiled around them. You missed that smile, so so much, but with his partner, he seemed scared to show it. Why was that?

Left to stew in your thoughts, you learned to hate a stranger pretty easily. In fact, you felt a formidable rage as you trudged home in the cold air that day. Your mind was clouded with chores and responsibilities, and everything you'd have to get done. Worst of all, you were obsessed with a stranger, and with uncovering his life, and really, you felt pathetic and stupid for being as such. You felt ready to give up, as though you had to. You felt hopeless. Whatever was happening to Leon was none of your business, and at this point, what could you do? What should you do?

You'd probably never even see him alone again, and if you tried to speak to him, what would you say? Would he listen? would he care?

But there he was, in front of you: a perfect mirage, turning onto your street, a block ahead. You can't believe your eyes, especially with the distance between you and the darkness of the night. Your legs, however, didn't doubt for a minute, and you found yourself running towards him. You did your best to silence your feet, but he still heard you, and turned to check out the noise. You slow to a sane pace before walking beside him, catching your breath. Thankfully, he seemed somewhat relieved. 'At least you weren't some armed mugger', or something, probably.

This was your chance. You were beside him now, walking, and he hadn't run, or shouted obscenities at you. And even better - he was alone. He looked rough, bags hung under his eyes and he was certainly due a shower, not that you minded at all. You knew that was (despite the cold shoulder) just as caring, considerate and kind under it all. Selfishly, really, you just wanted to see him smile. Fearing he'd be home and out of your clutches soon, you break the ice.

"Leon... I've been meaning to speak to you for a while, how are you?" You try your best to sound chirpy and bright, still trying to encourage some joy from him, but he seems tired, weary as he glances back at you.

"I've been great, thanks." He replies, but without a smile, you see straight through his lie. He wants to change the subject, to push something else. "Look, I'm really really sorry for ignoring you recently. I didn't mean to. It's just my.. You know, my special someone. A bit insecure, nothing really, just have to keep quiet with other people while they're around."

Suspicions confirmed. That was his partner and he was expected not to speak to you. His sugar-coating does not serve him at all, it merely lines your heart with lead, and you press the conversation further in an attempt to distract yourself as it sinks.

"I was... actually thinking about that lately. Look, I just think... I don't know how to say this but-"

"How are you, by the way? I'm sorry I didn't ask... I hope you didn't think me running you home was odd-", Leon cuts you off quickly. He seems to not want to speak about any of this at all. He seems to know precisely where you're going. If you didn't see the hurt in his body and hear it in his voice, you might get mad, but now all you feel is sorrow for him.

"Leon, I'm... Actually, no. I'm not alright. I need to speak to you. We're friends, right? Can you answer me some stuff? I'm just curious. Like.. Your partner... how long have you guys...?" Leon swallows thickly and drags his blown pupils from the ground to focus on you. He looks guilty, he seems reluctant. But, luckily for you, he seems to think he owes you. Furthermore, hearing you're not ok has seemed to panic him a little.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry yeah so... We've been together for a few months now. They're great honestly, love of my life, all that. Childhood sweethearts. Just got a few insecurities, having a hard time finding themselves, so if it's best if I give them my attention." He sounded so kind and attentive speaking about his partner in such a hushed whisper. Maybe what he was saying was all honest and true, but something just didn't sound right. It didn't feel good-natured. Partners can be insecure, it's alright, but stopping him from speaking to others? Meanwhile, your eyes wander, dragging your mind with them.

"And Leon, what about those marks on you? Is your partner responsible for those? Did you do-", You stop when you see Leon clench his fists. He seems uncomfortable, his hair falling into his face, hiding his flinching eyes. You've hit a nerve, and instantly you feel guilty and regret your actions. Leon starts to walk a little faster, but you feel like if you're going to get anywhere with him you can't let him escape, not this time. As you pass a bench, you gently place your hands on his arms, gripping him. The gentle giant he is, he stops quickly, and allows you to drag him down to sit with you.

"I'm not sure why it matters... But fine, if.. if we're friends we can chat like friends, right? Confidential, and stuff.." He trails off and looks away for a while, before picking up the subject again, but not to deny it, "They can just get a bit clingy. Not to worry, not their fault. Sometimes when we're doing things they just go a bit far, or you know, they make mistakes, accidents. Anger issues, sort of thing but-" Leon was about to insist that you drop it now or not tell anybody about this but you're not having it.

"Leon stop and listen to me, please. I know this is insane, but it's not right, okay??? None of this is right. None of this is correct. Have you been in a relationship before now?" Leon stares at you, his eyes wide, and the lump in his throat jumps once more as he finds himself unable to reply for a while. He's surprised by your boldness. He's amazed by how you've shifted from so calm, funny and cool to this. Now, you seem furious. He imagines you gripping the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes in disappointment if you weren't holding him in place.

His mind struggles to articulate a plan for his words and actions. Just as he's about to really panic though, a thought at the back of his head hits the nail- you're worried about him. You're worried for him. His face softens and he eases up a bit, looking concerned himself. Leon lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes, clenching his jaw and licking his top lip. And then, he moves a little to let your hands slide down his arms. He takes your hands in his and looks into your eyes.

"Thank you." He murmurs. "I understand what you're saying." Silence feels between the two of you, in which you both wonder what the other is thinking. And then, he answers your question. "They're my first. I haven't had anybody before." He sounds shy, almost stammering. Something within him seems ashamed. Does he think it's emasculating to have had few partners at his age? Or is he embarrassed at letting this happen to him? You recognise his struggle, and grip his hands reassuringly. You want him to feel safe. You want him to be happy.

"I get it, Leon. But please, listen to me when I tell you, It's not like that in the real world, alright?" you notice his gaze drift a little so you lean in to recapture his attention. "The person you love doesn't hit you. They don't berate you or put you down. They love you just as much as you love them. They look after you, and they want you to be happy. And they understand that you have social needs and things, and they let you fulfil them. Do you understand me?" Your voice is sweet yet firm. You don't intend to let him go without drilling this mindset into him. At least, you're going to give it your best shot.

You've called him out. You've summed him up. Not only is he fragile but he's exposed. Leon feels feeble, pathetic. He feels as though not only is he weak and unable to help himself, but as though he just exudes this image of himself. He's barely spoken to you, and now you know just how pitiful he is. He felt disgusting.

Meanwhile, you babble on as he stares straight past you, lost in a replay of the last few months of his life. He thought about the comments they'd made to him over time, the things they'd done and said, the things they'd asked or demanded of him. He thought about the horrible things they made him feel about himself.

And then he thought about you.

A stranger on a park bench, late at night, holding his hands and reassuring him. Trying to get him to see just how much he was missing out on. Not only that but you chatted away before him, and he wondered if it was the faint semblance of vanity he had left within him, or if you actually cared. He felt right, holding your hand. He felt safe and he felt respected. He zones back in, staring into your eyes as you finish your rant.

"I do understand, yes." he replies, voice low and thick. "Thank you for everything."

"I have something else to say."

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I haven't known you long, Leon. But you seem like a really, really good guy. You don't deserve to be roughed around by anyone. You don't deserve to be insulted, or belittled. I don't know your living situation. No idea who pays the bills, but Leon. There's people out there who'd love the hell outta you and never place a finger on you unless you wanted them to, and even then it'd be because they love you, you hear?" Leon nods slowly, obediently as you speak, soaking in your words like a sponge.

"I never asked you for your name..." He rasps, once again, his mind seems to have drifted somewhat, but you understand. It's a horrible, touchy subject, and you're lucky he's put up with staying with you here in the dark. He could have up and left ages ago, you couldn't blame his brain for trying to avoid something so horrible. You sigh, how could you resist him? Reluctantly you give him your name, and earn your first smile from him in what seems to be an eternity. He squeezes your hands softly and shifts a little before looking at you very closely.

"Y/N. Please tell me. Do you think I should leave them?"

Jesus Christ. How do you answer that one?

"I know you just want my opinion, and that you might not do what I say, and that's perfectly fine," you say quietly, moving one hand to grip his shoulder supportively. You'd love to cup his face but that's far too tender. Far too intimate. "But, if they hurt you. if they upset you. If you feel used or disrespected or unloved, they are not for you. You've got tons of time left and you will find someone who loves you, if that's what you're looking for. Nothing this lowlife has taken from you or done to you can get in the way of that, alright?" You chuckle nervously as such a harsh set of words leaves you, but you go quiet when you see Leon's lips twitch.

He seems to be trying to smile, or to fight one back, you're not sure. His eyes appear watery, and his face sunken. He looks like he needs to rest. Then, he looks at you, you can tell he's about to change the subject.

"Thank you, wait. I want to do something before I forget. Could I please have your number, is that alright?"

"What for? Are you sure it's okay?" Leon freezes for a while, staring forward just as he's shuffling through his pockets to find his phone. It's not until the cold air hits your hand that you realise just how lovely his touch was. Leon looks back at you with feigned yet ignited bravery as he unlocks and begins to navigate his phone.

"I'm not going to let them stop me speaking to people anymore." You beam, wide and genuine, so glad to hear those words. For once, he's declaring his strength. He's fighting back. Leon can't help but join your smile as his eyes twinkle beneath the street lamps above. On the verge of tears, he smiles widely back at you. You exchange numbers gladly, and he calls you there and then just to make sure, as if afraid you're lying.

He makes his way home via yours, walking and talking with you and seeing you to your door. Such a gentleman, you think, even though he isn't yours. And to think his 'reward' is what it is. It horrifies you.

The tension is thick as you stand at your door, both swaying slightly as you stand together, exhausted. You conclude your conversation about work, everyday life, hobbies and things, and Leon watches you for a while, flinching a little as he thinks.

Unexpectedly, he pulls you in for a gentle hug. Nothing intimate, nothing over the top. In fact, he seemed almost scared to do it.

"Thank you. You've been so good to me." He whispers as he pulls away. You reassure him it was the least you could do, and jokingly bump him on the shoulder, spewing out something along the lines of 'you better make good on what I said' in the process. He flashes you another smile before watching you head indoors and returning home himself.

You hadn't heard from Leon in an entire week until a familiar pair of eyes creased and smiled at you from the entrance to your shop. That bell had never sounded better, orchestrating his presence. Your friend smiles at you and goes about his shopping, and, ringing him up, you can't help but notice the lack of his usual shopping habits before you. There was no cheap cider, there was no wine. There certainly weren't any ready-meals, just fresh foods, and an expensive whiskey.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he quickly smirks at you, seeming proud of himself.

"I like to cook. And besides, I thought I'd celebrate." You knew exactly what that meant. He was providing for himself now, living how he wanted to. He must have finally spread his wings and escaped. You can't help but beam, entirely in awe. You want to be certain though, as you look at his refreshed face. He seems to have had a burden and a half lifted from him.

"Does this mean what I think it does, Leon?"

