#still stupid to want a the artist to take over the business

[heretherebedork]

I really want to point out how absolutely isolated Do Han is by the narrative. Even the people who know his secret are constantly working against him, his brother might be on his side but that doesn't mean Ji Han has any idea how to be on his side, Ah Jeong betrayed their friendship entirely by openly dating Ji Han, Dae Hyun is walking a weird line and the rest of Do Han's family doesn't even bear mentioning.

He is so, so alone.

He is trapped by so many expectations and so many people and all the people he could have had on his side have left him behind and now he is trapped in a place where he can either out himself and risk everything or build more lies onto lies.

All he wants is to go back to New York.

(And he should be sent back! What is the grandfather even thinking having his artistic grandson who's been overseas for five years take over his business?! Does he hates his business?)

[inkskinned]

"the curtains weren't blue on purpose. why should we care?"

my love! let me ask you this - did you eat breakfast today? this tiny moment in your life. just think about it. did you?

for some of you, the answer is yes and for some of you it is technically and for some of you it is does coffee count. some of you reached for cereal or gmo-free overnight oats or frozen waffles or 3-day-old pizza. sometimes we eat the same thing, every day, for weeks. i get tired of eggs randomly, only to go back to craving them desperately. i'm cuban; i take my coffee like my father showed me, very milky and sweet.

some of us ate in a hurry. some of us hate eating breakfast but if we don't we will get nauseous later. some of us took our meds first or took our meds after. some of us have a kitchen 5 feet wide and sometimes it's the biggest room in the house. some of us are confident there will be food in the pantry and some of us flinch and say well, the paycheck is coming. some of us turn on a podcast while we eat or we scroll our phones or write in our diaries.

some of us are choosing, specifically, not to eat breakfast. some of us are too busy. some of us are pretending we "just forgot," but we are ignoring the warning signs that everything feels too-heavy. some of us are so consumed with anxiety or grief that we can't eat. some of us can't stand up long enough to make our coffee. some of us have no table to sit down and eat.

i cannot tell you what an artist "meant" by their choices. but they did have to make a choice, conscious or otherwise, to give you information. to give you a little bit more light. each of these choices are little stars of data; connecting speckles for you to weave through, drawing a line.

you cannot use a mirror in a dark room. for some of us; we will not care that the curtains are blue, because that will just be a data point and not enough light to see by. for some of us, the blue curtains will be the same as our childhood bedroom. it will make us seasick. for some of us, blue will be the color of frostbite. it might look like a pixel up close; but from a distance, oh! the picture blooms.

i cannot tell you what will stick out for you. what will carry meaning. some of you will read the sentence "i didn't have breakfast today" and say "this means nothing." some of you will read that and say "oh, me neither." some of you will say "this means the character is probably a little grouchy." some of you will say "oh, i wonder if they're okay. why didn't they eat anything?" ... art is a mirror. i am holding hands with you, over space and time, and asking you to feel something with me.

i want you to read my work and find a blue pair of curtains. i want you to read my work and find things in it that i never imagined placing. i have no way of knowing what will resonate with you, that's true. and maybe i just was hungry while i wrote this, and thinking about the eggs in my fridge. but if you found meaning, that meaning is yours. it cannot be erased just because i didn't "intend" it. you created a different world by interpreting my work. it's collaborative! that's beautiful! that's stunning!

just! imagine looking at the night sky and saying - it's stupid to have a favorite constellation or a favorite star. they're just there.

because here's the thing - across centuries and cultures, we look up. we still find meaning in the stars. these beautiful, lovely scattered accidents. are you looking? they call. and we look back and say oh! of course we are!

[intromortal]

⸻𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

a-n ! this is mostly for tracking and tag list purposes. these will all take a while because they're all on the longer side and are subject to change!! + i'm a slow writer and often very busy. but it's still fun to show you guys what i'm working on :) taglists for all of these are open!

⸻ CASHMERE COLOGNE. pjs

PAIRING: bodyguard!jay x reader

GENRE: ⚠︎ smut. mdni. angst, fluff, bodyguard!au, (escaping an) arranged marriage!au

SYNOPSIS: falling for his client is definitely not part of jay's job requirements. quite the opposite actually. especially when said client is soon to be married off to super rich, super talented, super hot park sunghoon.