"It certainly does." He chuckles before leaning in and giving you a mock-serious tone, "And you better have been right about those tonnes of people being after me... I'll be waiting for them." He sounds confident, he sounds mischievous and playful. He sounds like a new man, but with that same inner sweetness. He pays for his things, and gives you extra for that bag from months ago. Watching him leave, you made a mental note: That memory was just one more on the list of 'sharp' things that made up Leon Kennedy.

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HI I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKED THIS!!! IT WAS REALLY HARD TO WRITE CUZ IT WAS SUPER EMOTIONAL AND THINGS BUT I SO SO HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT OR IT HELPED YOU IN SOME WAY. I really felt quite deep writing this (to put it lightly) and I hope the story can mean as much to you, especially those of you from America etc who have to put up with my weird spellings and mannerisms. Anyway, I hope this is alright for you, and thanks a billion for all of your support, ever!!!

I'm sorry if this one hit a nerve or two, I really hope nobody was upset or offended.

[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

CHAPTER TWO: a conviction.

read chapter one on tumblr or read the entire fic on ao3.

this is 7k words. be warned. . . .

It takes three days of angling at what he wants before Alfred looks him dead in the eye and says, “You may ask me for anything, Danny. Please do not hesitate if you need to ask for help.”

So Danny bites the bullet and says, “Can I work for you? It just sounds like you have to do a lot on your own, and having someone else around might make things easier for you.”

Alfred blinks. “You… wish to work for me?”

“Yeah. Like, I need a job anyways but I doubt most places will hire a homeless high school dropout. But you know me, and you can give me errands to do so you have time for other things.”

“You would like to work,” Alfred says again, slowly, “For me.”

Danny gives him a long look. His heart starts to sink, heavy as stone. He’s starting to get the feeling that he’s messed up, that he wasn’t actually supposed to ask Alfred for help, that this is a mistake. It’s a stupid idea to begin with, and now that he’s actually asking, he can see that this was never going to work out.

He may have just ruined the only friendship he has in this dimension because of his stupid mouth. 

“Sorry,” he says, drawing into himself, ready to leave and hide away until the shame lessens enough that he can stand to be a part of society. Or, not a part, but on the periphery of society. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It was stupid. I’ll just go now.”

“Danny,” Alfred says. He doesn’t reach out to Danny, just stands still with his impeccable posture, hands clasped in front of him. Danny could leave, could disappear and never be seen again. Alfred wouldn’t be able to catch up to him. He doesn’t need to stay, but something in Alfred’s voice leaves no possibly for refusal. 

He stops and lifts his head just enough to meet Alfred’s eyes.

“It is not stupid,” Alfred says sternly. “I was simply surprised. There will be details to be worked out, but I would be glad to have your help.”

“Really?”

Alfred smiles. “Really. Now, would you like to tell me what you would like to do while we walk?”

That’s something he really likes about Alfred: he always gives Danny a choice. It’s not a trick, either, there’s no wrong answer. He never demands anything, never orders him around, just offers Danny choices and gives him the time to actually chose what he wants. 

If Danny says no, he doesn’t want to talk about it at the moment, Alfred would accept it and change the topic, talk about something else. 

He can say no, and it’s a relief. 

He doesn’t, of course, because he does need this job, but it’s nice to know that the option is there.

“What’s there to say?” he begins, “I just wanna help you out. You’re always out way too early, doing all these errands on your own. And you’ve never mentioned anyone helping you while you work in that manor.”

“Well, I would like to know what you want to do, Danny. What sort of tasks would you like to oversee?”

Danny bluescreens for a moment. He’s never actually thought about his career, not after the accident that destroyed his future. There’s no way any of his space knowledge will be helpful in housekeeping, and most places don’t have sentient food that needs to be fought and defeated. Hell, he doesn’t even have a resume!

Not that this is like. A legitimate job interview or anything. It’s just asking for a favor.

Does this count as nepotism?

Danny is way too young to know any of this. He’s never felt more unprepared for something before. How are career talks supposed to go? Is he supposed to negotiate for his salary? What even is the minimum wage in Gotham?

“I don’t know,” he admits, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Whatever you want me to do, I guess.”

“Have you ever had a job before?” 

Danny shakes his head, trying to push down the shame that wells up in him. Alfred doesn’t seem upset by this answer, just thoughtful. It’s not like it’s a surprise, anyways.

“I see,” he says, “Would you like to shadow me for the day and get an idea of what I do?”

And then he can figure out how he wants to help Alfred, Danny realizes. It’s the solution to this problem, one that Alfred’s offering up as another simple yes-no choice. This would work, help him get a better idea of what he can do, what’s expected of him, but Danny doesn’t particularly want to follow Alfred around all day. 

Not because of the company; Alfred’s great, Danny would be happy to spend all week with him. The problem is that Alfred is only out very rarely, and spends all the rest of his time working on keeping that manor functional. 

Danny does not want to end up in the house of another rich person when he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t want anything to do with rich families that probably are either very weird or are hiding dark secrets. 

That being said, he does really need a job and he trusts Alfred well enough. If he says his employers are good, then Danny will trust in that and only be a little miffed if they try to kill him. 

“Sure,” he says, despite all his misgivings. “Sounds good.”

“Come along, then,” Alfred claps his hands together, looking rather happy about this outcome, “We have much to do.”

They walk to Alfred’s favorite tea shop, where the owner always has a new blend ready for him. Danny stays behind Alfred the entire time, carefully staying out of any small talk as he tries to force down the anxious twisting of his heart. This is all happening so suddenly, with barely any time for him to process, and it’s taking effort to not run away. 

It would be fine if this was all the job was; bodyguarding Alfred on his early morning errands, all personal business so he can catch up with friends or get something for himself before shifts all his attention to keeping his employers alive. 

He can handle bodyguardings. It’s practically the only thing he’s good at: keeping people safe no matter the cost to himself. 

But the thought of walking into a big, fancy manor to keep an absurdly rich family alive is making his skin crawl. Sam’s parents never liked him, preferring to stick to social circles far above him, and Vlad was Vlad.

These ones he knows nothing about, can do nothing to prepare for meeting them. All he has is Alfred’s vague comments about them when he talks about his job, but he’s always very careful to keep the details close to his chest. Danny doesn’t even know the names of the people Alfred works for. 

There’s no way they’re going to be okay with having him around.

Danny’s going to take one step into the manor and get kicked out. And Alfred will have to side with them to keep his own job and Danny’s back to where he started, out on the streets with no way of supporting himself. 

Maybe he should have thought this through more. Maybe he should ask if Alfred can set him up with some other job, ask one of his friends for an opening. 

“Are you quite alright, Danny?”

Alfred’s voice cuts through his thoughts and Danny realizes that he’s been silently following Alfred down the street, lost in his head, and he’s completely missed whatever Alfred just said. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, what did you say?”

“I simply wanted to know if you’ve eaten breakfast yet.”

“Oh, I haven’t. I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

Alfred makes a disapproving sound, then quickly turns on his heel and begins to walk across the street. Danny stares after him blankly, then hurries to follow after him, eyeing the few people walking out of buildings just in case they try to start something. 

For a man his age, Alfred sure moves fast. It’s a change from how he usually walks at a steady, sedate pace, leisurely strolling through the streets of Gotham as if it’s a walk through the park. It’s a struggle to adjust his pace to make sure he keeps up with Alfred without speeding past him.

“Where are we going?” he asks as Alfred continues his journey down the block. 

“We are going back to the manor,” Alfred announces, “I will not have anyone go hungry on my watch.”

Danny bites back his immediate reply of I am not going to the manor with you and instead says, “I’m not hungry, though.”

“Nonsense. I have cared for many teenage boys in my lifetime. You lot are always hungry.”

That’s. Fair. 

Yeah, most teenage boys are always hungry. Danny certainly was before… Before.

When he was fully alive and safe. Even when he was turned into a halfa and had to keep secrets, he was always hungry, stealing snacks from Sam and Tucker or going to Nasty Burger with them to settle his stomach. All his appetite disappeared the moment he had to flee his home dimension and it hasn’t come back since.

He doesn’t think it ever will. It’s not like he really needs to eat as much now; being half dead helps him last longer without food or water, and he’s sure his stomach is about the size of a walnut now, with how little he’s been eating.

Danny’s not about to dump all that onto Alfred, though, so he keeps his mouth shut and follows Alfred to a small parking lot behind a deli. There are a few cars left there overnight, and one that, while not as obviously expensive as the last one Alfred drove, is in much better condition than the other ones. Alfred pulls the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the car, opening the passenger side door first. 

“Come along now,” he says, “You’ll be having breakfast before you accompany me through my day.”

This is what he’s agreed to, so he doesn’t protest despite how getting into such a small, enclosed space makes his skin crawl. He hasn’t been in anything as small as a car in… months. In fact, the last time he was in a small space, it was the thermos after his parents caught him. Jazz had to steal it in order to release him, but his parents caught on a little too fast and chased after him before he could even get out of the house.

He doesn’t like small spaces anymore, is the point.

Barely breathing, Danny slides into the passenger seat. The door shuts behind him with a heavy click and suddenly there’s no air in the car. It’s only the fact that Danny can hold his breath for around half an hour that keeps him from hyperventilating. As long as he doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t need to worry about the way his lungs are twisting, how his throat is tight, how his hands shake where they’re pressed against his thighs. 

Alfred opens the door again, getting behind the wheel. He starts the engine and gently reminds Danny to put on his seatbelt, then reverses out of the parking space once he sees that Danny is buckled up. 

The drive is a blur. At some point, he thinks he hears Alfred trying to talk to him, but Danny is too focused on not losing his cool to actually process anything happening outside his head. One moment, they’re pulling out of the parking lot and into the street. The next, a large iron gate is opening in front of them, allowing the car to continue down the gravel road leading to a large, Gothic styled manor. 

Sam would love this place, Danny thinks when he sees it, then takes a shaky breath to fight back to burn of tears in his eyes. 

He immediately stops breathing again, hanging onto his composure by the thinnest possible thread. 

The car comes to a stop off to the side of the entrance steps. There’s also a wheelchair ramp there; accessibility isn’t something he was expecting to see from a rich person’s home, but it’s at least one sign that these people won’t be as bad as the ones he’s met before. 

Alfred likes them for a reason, he reminds himself, he just needs to see what it is before he commits to working around them in any capacity.

“Here we are, Danny,” Alfred says, cutting the engine and opening the door. Danny scrambles to follow, pulling off his seatbelt and all but falling out of the car in his rush to escape the suffocating space. “Are you quite alright?”

Danny blinks up at Alfred, trying and failing to calm down from the everything messing him up at the moment. “Yeah,” he croaks, then hurries to clear his throat. “I’m good. Just… overwhelmed.”

“If you would rather do this another day—”

“No! No, I’m fine, really. I can do this today. Better now than never, you know?”

Alfred doesn’t look like he believes him, but it’s fine. Danny can handle it! He’s handled everything that’s been thrown his way so far, no matter how terrible. He can handle staying inside a giant manor to learn how to be a butler.