STATUS: writing

WORDCOUNT: currently 5k, total est. around 30k

warnings + more wips under the cut

WARNINGS: multiple smut scenes, self-doubt, reader is an artist, she’s also shameless, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (f), spit, things happen in a car, reckless driving, public sex, use of ma’am, edging, orgasm denial, protected and unprotected sex, snowballing ...more to be added

⸻ TOO GOOD TO PUT A PRICE ON IT. yjw, psh

PAIRING: stepbro!sunghoon x reader x camboy!jungwon

GENRE: ⚠︎ smut. mdni. roomate!au

SYNOPSIS: you would be crazy to turn down free rent in exchange of getting fucked daily by the guy you've been pining after for months, but your step brother happens to want something in return too.

STATUS: outlined

WORDCOUNT: around 10k

WARNINGS: stepcest, live-streamed sex, threesome, yes reader fucks sungwon for rent bitch i would too! ...more to be added

⸻PUSSY JACKPOT! pjs + rest of hyungline

PAIRING: bf's best friend!jay x reader, bf!jake x reader, stepbrothers!sunghoon and heeseung x reader. jay focused.

GENRE: ⚠︎ smut. mdni.

SYNOPSIS: you spend an extravagant night with jake and his friends at a casino to celebrate his latest promotion. it takes a wild turn when your sweet boyfriend decides to go all in and bet on your even sweeter pussy, knowing how all of his friends, even your stepbrothers, have been dying for a taste. no matter who wins though, you know it's gonna be you hitting the jackpot.

STATUS: outlining

WORDCOUNT: tbd

WARNINGS: infidelity, semi-public sex, stepcest, rest of hyungline get to watch ...more to be added

⸻ BUCKLE BUNNY RODEO. pjs

PAIRING: pro bull rider!jay x bartender!reader

GENRE: ⚠︎ smut. mdni.

SYNOPSIS: the yearly PBR world finals hits your hometown again, and as always you find yourself dealing with all the losers coming to your bar to drown their sorrows in alcohol. things take an interesting turn when the winner shows up and challenges you to beat the shabby mechanical bull at the center of the overcrowded bar, promising you an even wilder ride upstairs if you're willing to take his offer.

STATUS: outlining

WORDCOUNT: tbd

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, body shots, temperature play, facesitting, spit, cowboy jay has chest hair argue with the wall!! ...more to be added

↳ PART TWO. sjy, lhs

SYNOPSIS: it's been a year, and jay's fellow pro bull riders want a ride too, after hearing so much about you from their dearest friend. and who are you to refuse them, when they're talking so sweet and dirty?

WARNINGS: heejake take turns, wet humping, like very wet, thigh fucking, tit fucking, oral (m. rec) ...more to be added

⸻ LAST TRAIN TO LONDON. pjs

PAIRING: immortal!jay x mortal!reader

GENRE: angst w an hopeful ending, fluff, ⚠︎ smut, soulmate!au, reincarnation!au

SYNOPSIS: in some lives you're a painter, in others you're a musician, a writer. in some you get to grow old, maybe away from jay, maybe right beside him. in some you get to love him until your last breath, even when you're young and stupid. you're all over the world, all over time and all over jay's heart, for he lives and breathes to love you in every lifetime of yours, even if you don't remember. he always looks for you yet it's always fate bringing you back to him, this time it's by making sure you don't miss the last train to london.

STATUS: outlining

WORDCOUNT: tbd

WARNINGS: tbd

⸻ EACH TIME YOU FALL IN LOVE. psh

PAIRING: sunghoon x reader ( + jay )

GENRE: angst, very minimal fluff, ⚠︎ smut,

SYNOPSIS: the sun shines bright even in the face of death, your most beloved husband cold in his casket despite the warmth of the weather, and sunghoon wishes circumstances were different.

or, you and sunghoon ponder on what could have been.

STATUS: outlined

WORDCOUNT: tbd

WARNINGS: old people😞, multiple character deaths ...more to be added

⸻𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

⸻ MOTION PICTURE SOUNDTRACK. sjy

PAIRING: co-star!jake x movie star!reader

GENRE: angst, eventual fluff and ⚠︎ smut, fake dating, rivals to lovers.

SYNOPSIS: jake has to be the most infuriating, cocky, stuck up actor you've had the displeasure to work with so far. and you wish you'd just rejected your role when your pr teams have the fantastic idea to push the limits on those... relationship rumors about you and your horrible coworker that have spread like wildfire everywhere.