Piece of cake compared to fighting Pariah Dark, really.

“So this is where you work?” he asks, trying to change the subject. “Big place.”

“Indeed. It has been in the Wayne family for many generations. My father worked here and I followed in his footsteps. I have cared for this home and its inhabitants for many decades now.”

Well. Never let it be said that Alfred isn’t dedicated to his job. 

“Wow. You must really love this job, to stay so long.”

“It can be hard,” Alfred says, a sad smile on his face, “But it is always worth it.”

That… sounds like there’s a story there. A painful one. Danny won’t pry, he knows better than to go poking his nose in sensitive matters like those; usually, death is usually involved and he is well aware of how difficult talking about death can be. 

Alfred unlocks the front entrance, pulling one of the large double doors open. “After you, Danny,” he says, holding it open. 

Danny ducks his head, mumbling his thanks, and steps inside. 

The manor is quiet. It’s dark, also, with only the soft light of a floor lamp illuminating the foyer. Everyone else must still be asleep, which isn’t a surprise seeing as it’s barely past dawn. Danny’s just gotten too used to being awake during the night, and had forgotten that most people don’t get up as early as Alfred does. 

Despite the darkness of the manor, he can pick out the fancy rugs and the large chandelier above his head. A grand staircase is at the end of the foyer, with hallways going along the side of the stairs. Seeing the manor from the outside is one thing. Standing inside it and feeling the true scope of how large it is, is something else entirely. 

“You take care of this entire place by yourself?” he can’t help but ask, glancing back to see Alfred shutting the door behind him. “Also, do I need to take off my shoes?”

“No need, though I appreciate you asking. And yes, I often tend to the manor by myself. When I am able, I will call in outside cleaning services to prepare the manor for large events.”

Despite having permission, Danny still feels uncomfortable walking all over fancy rugs with his grimy shoes. He’s been wandering all over Gotham, especially through quieter, dirtier areas. He doesn’t want to think about how difficult getting all the dirt out of the rugs is going to be. Making more work for Alfred when he’s supposed to be helping leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Maybe if he just floats a little, just enough to keep his shoes off the floor without being obvious…

“This way, Danny,” Alfred says, taking the lead and walking down a large hallway on the right. He flicks a switch as he goes, the lights turning on a split second later and revealing the landscape paintings that decorate the walls. 

Man, Danny thinks, These people are Rich-rich. Maybe even richer than Vlad.

He hopes they’re not secretly a cult or something. Rich people always have some weird, fucked up secret they’re hiding. As long as it’s doesn’t involve murder or human experimentation, Danny can pretend he Does Not See and focus on helping Alfred.

The hallway leads to a large dining room with one of those extremely long tables, fit to seat twenty people. Smaller chandeliers hang from the ceiling, the dangling crystals glinting in the light. 

Alfred, thankfully, doesn’t stop there. Danny would walk out of the manor and find a barn to live in if Alfred tried to have him eat in there. It’s just not happening, not now, not ever.

Beyond the dining room is the kitchen. Though still larger than any kitchen Danny’s ever seen, it feels much more homely compared to the rest of the manor (that he’s seen so far). There’s a variety of papers pinned on the fridge door and a small shelf of cookbooks on the open space of the wall besides one of the windows. There are bar stools on one side of the kitchen island and a small table in the corner with six chairs, something more appropriate for smaller groups than the giant dining table. 

There are potted plants in two corners, bringing some color into the room, as well as a vase of bright flowers on the island. 

There is also, most notably, someone sitting on one of the bar stools, slumped over the island with his head resting in his arms. A cup sits off to his left, steam still wafting up from it. 

Besides him, Alfred makes a disapproving tutting noise that has the guy lifting his head and turning around to face them. 

“Hey, Alfred,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion. Even from this distance, Danny can see the bags under his ears. “Morning.”

“Master Tim, did you get any sleep at all?” It’s phrased like a question, but Danny can hear the reprimand clearly.

Tim can too, judging by his wince. “Some,” he says, not looking either of them in the eye. “It just wasn’t a night for sleeping.”

That means nothing to Danny, but it makes Alfred soften in sympathy. 

“I shall speak to Master Bruce about having your schedule for today cleared.”

“I can still work—”

“Absolutely not.” 

Tim looks like he’s gearing up to protest, then glances at Danny and slumps back down. “Fine,” he grumbles, pressing his forehead into the countertop, “But just this once.”

“This is one of my duties,” Alfred tells Danny as he walks towards the sink. “Taking care of the many stubborn members of this family. Getting them to take care of themselves is among the most pressing duties I have.”

“We’re not that bad,” Tim mutters.

“You came to this house for the sole purpose of helping Master Bruce,” Alfred counters.

Tim shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair.” And then turns his attention back to Danny. “We’re all disasters, but I swear we know how to handle ourselves. Alfred just has strict standards.”

“I… don’t know if I’ll be able to help with that?” Danny says, looking between the two. “I’m usually the one being cared for, not the other way.”

“What, you get into a lot of trouble?”

“More like I’m very accident-prone.” 

“You’ll fit in great, then,” Tim smiles, then sits up and rolls his shoulders back. He grabs his mug, takes a big swig, and sighs. “Guess I should get back to what I was doing.”

Alfred pulls out a cutting board and a knife, sets them on the counter, then opens the fridge to pull out various fruits, a pack of bacon, and some eggs. “Danny, do wash your hands and then take a seat. Master Tim, I’m sure Danny would appreciate your company a little longer.”

Tim slumps back down and offers Alfred a lazy salute. He hooks his ankle around the bar stool besides him and pulls it out for Danny. 

This is going well so far. Nothing bad has happened, he hasn’t been attacked, and he’s met the first member of the family Alfred loves so much. Tim is chill; he’s clearly exhausted, has problems with sleeping and self-care, but he’s nice and seeing him act so casual, like any other teenager, has Danny relaxing. 

He forces himself to move, walking in the air just a centimeter above the floor, and rolls up his sleeves to wash his hands. He finishes quickly, shaking water off his hands into the sink, and hopes neither of them saw the Lichtenberg figures on his right arm. 

Alfred’s washing the fruit and laying them out on the cutting board when he glances over. Danny wants to help, but he also doesn’t want to get in the way, so he sits next to Tim, curling into himself some.

Tim watches him with a sharp gaze. He didn’t seem this awake a moment ago. The icy blue of his eyes feels dangerous, somehow, and Danny’s not sure what’s changed in between him washing his hands and sitting down, but he tries to stay still and not give away how nervous he is. 

I’m just being paranoid, he tells himself. He doesn’t exist in this dimension. No one is out to hunt him down. They don’t know he’s a halfa, and it’s going to stay that way. 

There’s no way Tim could know anything about Danny, but the look in his eyes makes Danny want to run. 

“You look like adoption bait,” Tim says suddenly. He takes another sip of whatever’s in his mug. Coffee, based off the smell.

“Um. What?”

Tim gestures vaguely at Danny. “Blue eyes. Black hair. Sad. Y’know, Wayne adoption bait.”

“Does Wayne only adopt kids with those features?” Danny squints at Tim. “Did he get you? Do you need me to break you out of here?”

Tim laughs and the sharpness of his gaze eases. “No! I’m kind of a special case since I went to him instead of the other way around. But a lot of the others fit that description, and Bruce has adopted a lot of sad kids over the years, so it’s a bit of a running joke in Gotham.”

“And he’s nice? He’s good to you? To everyone?”

If this is another Vlad situation, Danny’s going to get every kid out of the manor and somewhere safe. Where that somewhere is, he doesn't know yet, but he’ll figure it out once he gets there. Alfred might not want to leave, but he won’t mind Danny protecting him while he’s around this ‘Bruce’ guy.

Probably.

Whatever, Danny can just go invisible and keep Alfred safe that way. 

“Bruce is good,” Tim reassures. “He’s emotionally constipated and makes a lot of mistakes, but he means well and he cares about all of us. He’s a loser, but we all love him anyways.”

“Thank you for that, Tim,” comes a deep voice from behind them.

Danny tries not to jump out of his seat, manages to catch himself on the edge of the island before he flies up to the ceiling, and whips around to stare at the newcomer. 

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred says from where he’s plating all the cleaning cut fruit. 

“Hey, B,” Tim says, “Didn’t think I’d see you up so early.”

The man is large. Not as large as his dad—few people come close—but still bigger than Danny. He’s shoulders are wide and Danny can tell he’s packing a lot of muscle beneath his black turtleneck sweater. There are streaks of silver in his black hair, a few wrinkles around his blue eyes, and something about him sets Danny on edge.

He looks normal enough, but carries an undercurrent of danger. 

This is someone who can do a lot of damage if Danny’s not careful.

“Good morning,” he returns to Tim and Alfred, but his eyes are fixed on Danny. “And hello. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bruce.”

Bruce walks closer and holds out a hand with a smile. It looks fake, but well practiced enough that most people wouldn’t notice. Danny, who is very well versed in reading people to make sure they’re not going to try and kill him, notices. 

He hesitates for a moment, then slowly takes Bruce’s hand into the world’s slowest, most awkward handshake. 

“Danny,” he says. “Sorry for intruding.”

Behind him, Alfred loudly sets a frying pan down on the stove. “You were invited, Danny. You are not intruding.”

Danny tries to pull his hand back, but Bruce tightens his grip without warning. He turns Danny’s hand over, looking over it with a critical eye.

“Your hand is very cold,” he says, “Would you like a blanket?”

A spark of panic flares through him and Danny makes his hand intangible for a brief second to free himself from Bruce’s grasp. “No thanks,” he answers with a tight smile, “I just have bad circulation.”

Bruce hums thoughtfully, then steps away. He claps a hand on Tim’s shoulder, then moves to one of the cupboards to start making his own cup of coffee. 

“Do you need any help, Alfred?” Bruce asks.

“I will not allow you to scare Danny away by setting the kitchen on fire again,” Alfred responds immediately.

“I could just set out plates,” Bruce amends.

“Please sit down, Master Bruce.”

Tim bites down a laugh, but his shoulders still shake with it. He turns his face away when Bruce looks at him, eyebrow raised judgmentally. He’s not smiling, but there’s a fond tilt to his lips, a softness in the heavy lines of his shoulders. 

Danny watches it all, content to disappear in the background as he slowly relaxes again, basking in the warmth of a family that so clearly loves each other. They’re all at ease around each other, safe and at home, even with a stranger in their midst. It reminds him a bit of being a kid, clinging to Jazz’s back as they waited for their dad to pull out a batch of his fudge, their mom making hot chocolate for them.

It’s a bittersweet memory now, but still something he cherishes. 

“We all try to help Alfred when we can,” Tim whispers to Danny, leaning over so they won’t be overheard, “But we’re pretty bad at it. Bruce, especially, can’t be trusted in a kitchen.”

“That sounds like a story I’d like to hear later,” he whispers back, and the grin Tim gives him is full of promise.

The kitchen quiets down after that, Tim and Bruce still tired and holding back yawns as Alfred continues cooking. Danny observes them all carefully, trying to learn more about them without actually having to talk to them. He watches Alfred cook as well, trying to learn through observation; he’s never cooked before, not when everything in the kitchen was ecto-contaminated and needed to be fought instead of eaten.

He’d like to learn. If Alfred’s willing to teach him, he’d like to learn how to cook normal food for normal people.

The morning creeps on, the world waking up outside. He can hear birdsong from outside, and though it’s too cloudy to see the sun, he’s sure it’s above the horizon now.

Alfred sets plates of cut fruit down in front of Bruce, then Tim, and then Danny. It’s followed by a separate plate of bacon and eggs. He asks the room at large how they would like their toast prepared, to which Bruce requests lightly toasted with honey, Tim asked for blueberry jam, and Danny doesn’t say a word.

“Danny?” Alfred prompts, and Danny looks up from his plate. 

“Oh, um, no thank you,” he answers awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat this much.”

Alfred accepts the answer easily enough, moving to start making the other requests, but Tim is staring at him with his piercing gaze again. Danny tries to ignore him, popping a blackberry into his mouth. 

It’s not Tim who says anything. It’s Bruce, who starts by clearing his throat and gently beginning with “Do you have a stable living situation right now, Danny?”

“Jesus, B,” Tim says, “That is not how you should be starting this conversation.”

“It’s important to know.”

“Yes?” Danny lies very unconvincingly, then slumps when three people give him disbelieving looks. “I’m doing my best, okay. And I’m taking care of myself just fine.” He nibbles on a piece of bacon to stop himself from saying anything else, hoping they’ll back off if he doesn’t make eye contact.

For a moment, it looks like Tim is going to speak again. Then a new voice pipes up from behind them and again, Danny has to cling to the counter to stop from flinching too hard. 

“Who is this,” a young voice demands. When Danny turns around, there’s a kid standing in the doorway, arms crossed, as he glares at Danny. 

“Um,” Danny says, “Hi? I’m Danny.”

The kid moves his glare from Danny to Bruce. “This was not mentioned,” he says rather accusingly. 

“This one isn’t mine,” Bruce says, “This one is on Alfred.”

Everything about this conversation is flying over his head, so Danny decides to ignore it and go back to slowly working his way through his first breakfast in around a month. It’s delicious, but he can only finish the fruit and some of the eggs and bacon before his stomach starts twisting. 

Tim pulls the plate away when Danny can’t eat anymore. “Don’t push yourself,” he says, “I can finish it, if you want.”

He gives up his plate with a grateful smile, and turns to get up and see if he can get a glass of water. The kid is right by his elbow when he turns and Danny has to take a deep breath and slowly let it out before he accidentally kicks the kid and sends him flying. 

“Why are you here,” he says, tense and ready to move. He looks ready for a fight, which is odd and concerning to see on someone who can’t be any older than twelve. 

“I was invited,” he answers, “I’m maybe going to work for Alfred? If today goes well, I guess.”

The kid’s eyebrows go up. “You are not being adopted.”

“No,” Danny says slowly, “I’m just looking for a job.”

Abruptly, the kid relaxes, then sticks out a hand. “I am Damian Wayne. I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“Don’t be rude, gremlin,” Tim says just as Danny shakes his hand. 

“I am being reasonably wary,” Damian counters, “You are far too lax with a stranger in our home.”

“I’m trusting Alfred to not bring in anyone dangerous,” Tim corrects.

“Boys,” Bruce calls out, warningly. They both look away from each other, scowling. “And Danny,” he continues, “If you don’t have anywhere to stay, you’re welcome here even if you don’t work.”

This time, it’s Tim who cuts him off with a quick call of “Bruce,” just as Damian says, “Father, enough.”

“If I can offer help, I will. I don’t need to adopt everyone who comes through here.”

Alfred sends him a withering look that has Bruce looking away, sipping his coffee, pretending he didn’t say anything. Tim scoffs loudly and Damian shakes his head disapprovingly. 

“I’m telling everyone you said that,” Tim declares, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He types something out, looking more and more awake now that he has more people to talk to. Or more people he can embarrass Bruce with. 

There’s definitely something that Danny’s missing here, but he doesn’t intend to spend enough time around them for it to matter. All he’s here to do is shadow Alfred and hopefully get a job. Maybe having friends in this dimension would be nice, but that’s something to consider after he’s figured out his living situation.

“Oh!” Tim says suddenly, holding out his phone to Danny. “Give me your number. You can text me any questions you have about us.”

“Can’t Alfred answer any questions I have?”

“Sure, but he’ll give you the polite, respectful answer. I can give you all the hot gossip.”

Danny can’t help but smile at that. He thinks he’s found a good friend in Tim, but only time will tell. “As much as I’d like that, I don’t actually have a phone. So.”

“I can get you one right now,” Tim says.

“No, no! It’s fine. I’ll buy one once I have like. A paycheck or something. Wait,” Danny pauses, “I don’t have a bank account either. Okay, so this is gonna take some time, but eventually I’ll have a phone!”

Tim turns to Bruce. “Okay, I can’t even judge you for this one. If you don’t let him work with Alfred, I’ll find a position for him at WE.”

WE? That’s a new term. There’s still so much he needs to learn about this dimension and Danny can’t get started because he can’t access the internet and all the libraries are closed when he wanders. 

Besides him, Damian clicks his tongue, then takes a plate of eggs, fruit, and jam covered bread from Alfred and takes a seat next to Bruce. 

Danny decides to take the lull in conversation as a chance to ask Alfred for some water, only to see that somehow, without him noticing, a full glass has appeared where his empty plate once was. He looks up to see Alfred round the island, passing off the request toast to Bruce and Tim, then collecting all the empty plates he can find.

He mentally notes the moment as further proof that Alfred has magic. 

The three members of the Wayne family busy themselves with their food. Danny cradles the cool glass in his hand, drinking slowly so he doesn’t upset his stomach even more, and tries not to tense up as the back of his neck prickles. They’re not obvious about it, but they’ll all paying close attention to him and it’s making him anxious. 

Normal people aren’t so focused or intense. They certainly aren’t as dangerous as the three in the kitchen. Danny isn’t even sure how he can tell, he just can. It might be some sort of instinct, recognizing them as potential threats due to all the ghosts he’s fought since the Accident. 

He really hopes he never finds how why they’re all so dangerous.

There’s quiet clink of a plate, and when he looks up, Alfred is taking the last few empty plates to the sink.

“I could wash those for you,” he offers, “Since it’s, y’know, what I’m here for. To help you.”

Alfred smiles warmly and shakes his head once. “There is no need just yet, Danny. Thank you for the offer, however. I would be glad to have such a kind person help me, should you choose to work with me by the end of today.”

It doesn’t feel right to let Alfred cook for him and clean up after everyone. But he also doesn’t want to go against Alfred in his workplace. Or his home? The manor may also be his home, which is worrying for the future of Danny’s professional boundaries. 

Damian leaves, saying he needs to get ready for school, and Tim mumbles something about work before Alfred talks over him and tells Bruce that Tim is taking a sick day. He doesn’t seem to mind being ordered around by a butler, though most of the orders are phrased as very pointed observations. Danny’s beginning to think it’s a British thing.

And then Alfred finishes washing the dishes and leaves everything in the drying rack, and says, “Why don’t we discuss the possible terms of Danny’s employment in your study, Master Bruce.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Bruce says as he stands, pushing his seat in. He gestures of Danny to follow him and begins walking out of the kitchen.

Danny hesitates, but goes easily enough, some of his worry easing when Tim and Alfred both walk with him, guiding him through the manor.

He’d look around and take in everything if he could; Danny’s too busy thinking of worst case scenarios to enjoy seeing all the paintings and photographs and various decorations scattered throughout the manor. Sam’s place was always clean, save for her room, and only existed to show off wealth. Vlad’s was a castle in Wisconsin, which already says more than enough.

Wayne Manor, on the other hand, is big and homey. There’s a history within these walls. It’s almost tangible, full of love and laughter and grief and hope. The wealth is obvious, but so is the love of family. 

Even in Bruce’s study, there are signs. Photographs on the wall, all carefully framed, of various people holding poses. Danny keeps his eyes on them as Bruce rounds the large desk and gets settled, taking in the smiles of a young boy next to an elephant, a trio of girls at a ballet, a group shot of the family on a beach vacation.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” Tim asks, following his gaze to the photographs.

Danny nods. “Everyone looks really happy.”

“That’s probably why there’s so few of these photos,” Tim says, then quickly covers up his somber tone with a cough. “Go ahead and sit down.”

So he sits, feeling like he’s at the principal’s office, in trouble yet again for some ghostly nonsense. Except instead of his principal, it’s a rich man who might be his boss by tomorrow.

“Now,” Bruce begins, folding his hands together on top of the desk, “I understand that you want to work as Alfred’s apprentice, of sorts. Assist him with his own tasks. Is this correct?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”

“And if I’m understanding you properly so far, you are in need of a job because you’re homeless. Yes?”

“Also yes.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully. “If you wish to live within the city itself, we would be happy to help you find a good place to live. However, you could also live here, as Alfred does. It make needing transportation unnecessary, and you would remain close to Alfred should he need any help.”

He almost instinctively rejects the offer, too used to expecting the worse from wealthy men. An immediate offer to live with them? So suspicious it’s not even funny. 

But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. And it would keep him close to Alfred. 

“Staying here sounds like the better option. I have a few conditions, though,” he says, watching Bruce’s face carefully for any sign of anger or annoyance.

There’s none. He’s as patient and unflappable as ever. 

“And they are…?” he prompts when Danny doesn’t continue. 

“I won’t be your son,” he says. “No adoption. I’ve had enough of rich men trying to force me into their families just to prove a point, or for some other stupid reason. I’m not having it here.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce says. 

“And if I find out you’re like, secretly evil, I’m allowed to run away with my body intact. You don’t get to keep any part of me.”

“Also fair,” Bruce says, nodding slowly as he begins to look more and more concerned. 

“No cloning or other experiments with humans. If I see any sign of that, I’m out.”

Bruce goes very, very still in a way that means nothing good. Danny squints at him, then glances to Tim so he can gauge if this is bad or not. Only Tim is also very still, staring down at the floor and slightly pale. Paler than before, in any case. 

“Please don’t have some sort of secret lair in your basement. I do not want to know if you’re leading a cult or not. I want no part of it. Either don’t have a secret lair in your basement, or keep me out of it.”

Alfred clears his throat delicately. There’s the faintest trace of laughter in his voice when he says, “All very good conditions, don’t you think, Master Bruce?”

“Right. Yes. I… accept those conditions. Which are very reasonable.”

Danny squints at him, wondering which of those conditions, exactly, is throwing him off guard. He’s well aware that all of them are rather outlandish, but considering his life, he’s not taking any chances. So far the Waynes seem like a pleasant family, but he thought Vlad was cool up until he got tortured and then subsequently never truly got away from him. 