STATUS: outlining

WORDCOUNT: total est. 60k

WARNINGS: tbd

⸻ A LITTLE DEATH. yjw

PAIRING: trained assassin!jungwon x trained assassin!reader

GENRE: ⚠︎ smut, mdni. angst, rivals to lovers!au, rival families!au, found family trope

SYNOPSIS: your time at the academy is up and the choice of the companion for your graduation mission is ripped away from your hands without a notice, gifting (cursing) you instead with three less than ideal ones. or, jungwon feels a little more human every time your touch lingers on his skin

STATUS: writing

WORDCOUNT: current 11k, total est probably some shit like 150k i'm sick

WARNINGS: multiple smut scenes, character death, morally grey characterization, childhood trauma, dysfunctional families ...more to be added

⸻ ENHYPEN AS SEASONS. hyungline + sunwon ↳ where i assign the members to a season and make fics out of it ! all of these contain smut but also tooth rotting levels of fluff jsjejdje i'm sorry this isn't me usually!! what happened!!!

• SUNGHOON AS WINTER / hockey player!sunghoon

↳ your younger brother brings you along on a snowy new year's eve trip to the mountains with his hockey teammates in hopes of finally getting you and sunghoon to get along.

• JAKE AS SPRING / florist!jake

↳ jake feels it's his duty to smooth out that frown on your face when you first meet him, as the self proclaimed town-happy-pill. he loves his job like nothing else, driving around in his flower delivery truck right along with layla, making everyone's days better. while you can't stand how bright he is all the time, what the hell is his deal anyway?

• HEESEUNG AS SUMMER / beachside barista!heeseung

↳ bleached hair, salt water, warm sun and sand between his toes. waves crashing, the buzz of alcohol and muffled thumping of music, heeseung loves summer every time all the same. this year you just happen to make it so much better, and even when he knows you're only there for this vacation, he hopes you can stay and warm him up for the colder seasons too.

• JAY AS FALL / ex!jay

↳ your friends convince you to try your local coffee shop's new blind date experience, months after your very first heartbreak. you don't expect your ex to be your match. or, mending a relationship turns out to be a lot more trouble than resolving murder mysteries.

! bonuses

• SUNOO AS SPRING BREAK / ex childhood bff!sunoo

↳ truthfully, leaving for a different college after promising you'd go to the same one in hopes of quenching his feelings from blossoming further wasn't sunoo's best move. or, sunoo is itching to finally be back home.

• JUNGWON AS CHRISTMAS / frenemy!jungwon

↳ it's no secret that you and jungwon butt heads constantly, and your friends have gotten quite annoyed by your antics. so what better way to resolve this if not assigning you two to be each other's secret santas? or, everyone is a little kinder once christmas comes around.

[riotlain]

Trap Making Reader

offically BACK and congrats youre jigsaw now

also if my writing still gives off like 2021ish then just idk enjoy it idk

no bubba or thomas since i was very unsure of how that would work since they in middle of nowhere

NWLNW BLOG !! WOMEN DNI

Poly Ghostface

Your traps were getting on the news, almost as much as their kills were!

They just had to track you down and maybe kill you- and they ended up in one of your traps

You were gonna kill them but then Stu wasn't gonna have his giant party!

After a deal maybe even a couple dates and kills the big party arrived. You had your traps all nice and set up in Stu's place for people to fall into while they were busy tormenting and killing

Imagine in this world, they actually get away with the party (their plan was very stupid shh you have the brain in this world)

You 3 will now live happily ever after killing people in more elaborate ways

OK NOW TO DYNAMICS

Billy's first impression of you was mainly jealousy and a hint of being impressed but mostly jealousy

After meeting and becoming friends and maybe even gay lovers, he likes giving you cool ideas for traps

Of course they're all bases around horror movies

Stu's first impression of you was he was hella impressed! But getting put in an almost saw trap did freak him out with the possibility of death

When actually dating he also loves giving you trap ideas, albeit very elaborate and probably impossible traps for you to make

You're a killing genius in his eyes

He loves incorporating Ghostface into your traps, whether its just standing there while the person struggles or actually killing them himself

Jason Voorhees

Jason has his traps and he likes them. They're simple and easy to get.

You on the other hand have much more insane things. But Jason can't lie he does love the reverse bear trap

Your traps are reserved for the worst of the worst in your eyes while Jason is just for anyone in the camp

You can't resist his puppy eyes though if he wants to use one of your traps (he stares at you blankly and menacingly until you agree)

Camp Crystal Lake now has much more interesting rumors spreading thanks to you

Michael Myers

He met you after watching you kidnap his victim

He was planning on killing you, he did not care but then he ended up following you and interrupting one of your traps

He doesn't care how expensive it was that was his target you can't share targets

Upon actually dating, he looms over your shoulder whenever you're busy planning

He doesn't take part in your traps he just likes staring its literally his thing

He could help you kidnap your victims but he isn't the kidnapping type he's not interested