This second attempt at life is too important to risk. 

If Bruce is evil with a secret basement liar, Danny is well within his rights to lose his shit about it.

“Okay,” Danny says after a minute. “That’s it. Those are all my conditions.”

“Right! Well, why don’t we talk about your salary.”

“Um.”

Danny shoots Alfred a wide-eyed look of panic. At that exact moment, Damian appears in the doorway of the study and says, “Pennyworth, I am in need of a ride to school.”

“What’s got you so excited for school?” Tim asks, twisting around so Damian can see his incredulous expression.

“Colin has promised to show me pictures of his cousin’s pet bird.”

Tim nods as if this is all very normal. Alfred quietly promises Danny that he’ll be back soon, then leaves with Damian so the kid can continue his education. Which leaves Danny floundering of an answer, at a complete loss as he tries to come up with reasonable numbers for a salary.

“Can I just shadow Alfred for a day before we talk about this?” he asks, searching for a way out of this situation.

Bruce frowns. “It would be best to get the details settled now. You’ll have plenty of time to learn from Alfred later.”

“Let me handle this,” Tim says, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Then he looks at Bruce and suddenly isn’t the tired, fun teenage boy Danny’s been hanging out with during breakfast. Now he’s serious, holding himself tall, as if he has equal standing with Bruce. 

Please come back fast Alfred, Danny mentally pleads as Tim and Bruce start speaking about wages and hours and health insurance and kidnapping policies. 

What the hell kind of butler job even needs a kidnapping policy? 

Maybe he didn’t think this through. But now that he’s here, Danny’s determined to see it through. He’s gotta get this job; if not for his sake, then for Alfred’s.

No one should have to handle the Waynes, daily, on their own. That, at least, is something Danny can help with. 

If there’s anything Danny’s good at, it’s dealing with crazy. 

Now that’s something he can confidently put on his resume. 

("Are you sure about him?" Damian asks as Alfred drives him to school.

"Quite certain," Alfred replies, smoothly switching lanes.

"And he's just here to work? Not for Batman, or Robin, or to infiltrate the family?"

"Indeed. In fact," Alfred says, glancing up into the rear view mirror where he can see Damian scowling down at his backpack, "he was rather insistent that no one adopts him. It was one of his conditions for staying in the Manor."

This isn't much, just word of mouth for a stranger they know virtually nothing about, but it's enough to appease Damian for the time being.

"Fine," he says, just as they pull up to the school drop-off lane. "I will permit him to stay so long as he doesn't harm the family or try to take my place."

"Very good. I imagine you will get on well with him once you get to know him. He's a difficult boy to dislike."

"We'll see," Damian mutters, then adjusts his grip on his backpack in preparation to leave. "I shall continue my surveillance of Danny when I return from school."

"Have a good day, Master Damian," Alfred calls out after him as he exits the car. He lingers just long enough to see Damian walk through the gates of the school, the merges back into traffic and begins the drive home. And if he drives a little faster than normal, there's no one around to point it out. Not that anyone could blame him for looking forward to day of teaching Danny the various ins and outs of his duties as a butler.

Bruce has had many children to raise and mentor in the lovely heroes and people they are today. It's about time Alfred got a student of his own.)

[dangermousie]

I was talking to @aysekira and the thing that keeps haunting me is that I genuinely cannot imagine a happy ending for Black Out. I cannot see how one would even look like.

I can 100% see how ML would be proven innocent and how the truth would come out. I have no problem imagining it.

But I cannot see how on earth that would result in any kind of justice or happy ending. It’s not just the decade of life he lost that he’d never get back or the abuse he suffered that can’t be undone or the fact that his father died probably from the stress of it all while he was in jail, or mental trauma of believing he was a killer.

It’s all about not having a future in a practical or emotional sense. Before he got railroaded he got accepted to med school. He’d have had a great conventionally successful future. What is he gonna have now? Even if his conviction gets vacated, he has no college education - is he even capable emotionally or mentally to go to college (and can he even at his age?) - what is he gonna do for a living? Some sort of minimum wage job, I guess. His whole future is gone permanently.

And then (I put it behind read more because it’s spoilery for stuff that is not made clear in the drama yet but from books it’s based on, plus dramas Bad Guys and Flower of Evil.)

Even worse - it wasn’t cops wanting an easy close out of a case or a bona fide mistake.

How can you process and live with the fact that your friends are the one who committed the crimes you were convicted for, that they and their parents (included your so-called uncle, chief of police) framed you as a scape goat.

That your “friends” raped and killed your female friend and carried on, happily acting like you are the criminal and they are upstanding citizens. That a whole bunch of of the people in town are in on it. That his so called friend the actress is actually also in on it because she could have proven his innocent but wanted him punished for not fancying her so off to jail he went.

Like how could you ever eat and sleep and breathe for the rage.

As I was telling @aysekira - what is insane is that Geun Oh a saint compared to the rest because he raped someone and killed someone and acquiesced in framing ML but at least he feels like shit. The bar is so low it’s in hell but the bulk of them still fail it.

I thought Park Hae Jin’s character in Bad Guys was fucked by the end but even he is better off - his memories were fucked with and he could never trust a therapist again (and he needs therapy badly) and he went to jail for crimes he did not commit but he didn’t serve a decade and he’s at least got his education and his PhD and he’s made two good friends even if they are both murderers and it wasn’t everyone literally in on it (probably because he was a loner but still…)

JW from Black Out can get his name cleared sure but he could never get justice because that would involve a Time Machine and a mind wipe.

I always found Flower of Evil had such a kind, gentle ending - ML was put through seventeen kinds of hell for no fault of his own - but you totally buy him being loved and happy and living a life he’d like at the end. (And even there, I actually think it might be better for him to never fully recover all his memories.) Here I don’t see it at all.

[lifeafterartsch00l]

✨ Sns rec’s ✨

I read a fabulous post from @longlivefeedback about supporting authors so I thought I’d try and give it a go since I’m constantly looking through the Naruto/Sasuke tag 🙊 I’m going to try and make a new habit and post once a week with my sasunaru/narusasu/sns (and maybe other pairings/fandoms) recs!

Some awesome fics I’ve been enjoying on a03 lately include:

Finger on the detonator by foreverbaby

Twelve Steps by foreverbaby

An anchor in the storm by cecific

don’t act like it’s a bad thing (to fall in love with me) by heartsugu

What counts for anything by kayeeyooblue

Solis occasum by wouldyoukiindly

Konohamaru wanted to rest by anaria_k

Thank you talented authors 😊 I don’t think I’m following any of these authors on tumblr 🤔 but I’ll look for them! 🤗 please tag them in the comments if you know who they are!

Read below for details on fic recommendations ⬇️

Finger on the detonator by foreverbaby

Im so happy i finally found this author! I started with Finger on the detonator but Twelve Steps really spoke to me and my own feelings/experiences with a difficult childhood. And making art! I love how sexy and meta and healing and radical they are. I’m excited to read more from this author ❤️ Multiple chapters.

“Chapters: 2/?

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Shimura Danzou, Hyuuga Neji, Sai (Naruto), Juugo (Naruto)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Activism, High School, Military Backstory, Politics, Teenage Rebellion, Partners in Crime, Gay Uchiha Sasuke, Crack Treated Seriously, Anarchy, Making Out, lazy US-specific setting...sorry, Wet Dream, Breaking and Entering, Minor Injuries, Closet Sex, Frottage

Summary:

uzumakiswag: this might b kinda weird but like i just got back from my deployment and stuff and i saw u on the kwp direct action discord when i joined that? and i was gonna go to a meetup but idk anybody else there yet sooo do u go to those? wld u want to go together next week? hahaha

taka99: That's a joke right

uzumakiswag: no y is that funnyp

taka99: You’re literally in the US military

It's totally normal to engage in a little gay domestic terrorism just to impress your crush...right?”

Twelve Steps by foreverbaby

“Chapters: 3/3

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, minor past naruto/sakura and sasuke/suigetsu

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Hoozuki Suigetsu, Haruno Sakura

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV Alternating, Alcoholics Anonymous, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Addiction, Homophobia, Light Angst, sasuke vapes, criterion channel and chill, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Friends to Lovers, naruto's bi awakening, sasuke's issues

Summary: One day at a time, they always said. But for Sasuke every single day was exactly the same: serving the same gruff truckers the same greasy pancakes and eggs, heading to the same gym to do the same workout, going home to stare at the same half-formed Final Draft document, then waking up the next morning to do the same thing all over again. Was that really one day at a time, or was it more like one single hellish stretched-out day that dragged on endlessly and forever? And what exactly was the point of staying clean when that was your reward?

Everybody told Naruto after Sakura called off their engagement that what he needed was a “fresh start.” Naruto’s fresh start had so far consisted of a new city where he knew nobody, a park ranger job that paid him sub-minimum-wage, an empty studio apartment in a part of town not yet gentrified enough to be out of that price range, a lot of lonely Skyping with his friends, and, now, apparently, an A.A. meeting at a Quality Inn.

When Naruto moves away from his hometown after a breakup, he's surprised to see someone he recognizes at his first A.A. meeting in a new city: his childhood best friend, Sasuke Uchiha”

An anchor in the storm by cecific

One shot, contemporary au, poem. POV from Sasuke. I haven’t read any poems before for sns! Lovely, great ending 🥹💗 the author says their English is bad but I truly think no apology is needed because i think their English is great and hell I only speak English and can’t write poetry!

“Chapters: 1/1

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiots in Love, Uchiha Sasuke Needs a Hug, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Falling In Love, slow burn but it never actually lights on fire, Sasuke's mother is dead, Sick Character, Soulmates

Summary: Sasuke's on a blind date set up by his father, his date is late so a young bright man keeps him company.. It feels like a fated encounter between the two.

Essentially a poem that tells a story. Also sorry, English is my first language and yet I'm horrid!”

don’t act like it’s a bad thing (to fall in love with me) by heartsugu

One shot. Sweet n spicy, my fave combination! 🍭🔥 I really loved how Naruto was written here & that it’s Sakura positive 😊 I really hope this author writes more sns 🤞😍🤞

“Chapters: 1/1

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 Ensemble (Naruto), Yamanaka Ino, Hatake Kakashi

Additional Tags: POV Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Sasuke Returns to Konoha, Blank Period (Naruto), Haruno Sakura is So Done, Background Relationships, Mild Hurt/Comfort, mostly fluff tbh, Bad Humor, Emotional Constipation, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 Shenanigans (Naruto), Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke are Best Friends, Domestic, Making Out, Love Bites, Resolved Sexual Tension, No beta we die like Neji, Everyone Is Gay, Self-Indulgent, Minor Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino

Summary: He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, but being back in Konoha had shown him how dull his world was without Naruto.

Being dragged around on dumb errands, or training together, or even just sitting around and watching the sunset had given Sasuke peace of mind he hadn’t ever known. He felt like himself again, and Naruto was the cause.

Naruto was his home.

5,000 words of sns word vomit because this is what makes me happy these days idk”

What counts for anything by kayeeyooblue

I love how in this fic Sasuke gets to try normalcy and be an awkward teen! 😭 ❤️ great dynamic between Sasuke & Naruto (I really enjoyed reading about their developing relationship) & also spicy 🔥

“Chapters: 12/?

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Haruno Sakura, Nara Shikamaru, Uchiha Itachi

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Slow Burn, Coming of Age, Soft Uchiha Sasuke, Sexual exploration, First Kiss, First Time

Summary: months after the 4th war, sasuke and naruto meet again. except now they have time”

Solis occasum by wouldyoukiindly

Reading this was like a fresh breath of air! I loved how the characterisation felt very true. I hope they do more chapters! 💗🙏🏽Canon divergent Boruto-era.

“Chapters: 1/?

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura/Hyuuga Hinata

Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura, Hyuuga Hinata

Additional Tags: Old men naruto and sasuke find out they're gay in their 30s, Hokage Uzumaki Naruto, Co-Parenting, Divorce, more tags when i write more!, Hinata is Naruto's best friend, Sakura is Sasuke's best friend, Domestic Fluff, Naruto has ADHD, sasuke has autism

Summary: After becoming Hokage, Naruto notices that despite it all, he's had no time to hang out with his best friend. He never realized how much he missed Sasuke's attitude, demeanour, and all around being; he hasn't felt this way about anyone before.

It's always been Sasuke, hasn't it?

And maybe that realization will be the very end of him.

(Naruto and sasuke realize they're gay in their 30s and divorce their wives, who in turn, realize they are also gay and everyone is friends and co-parents. yessir.)”

Konohamaru wanted to rest by anaria_k

Cheeky, sexy, & Konohamaru POV! One shot. I love looking at sasunaru fanart and I love it when clever authors make fanfic inspired by it (author links the art which helped inspire the fic). 😋🫶🏽 one shot

“Chapters: 1/1

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto

Characters: Sarutobi Konohamaru, Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke

Additional Tags: Comedy, Post-Canon, Post-War, Blank Period (Naruto), Post-Fourth Shinobi War (Naruto), Drabble, Pre-Slash, Semi-Public Sex, Third Wheels, Konohamaru sees something he wasn't intending to see, Hot, Dirty Thoughts, Pre-Relationship, Canon Compliant, Not a Date, Idiots in Love, Boys In Love, everyone can see it, Konohamaru does for sure, Sexual Tension, also Konohamaru might be accidentaly bi

Summary: Konohamaru returns from a mission to the village and, finding himself in a bar, accidentally witnesses a very non-accidental scene. He doesn't like it. Although?…”

🍥+🍅=❤️

[lockes-woods]

Stuck Chapter 1

Himiko feels like she's in a slump. She's been working her ass off for the past three years and it feels like she's gotten nowhere. She's stuck at her two minimum-wage jobs and is still two years away from getting her degree. Despite the support of her friends, she feels like she's falling behind. Himiko's on the brink of giving up on her dream when a couple comes along with a proposition.

(Sugar Daddy Mishanks x reader)

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

“Another round” A deep voice calls out a midst the crowded room. Himiko looked up and caught the eye of the redhead in question. A smile broke out across his face when he noticed the returned eye contact. She recognized him as one of the lawyers from the firm up the block. There were more people at his party than normal for a Tuesday night. They must have won a case; they only ever got this lively when they won a big case. She counted at least 12 people clustered around four tables that had been pushed together. Half of them appeared to be in lively debate, one was passed out, three had left to play pool, and two were making out in the corner. She huffed a laugh through her nose before getting started on their drinks. Most were drinking beers, but a few including the redhead were drinking top-shelf rum. After pouring their drinks and opening their bottles Himiko helped their waitress load her trays up.

          “I’ll take your finest wine,” a pompous voice called to her left. Himiko internally cringed as she turned to serve him.

          “That would be our Déesse it is 4,500 berries a glass.” She responded with her best customer service smile.

          “I’ll have it,” he grunted before leaning into her space and squinting at her. “Say you look familiar.” Himiko didn’t recognize him. He was definitely not a regular here or at her other job; she would have remembered someone who was this annoying.

          “I get that a lot guess I just have one of those faces.” She laughed brushing off his comment. She turned to head to the back to grab the wine. Before she could leave his vicinity, he grabbed her right arm in a bruising grip.

          “I know who you are. You’re that skank who conned my buddy out of thousands of berries,”  he said, raising his voice.

          “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She responded calmly trying to pull her arm out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let up.

          “Yes, you do; you’re a pool shark” he seethed. His grip tightened before he continued, “I’m not leaving until you pay back what you owe.” 

          Panicked by him tightening his grip Himiko yanked her arm backwards as fast and as far as she could causing him to slam face-first into the wooden bar. Her martial arts training kicked in as she quickly rotated her wrist outward causing him to lose his grip on her. She backed up until she bumped into the shelves of alcohol behind the bar.

          “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO MY FATHER IS” He screeched clutching his now broken nose.

          “Outside of the fact that he has a bitch son who's bleeding all over my bar no.” She spits back without thinking. She could feel herself getting angry. It was alien to her; it normally took a lot to rile her up.  

          “He’s Captain Morgon of the 153rd precinct” he seethed blood running down his face staining his teeth, “You’re so fucked for this.” Before Himiko could respond two of her male coworkers materialized next to her. She could suddenly feel the eyes of her patrons on her.

          “I think it’s time for you to leave pal.” Her coworker James said stepping between them while her other coworker Hiroshi gently steered her towards the back of the house. She was vaguely aware of him yelling about the manager and demanding she be fired on the spot before his voice became muffled by the closing door behind her. Her breathing began to become erratic as the adrenaline wore off. She settled against the counter in the kitchen. Thankfully the kitchen staff had been let out for the night.

          “Let me get you some water, I’ll be right back,” Hiroshi said before going back out to the bar. Himiko trained her breath as she counted her intakes and exhales. This was the first time in a while she had to defend herself outside of competitions. She was normally able to talk her way out of situations before it got physical. Hell, half the classes she took were on sociology and psychology. She was better than this. She may have just blown her chance at becoming a social worker in one move. Himiko sighed and leaned her head back. The door that connected to the front opened again.

          “Here,” Hiroshi said handing her a glass of ice water. Himiko grabbed it and took a small sip.

          “How bad is it?” She asked looking up at him.

          “They just got him outside when I walked out; James and Marcus had to literally drag him kicking and screaming. They’re talking to him outside now.” He said, filling her in.

          “Jesus, this is a nightmare,” Himiko sighed before continuing. “I can’t afford to lose this job.”

          “I wouldn’t worry about it; from what I saw he was the one who assaulted you. If he had just let go he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” He said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

          “I guess, I’m just worried that Marcus is involved. I already have a write-up this month for calling out without coverage.” Himiko said taking another sip of her water.

          “I mean he’s just a manager; he has to run it by the owners before he fires anyone.” He responded before the door to the front opened. Both of them turn their heads to see Marcus walk in.

          “Right,” Marcus starts looking at Himiko. “Are you okay? How’s your arm?”

          “I’m fine; it’ll bruise but nothing broken.” She responded.

          “Good, you,” he said pointing at Hiroshi. “Get back out front and help James close everyone out. We’re closing early.” Hiroshi nodded before leaving the two alone in the back.

          “I’m sorry-” Himiko started before he cut her off.

          “You have nothing to apologize for; I saw the bastard grab you on the security camera. That’s how I got out there so fast.”

          “But we had to close early because of me,” she said.

          “There was only an hour before the last call. The majority of our business has already left for the night.” He said in an almost comforting tone before continuing. “He’s already been escorted off the property; he basically ran away when I called the cops.”

          “You called the police?” Himiko asked in a nervous tone.

          “Yes, if he really is the son of a police captain I want to get ahead of this before it becomes a problem. A buddy of mine who works for the police precinct we’re in is on his way. He’s going to take your statement in the back office.”

          “Okay,” she nods after swallowing the lump in her throat.

          “Also, while it’s none of my business what you do in your free time if you happened to be a pool shark, I would hope that you would only do that at establishments that did not share our clientele.” He said in a serious tone. She nodded in response rubbing her arm. The bruise had just begun to bloom.

          “Hey Marcus, you’re friends here,” Hiroshi said, poking his head through the door.

          “Ready?” he asked.

          “Yeah,” Himiko said following him to the back office.

***

Himiko groaned to herself as she grabbed her coat off the rack and exited the back of the building. Everyone outside of Marcus had already left for the night. She glanced down at her phone and saw that it was already a quarter to four. After factoring in her half-hour ride home on the subway she was only going to get three hours of sleep before she had to leave for her barista shift later that morning. She dragged her feet as she circled around the building through an alley to the street.

“Hey!” a voice called to her left. Himiko stiffened before relaxing once she saw the familiar face of the redhead from earlier.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” she asked as she watched him snuff out the cigarette he was smoking. He pushed himself off the wall before responding.

“Waiting for you.” He said with a disarming smile. If Himiko didn’t already think he was handsome she did now.

“And why would that be?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow at him.

“I’d like to offer you my services. That is assuming you pressed charges?” he asked.

“I did.” She confirmed before continuing, “No offense, but I work here. What makes you think I could afford your services?” she asked. While the bar was not a shabby establishment it was on the cusp of the city’s center and uptown. Bartenders in center city were paid decent, but not enough to afford an uptown lawyer. He nodded in recognition before responding.

“Noted, but I have been known to work pro bono in the past. I may be inclined to do the same here. Especially when my favorite bartender happens to be involved.” he said, still smiling. “It doesn't hurt that she happens to be easy on the eyes.” He tacks on the end of his statement. Himiko could feel the blood rush to her cheeks at his compliment.

“I don’t even know your name and you want to represent me in court for free?” she asked.

“If that’s your only hang up it can be easily fixed.” he said holding out his hand, “Shanks.”

“Himiko” she responded, shaking his hand hesitantly.

“There, now that that’s out of the way how are you getting home?” he asked.

“The train?” she responded unsure of where this was leading.  

“At this time of night? I’d feel more comfortable if you took a car.” He spoke.

“What are you going to pay for it? A ride home would cost a quarter of my tips,” she said.

“Of course.” He responded seriously like it was a dumb question.

“And why would you do that?” she asked skeptically.

“You’re my client now and I take care of my clients.” He said like it was the simplest thing in the world before pulling out his phone and passing it to her. “Here type in where you want to be dropped out.”

“Are you sure?” she asked knowing that prices rise this time of night from all the bars and clubs letting out.

“Positive.” He confirmed. She typed in the address of the bodega that was on the same block as her apartment complex before handing back the phone. He quirked an eyebrow at the address. “You live here?” he asked concerned.

“Yeah, why?” She asked back.

“Nothing, it’s just not the best area.” He answered.

“I can take care of myself.” She dismissed.