No he will not grab you food or drinks while you work do it yourself

Vincent Sinclair

You were supposed to be one of their victims until you ended up making a trap out of nothing but glass, string, and the interworking of your mind

He was impressed he's an artist after all

He helps you sketch out ideas for traps and even helps set it up

He's like a genius, have you seen the town

You two have to keep each other in check don't overwork yourselves

You definitely help make the town somewhat more lively but also more gorey

You have to deal with Bo though but like he doesn't get too much in the way

The only times he doesn't like your traps is when they completely destroy the body like that was supposed to be the next statue😒

Bo Sinclair

Similar situation with Vincent except his was more like a deal offering with you

You two probably started off hating each other but you work together so it doesn't matter

Once you're dating yes he is very affectionate it doesn't matter what you're up to

Busy making a trap? Well he's behind you holding you

You help play into the whole act of the town by being somewhat normal

You're offputting but who isn't in this town

Chromeskull

He fell for you when he saw your traps on the news

Call that parasocial but he needs to know who this mastermind is

He has you tracked down and brought to him so he can yknow shoot his shot

He's rich, mute and a big attractive serial killer like who wouldn't want him

After a couple of maybe or maybe not forced dates you two are a powercouple

He spoils you most definitely. He will pay for your traps and whatever else you need

[manfuckthisimout]

I promise to god if that man looked at me like this?

FOLDED IMMEDIATELY!

Let me take you through my mid for a moment:

Yoongi doesn’t argue.

He simply doesn’t have the energy to waste on something little and petty like that.

Unless it’s something relationship changing, he’s not going to dwell on it. He prefers to squash the little stuff in favor of peace and solitude.

But that doesn’t mean you can talk crazy to him.

“You know what, fuck the dinner! I don’t care anymore, you can starve for all I care!” Yoongi has been coming home late for three days now, often taking his work home with him. You came into his home studio to ask him what he wanted you to make for dinner, but you were only met with short answers. “Like I said babe, make whatever you want. I’m gonna eat it regardless, just lemme finish this.”

Yoongi was knee deep in producing something or another for some artist in the industry. His work was superb, but he often threw himself into it, often neglecting eating or sleeping for hours at a time. You just wanted to sit down and have a nice meal with your boyfriend, is that too much to ask? “I’m asking you because I want to make something you’d eat now, not after I go to bed.” You spat, eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m still gonna eat regardless, what does it matter the time?” Yoongi replies, his voice cool. You can’t see his expression, for his back is turned to you, but you just know that furrow that appears when he’s focused on two things at once is present between his brows.

You storm over beside his desk, forfeiting your position in the doorway a few seconds prior. “I know you eat Yoongi, but it’s timing that matters! You can’t keep neglecting your needs for some stupid beat that will still be here tomorrow!” You holler, your frustration getting the better of you. His eyebrows raised at the mention of his name. You kept going, “Y’know, why is it you keep bringing this shit home anyway? Are you too busy at work doing something else than get this done? Or someone? Am I not enough for you anymore Yoongi? Is that it?” You seethe.

Yoongi’s head whipped up and over to you so fast you hardly saw it happen. His chair was turned around now, parallel to you standing beside his desk.“What did you say? Say it again.” He says, his voice dangerously low. He was looking at you, daring you to make your assumption again. You were taken aback, almost tripping over his chair due to the sheer closeness of him. But stupidly, you did not yield. “Are you sleeping with another girl! Is that why you seemingly never have anytime for me anymore?” You hiss. His brows raise further, pinching at the top of his forehead to make wrinkles in his skin. He looks positively bewildered, speechless by your audacity.

You two stay like what feels like an eternity. Not blinking, hardly breathing. Suddenly Yoongi turns in his chair and unceremoniously closes his laptop. He’s up and out to his chair a moment later, and approaching you. Cornering you onto the couch that sits besides his desk. “You think…I would cheat on you? Over something as petty as dinner?” His voice is still that same tone, and you suddenly feel like prey about to get eaten whole by its predator. You’re fucked. Suddenly your knees are weak and you can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Yoongi’s eyes are slits, his brows still in that same pinch from when he was sitting down.

“I get the taking care of myself part. I get you wanted to do something nice for me. But assuming I’m cheating on you because I took home some work? I don’t know how you could think that,” Yoongi says, cool and collected. He’s cornered you so far that you’ve fell onto the couch, on your back, facing him. He climbs on top of you. Lowers his face inches from yours. “I have everything I need laying out in front of me. Why would I ever step out?” He says softly.