He laughed in response. “I don’t think anyone would doubt that, especially after tonight. It just caught me off guard is all.”

Himiko hummed in response as a black car pulled up.

“Well, this is me.” She said, nodding to the car.

“Here before you go,” he said reaching into his blazer pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my business card; my personal number is written on the back if you need anything outside of business hours.”

“Okay, thanks,” she said sincerely before getting in the back of the car. She waved to him as the car pulled off the curb and headed south toward her apartment complex. Himiko settled into her seat, and the exhaustion of the day finally fully hit her. She leaned her head against the window willing herself to stay awake. She was too tired to even attempt to process the last couple of hours. She just hoped that she could at least get some sleep before her shift later that morning. She only had one class on Wednesdays so she could crash as soon as that was over. She just hoped she could last that long.

MASTER LIST

[xhanisai]

destroy a shitty, entitled customer once and you'll find yourself (1) smitten kitten

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette

Prompt - 'Simp'

Summary -

"Are you arguing back with me? Don't you know your place, you useless worker!? The customer is always right, you rude, little shit! I demand a refund—"

Before anyone could even blink, a petite but insanely strong hand clasped itself on the customer's shoulder, sending an icy bucket of water over his head and the man found himself sinking to one knee before freezing on the spot.

He then turned around and found himself face-to-face with the most angriest, dangerous-looking blue eyes he had ever seen in his entire lifetime, belonging to a Eurasian little girl.

It was at this moment he knew, he fucked up.

~(x)~

.

.

.

 "You call this food!? The soup is colder than my fridge and looks disgustingly sloppy! And the bread is soggy as hell— look! Half of it has already broken off and turned into sludge in this so-called soup! Can you and the chefs stop being so useless for once!? No wonder you're all stuck working shitty jobs!" The red-faced customer sneered, towering over the poor waiter who hugged the metal tray against his chest and was close to bursting out to tears. He looked no older than fifteen whilst the customer seemed to be no younger than forty-nine. "I-I-I-I'm so sorry, Monsieur! But according to our shop’s protocols, we're not allowed to serve the food any hotter than that for customer safety and to avoid any burns! And your bread ended up soggy because you put the sandwich in the soup and went on your phone for a while before tucking into your food—" "Are you arguing back with me? Don't you know your place, you useless worker!? The customer is always right, you rude, little shit! I demand a refund—" Before anyone could even blink, a petite but insanely strong hand clasped itself on the customer's shoulder, sending an icy bucket of water over his head and the man found himself sinking to one knee before freezing on the spot. He then turned around and found himself face-to-face with the most angriest, dangerous-looking blue eyes he had ever seen in his entire lifetime, belonging to a Eurasian little girl.

 It was at this moment he knew, he fucked up. "Would you mind repeating what you had just said about the nice waiter?" Her tone was like a blistering storm, like thunder despite it being so calm and steady. Her grip on his shoulder tightened and the man found himself buckling to both of his knees, now having to peer up at the scary little girl much to his absolute horror. "I-I-It isn't my fault! The food is cold and the customer is always right! U-U-Unhand me you freak! I swear I will file a complaint to whatever school you’re from and get you expelled!"

.

It was then, he practically threw himself in the deep ends.

 .

Meanwhile, whilst Marinette relentlessly threatened chewed out the former angry customer to the point where he tearfully apologised to all the minimum-wage working people he's wronged (begging in a foetal position on the dirty floor with his hands clasped above him in a pleading gesture), Alya, Nino and Adrien observed the chaotic scene from the table nearby. The bespectacled couple watched in awe, the journalist with her phone out and recording everything so that she could brag about how fucking badass her best friend is whilst the boy tried to hide under his cap like a turtle, quite frightened by the petité girl's courage. Nino has been on the receiving end of Marinette’s ire a few times before for smaller things and he did not appreciate having to relive those petrifying memories. Even if she was just five years old back in those days.

 “M-m-mec! It was an accident! I swear!”

 “You killed him…”

 “I didn’t mean to!”

 “You killed Monsieur. Jacques!”

 “He’s only an ant!”

 “GRAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

 “HELP!!!!!”

 Oh, she was one terrifying five-year-old.

Adrien on the other hand... "Oh wow~! She's so brave, so courageous, so heroic~!" He had his hands on his rosy cheeks, elbows on the table and literal hearts glittering in his eyes as he kicked his legs back and forth like a lovesick little girl on his seat. "Oh, Marinette~ ma Marinette~ Mari, Mari, Mari, marry meeeeeee~~~~!" He was completely blind to the bewildered look his best friend threw at him and the way Alya zoomed in on Adrien's face, capturing every single word he said on camera.

 “That annoying customer is so lucky he’s getting yelled at by Marinette. He should be honoured. He should be bowing down to her and devote the rest of his life towards her. Oh, Marinette~” The best way one could describe Nino’s face towards Adrien’s rambling was this image:

.

.

.

~(x)~

[purebredmaltfics]

Sugoma Amogus

Seto Kaiba has just won the latest Battle City tournament against second place challenger, Bart Simpson.

Seto walked out of the arena. "I have very little patience for bullies" he said to himself. "That will teach the twerp to have respect for the cards".

Seto walked through a secluded hallway in the building. He was going to go to the Krusty Krab for a victory krabby patty. Seto jumped forward, a line of hot pain raced across the back of his neck. He spun around to see a man with a red tipped blade, blood dripping from the end.

Seto had jumped just in time. He reached to the back of his neck. He could feel warm wet blood run over his fingers. The cut was deep but not life-threatening.

Who was this man that tried to assassinate him? Was it a man at all? It wore a red space suit with a single bright glass visor. Seto had heard of these. This was one of the amogus, elite assassins, but who could have sent them?

It didn't matter. Seto was prepared. A card flipped between his fingers as he raised it towards the amogus. "OBELISK THE TORMENTOR", Seto screamed.

Seto released the card, summoning the Egyptian god monster spirit. The blue-skinned giant appeared, launching forward with his Fist of Fate.

The amogus dove out of the way. It was fast, even quicker than Obelisk the Tormentor. The amogus rushed down a side hallway and into a stairwell, disappearing into the darkness. It had escaped, but it was not unscathed. Obelisk had at least grazed it with his fist of fate.

"You dare face me. I will always be the victor, you fool" Seto said.

He confidently strutted away returning to his journey. He was not confident though. He was cautious and kept a card in between his fingers, ready to go.

"That was close" Seto thought, "If i were a moment too late, I would be gone."

Seto kept careful attention to the environment as he walked to the Krusty Krab in the dark of night.

"They made an attempt on my life. The audacity of sending assassin. Who even hired them?" Seto thought. "They should all fear me, for I have the Heart of the Cards".

The event replayed in Seto's mind. He was lost in his own thoughts. The amogus were impressive. He had never seen one, and to imagine one got that close without him realizing.

Seto appreciated anyone who was a master of their craft. He almost admired the amogus. It meant Seto still had room to grow. There were still opponents out there that he could surpass.

He thought of the retreating amogus. His mind trailed off. He thought of the two bulbous cheeks of the amogus's strong ass as he ran away in his tight spacesuit.

His mind snapped back. Why did he think of that? It didn't matter now. He had arrived at the Krusty Krab.

Seto walked confidently through the front doors. He made it no farther than 10 feet before he heard it.

"I thought I told you not to step foot in here unless you win the Battle City tournament" shouted Mr Krabs.

Seto grinned smugly and raised a card high into the air. It was The Winged Dragon of Ra. Only the tournament winner could receive this unique card.

Mr. Krabs gasped. "It's not possible. You won?!!"

Seto laughed. "Can you feel it now Mr. Krabs?"

Mr. Krabs slumped down into a chair. He was disappointed, but a deal is a deal. It's just business he thought. Mr. Krabs waved a hand a Squidward and sullenly said "Give him what he wants Squidward."

"Whatever" Squidward said. He looked at Seto. Squidward didn't care who they served. He never minded Seto. Squidward just wanted to get home to his clarinet and away from this minimum wage job. Maybe someday he would be able to leave this wretched place for good.

Squidward rambled off the same phrase he uttered a hundred times a day. Now he didn't even think about it anymore.

"Welcome to the Krusty Krab. May I take your order? Please order something that is actually on the menu" Squidward rambled.

"I'll have a Krabby Patty, and also one Krabby Patty for everyone in the restaurants, on me. We're going to celebrate this victory tonight" said Seto.

"...so three Krabby Patties. Got it" Squidward replied.

A family walked in. A small fish child ran over to Seto.

"Are you the Battle City winner?" the child asked.

The fish child reminded Seto of his own younger brother.

"Sure am" Seto said, flashing The Winged Dragon of Ra card.

"Can I have a picture?" the child asked.

Seto obliged, taking a picture with the child.

"Thank you Mr. Kaiba" the child's mother said.

"Squidward, another round of Krabby Patties for my friends here" Seto barked.

"Ok" Squidward replied, already bored of this interaction.

Seto sat down with his Krabby Patty. Something red dashed outside of the window of the restaurant. Seto jumped and reached for his card.

It was just another child though. Not one of the amogus. He was on edge. He reached to the back of his neck. Seto could feel the dried blood. Again he thought of how close his life was to ending. Who would have done this? Perhaps it was one of KaibaCorp's rival. Maybe Schroeder Corp.

His heart fluttered. Why did he feel this way? He was scared but he was also excited. He felt alive. It was after all the first time he had been touched in a year. No one could get that close to Seto. This amogus did. In his tight red spacesuit, he was able to get close enough for a kiss.

Seto imagined the face under the spacesuit. Lucious red lips appeared in his mind. Two kissable pillows.

"Are you okay?" Spongebob asked.

Seto hadn't even heard him coming. He was too distracted.

"Fool. I'm always okay" Seto snapped. "Well no" he paused.

Seto continued "I suppose I am thinking of someone that I can't be with".

"Why is that" Spongebob asked.

"I think they might be my enemy" Seto replied.

"An enemy is just someone you haven't figured out how to be friends with" Spongebob said.

"You're a fool Squarepants. Enemies are enemies. They can only be defeated" Seto said snidely.

An older man stood up from another booth.

"I think Mr. Squarepants is right" the man said.

Spongebob was surprised. "Is that you Mr. President Joe Biden?"

"Indeed it is Mr. Squarepants"

President Biden sat down at Seto's booth.

"Mr. Kaiba, let me tell you about one of my friends who wanted to be with someone they couldn't" Biden said.

Seto was surprised. He had not expected to run into President Joe Biden of all people.

"Please go on Mr. President" Seto replied.

The president continued.

"This is a story about my good friend George W. Bush. You see, he wanted to be with someone he couldn't. He wanted to get into their pants, but he was blocked at every turn."

"Who did he want to be with?" Seto queried.

"Not really a who" Biden said. "George wanted to be the first man to fuck the world, but you see, he put his mind to it. Despite his obstacles, he did it. He pulled himself up by the bootstraps and he fucked the whole world. If you put your mind to it Mr. Kaiba, you too can overcome your obstacles".

"Maybe you're right Mr. President" Seto said. "I've been thinking about this all wrong. My enemy impressed me, but it is I who should be impressing them. After all, I have something he does not - The Heart of the Cards".

Biden stood up. He put on his signature aviator sunglasses. "Good luck kid, and.... stay cool".

Biden began to walk away. Seto also stood up with new found ambition.

"Where are you going Mr. Kaiba?" Spongebob asked.

Seto smiled a devilish smile. "I'm going to show the amogus why I'm the most feared duelist of all" he said.

The tiny hairs on spongebob's sponge body stood up. He could tell Seto was serious and he was not a man to be fooled with.

Seto marched into the dark night outside, no longer afraid for his life.

He headed towards the KaibaCorp headquarters occasionally summoning different cards to leave an obvious trail.

Seto walked into the currently empty KaibaCorp parking garage, with his sights on the breakers. He whipped open the breaker panel and shut down all of the lights.

Only some low moonlight shone into the garage now.

"You want me? Come get me" Seto screamed into the shadows.

From behind a pillar, he saw it. The reflection of moonlight against the red spacesuit's visor. Just a brief flicker, but it was enough.

"I knew you'd follow me" Seto said.

He could hear shuffling, but it was quiet. He had lost track of the amogus.

Seto spoke. "You're highly skilled, but I am the best. Few could have snuck up on me like you have. Why don't you join me? I can pay more so why don't you work for the best?"

There was silence as he awaited an answer. A card flew out from behind another pillar. It was Pot of Greed, a card illegal in most tournaments. It's a powerful card but why would the assassin need it. "This must just be a distraction" Seto thought.

It was. This time a card flew out from behind him. Seto spun around ready to counter.

It was the ghost of a Yamato-class ship. It was massive.

"The fuck?!" Seto yelled tossing down Obelisk the Tormentor.

Part of the parking garage collapsed in a giant cloud of dust. Seto took cover.

Seto had never seen a card like this ship. This was not an Egyptian card. Was it possible there were other cards out there he had not heard of?

Obelisk punched a hole through the ghost ship but it was not as easy as expected. The ghost ship disappeared.

Seto coughed in the cloud of dust. He couldn't see. This escalated far faster than he could have imagined. He dove forward. A knife blade crashed into the wall where he had been standing.

Seto ran towards the moonlight. He hopped over the barrier falling from the third floor to the ground. It hurt, but his life was at stake. He pulled out The Winged Dragon of Ra.

The giant dragon appeared and started eviscerating the garage floor by floor. Elite or not, no one could have survived if they were in the garage.

Seto stood looking into the dust and rubble. He heard the faintest noise and whipped around. There he was, the assassin, the amogus.

The amogus stood there about 15 feet away. A 9mm handgun pointed directly at Seto.

"Join me" Seto said confidently, but he was met with no response.

"If you were going to shoot you would have. Together we could do anything. Don't think I didn't notice that perfect tight ass. Together our asses could rule the world." Seto said.

The amogus relaxed a bit, but his aim did not falter. He retightened his grip on the handgun.

"I appreciate that you are a master of your craft. I am a master of mine and we both have ambition. What do you say?" Seto asked.

A long silence passed.

Seto asked again "What do you..."

BANG! The handgun fired. It was too late. Seto had already played Diabellstar the Black Witch.

"FOOL!" Seto yelled.

The bullet deflected off of Diabellstar. The Amogus threw down a card of their own. Seto dodged. Abyss Dweller appeared.

The amogus took the opportunity to fire more rounds as Seto was on the ground. Diabellstar blocked all of the attacks rushing into the Amogus. The Abyss Dweller countered Diabellstar.

The amogus backed up and raised his gun for another shot. Seto was gone. The amogus turned but it was a moment too late.

Seto was beside him. Seto had a revolver pointed directly at the amogus's chest. The amogus was fast but not that fast.

From the amogus's fingers flicked one last card. Seto fired.

BANG! The amogus fell like a bag of sand. Seto dove to the ground, but the amogus's card did not activate.

Seto sat up and looked at the card. It looked like a duelist card, but it simply said "What is amogus spelled backwards?"

The Abyss Dweller disappeared as it was crushe by Diabellstar.

Seto rushed over the amogus. Crimson blood darkened its red spacesuit.

"You could have thrown a real card. Why?" Seto asked. "We could have had everything. We could have had love".

The amogus pointed his hand towards the card.

"What does it mean?" Seto asked. "Sugoma" Seto said puzzled.

The amogus spoke faintly. It was a wet blood filled gargle as the amogus said its final words.

"Sugoma deez nuts"

"NOOO" Seto cried. "Not like this".

In the dark of night, moonlight glistened the parking lot. The amogus stared up at the bright stars taking its final breath.

[retropetrommh]

MUSK (Part One)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Communication is something you never understood. Social cues always go over your head despite your best attempts to learn and adapt over the years. Now, you're freshly 18 and trying to navigate the world around you. It isn't easy with the autism that everyone seems to pick up on. It's dehumanizing in a lot of ways. The way they change their tone is like a parent scolding a misbehaving child. Life has to go on despite these frustrations. Regardless of you having no clue what you want to do with your life. Everyone says "You're young, you'll figure it out!," but that doesn't help the now.  There are plenty of people who waited their whole lives until they simply weren't young anymore. That fate scares you more than anything, to die regretful and alone. To think that if you were to live that life, you would be happy to die young. You'd be happy on your death bed as you waited for the final closing curtain that is death. 

You are not there yet, there is still time. You didn't know how much time there was, but it was still there and that meant something. Even if it means a shitty retail job at a lowlife company. That's the brunt of your work, you check people out and stock the shelves for minimum wage. Then you give 25% of the already low wage to your parents. Getting paid biweekly sounded alright at first, creating discipline and good saving habits, but now it seemed to only serve as a harsh reminder that you can't get out of adult responsibilities. You missed being sixteen and spending all your money on food and clothes instead of bills and rent.  You hated thinking so negatively. Your life wasn't bad by a long shot, but you were so bitter. Watching happy people with happy lives go about their day hurt quite a lot. You were stuck in a dead end job that only provided structure to your chaotic life. College seemed like the worst option for you, given the indecisiveness. Going into severe debt on the off chance that you like what you've signed up for is not very appealing.  You look through the totes that are filled with beauty, medicine, and diet items. The only task is to finish at least three of these in two hours. The hardest job is dealing with people. Well, it's mostly a few troublesome people. There's this woman who uses coupons and routinely keeps the line back for half an hour. There's this man who complains about the government and then screams "Praise Jesus!" before he leaves. If you disagree he will say a prayer, so it's best to just nod your head and say "amen" a few times. The last customer is a strange guy who buys a carton of Marlboro gold label every few weeks.  This guy likes to call you "Sunshine." It's not an appealing nickname, but there's not an easy way to get him to stop without corporate being upset. At least he doesn't treat you like a child. He buys a lot of cheap items like hotdogs, bologna, ham and cheese, and crackers. You sort of wonder about his life, he's not an unattractive man but he's always alone. You've never heard him talk about any woman in his life, and there's not a ring in sight. Wonder what's wrong with him. At least he isn't mean. 

You set the Ensure six packs onto the shelve in their correct place. One of your coworkers has a bad habit of sitting things in the wrong place. She isn't a bad person, but it's clear she doesn't like her job. That's fine, you don't like your job either, but corporate shows up randomly and it isn't a good look. It usually falls on me to fix the messes or they will stay there forever until a reminder is placed on the whiteboard.  You look back at the register and race back to check out the lady waiting there. She was quite short so it wasn't easy to see her at first. Her jet black hair was tied into a tight pony tail. Her eyes flicked up in a mystical way against her deep brown eyes that served as a backdrop. She was gorgeous.  "Sorry, how are you doing?" you quickly greet her, fumbling the items she laid on the counter.  "It's a pretty day outside," the lady said softly. Her voice was melodic, the perfect voice to accompany her features.  "Yeah, it is." You state anxiously. Then, you smelled a familiar scent. It was Marlboro guy. 

You can usually tell when he's in the store, he smells like smoke and eucalyptus, like that of a mall Santa. You hadn't seen his tall stature anywhere in the store before now. He wasn't hard to miss being at least 6'0. The height difference between the lady and him was apparent and massive. He walked up to the end of her cart and took out the packs of ham and cheese. You're so used to him being alone, it was quite the sight to see him with such a pretty lady. It made sense in your head, someone as attractive as him would probably find someone equally as pretty.  You didn't know why you were focused so hard on these two. There was something striking about them, something sort of off.  "That'll be $43.20," you recite the amount. Marlboro guy pulled his ebt card out of his leather wallet. It was one of the expensive wallets we sold, only accessible by an employee key. It was overly fancy.  "Your hair is so beautiful." The lady spoke with a gentle tone, though not one that bothered you. It was the way your older sister used to speak to you when you were upset, that gentle comforting melody. You were flustered, your cheeks turning a deep red. You thanked her eventually, and the two walked out. 

After four more hours, you were finally ready to leave. The money had been counted, the store cleaned, and now you waited for your shift lead to finish locking the store. You turned around and quickly went to your car, situating yourself and turning the key to start.  You come home to any empty house, your parents not coming back until tomorrow night. They fiddle with auctions and frequently drive to Atlanta, Georgia for pallets of snacks and clothes. They make a decent amount off it. You were starving, so you grab your favorite girl dinner, some left over elbow noodles and then some tomato juice for the strangest tomato soup you could create. It didn't hit the spot. Bath time it is. You decide to go all out, with bubbles and a bath bomb. Using your mom's nice shampoo and conditioner and this body wash you bought from Bath and Body Works.  You soak in the steaming water with candles lit around you.  Smash. 

What was that? You slide around in the water as you try to sit up. That was definitely glass breaking. Someone is inside the house. You get up without draining the tub quickly dry off. You try to put your clothes on as quietly as possible, cursing yourself for choosing a lace lined nightgown. You planned on sleeping directly after this. You grab a razor.  A razor won't do much damage, but anything works. You turn the door knob and enter the hallway. The house isn't large, so surely whoever is here can't surprise you. You walk into the kitchen and there's glass everywhere, the window right behind the dinning room table is completely smashed. The floor creaks behind you.  You gasp and turn around, praying for emptiness. Unfortunately, you prayer was not heard and you're faced with a tall and broad man. The yellow jacket he wore held mysterious stains, though you had a hunch on what those were. His face was covered by a black ski mask with a red frowning face painted on. He brought his gloved hand to his face and shushed you.  You stepped back every time he moved forward. You tripped on the towel and felt the glass everywhere poking at your skin. You tried to crawl backwards, but he hunched down and moved quickly. It was like someone chasing a timid kitten with slow intentional movement. He hovered above you and placed his hands on each side of your face. He wiped your tears away before slamming his head into yours.

You are unconscious. 

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First fanfic in years brothers