You’re speechless, a flush crept onto your cheeks. You can feel his breath fanning over you. He’s looking deep into your eyes, following your head movements to keep the contact going. “Answer me, hm? Why would I do that?” Yoongi leans down to press fleeting kisses into your neck. “I-I don’t know…” You say, meek and shy with your words. You feel like an idiot for ever thinking it. Here is this man, tired, hungry—still proving to you that he loves you no matter what.

“You don’t know and..?” Yoongi replies. He pulls from your neck, resting his lips onto your forehead. “I was silly for thinking it. I-I know you would never do that to me. I’m sorry honey.” Yoongi pecks your forehead, leaning back to look at you. He smiles. “I forgive you. Just—don’t do that to me again, please? I don’t know if my heart can take it.” You nod. “Can I have a kiss?” You ask, shyly looking into his eyes. “Of course my love.”

Note: I’ve never written anything this long! (At least not about yoongi lol) this was going to be short like the rest of my content, but it turned into this.

I hope you enjoy!

[kremlin]

@wikwalker hi sure yes anything to give me an excuse to procrastinate the post i should be writing right now. here are all teh drugs and how to manage them. you can trust me, a drug addict

first of all: https://www.erowid.org/ , erowid always

don't be afraid of drugs, if they're the right drugs, you should do them since they will be a blast regardless and overcoming fear is also good (but outside the scope here)

OK to do as much as you want: alcohol - social benefit greatly outweighs health effects, no reason to avoid if predisposed to abuse since that'll happen sooner or later. what can i say? don't be a fucking dork. when you start drinking, really overdo it as much as possible without dying and get a few real nasty hangovers under your belt so you know how much is the right amount to drink.

weed - innocuous enough to be fine but will make you stupid in the long term. make sure to only buy from a real drug dealer and never some legal institution. cut it out when you're a "real adult". don't smoke weed and watch TV routinely, go out and do things so you naturally grow to hate it. good to go through this as early as possible to minimize the time you spend as a cringe weed enthusiast

i guess those are the only two.

ok to do infrequently (annually): "lsd" - or whatever it is, probably not lsd, blah blah blah, if it works and is sold on blotter its fine and won't make you go nuts or whatever. opt for a better psychadelic imo. see psych rule at bottom of section

mushrooms - better than acid since you know what they are. rule of thumb is to always do more than you think you want. minimum 1/8oz. see psych rule at bottom of post

dmt - if you somehow have a dmt hookup you don't need to be reading any of this. lasts 10 minutes which leads to tendency to way overdo it, don't do this, my favorite webcomic artist is permanently crazy from exactly that. using a crack pipe is also not the uhhhh most dignifying-feeling thing to do either. it's harder than you think.

mdma - for use at electronic music event or rave. overuse causes brain lesions or something.

coke - wait until you're in your 20s, have maxed out your roth IRA for a couple of years in a row, and havent missed a car payment in a similar timeframe. better still if you've worked a very shitty low paying job and know the value of a dollar. if you still find yourself buying candy you're not ready. too expensive to be worth it to get hooked on. know that you are VERY ANNOYING to anyone who also isn't high. don't fuck around with the guy selling it to you. avoid discussing or thinking about business ideas. you can't afford to make it a habit + kinda turns you into a piece of shit after a while, but at least a very interesting one

ketamine - another sick drug that rules, but save it for a special occasion. don't try and go into the k-hole your first time

rule for psychedelics - you get one good strong trip a year and that's it, make it count, always opt for doing a bit more than a bit less. but don't make it a habit, otherwise you turn into a very stupid very annoying "hippy" style cliché and believe in ghosts, aliens, crap like that.

ok to try once prescription opiates/benzodiazepine (xanax), valium, this kind of shit - worth trying so you can go "holy shit, this stuff is way way way too good to ever use responsibly" and then never do again. especially if you're white. for some reason we just can't handle this shit. if a doctor prescribes it to you, idk, that's your call to make.

ayhuasca - this is just dmt in a different form. do some other psychadelics a number of times before you do this. once you realize the whole "substantial visual hallucinations" thing is made up, its time. do exactly this: -buy root online (legal). receive box of dirt -boil dirt into "tea" (read erowid for exact recipe) -take over-the-counter anti nausea medicine or anything that will give you a stronger stomach -drink tea (its nasty as fuck, get it down quick) -have someone bigger than you keep an eye on you for the next five hours. -have the experience, which is absurdly intense, has no bearing to the real world, etc etc. don't be a bitch and throw up, if you do it'll only last an hour or so. again there is no way to provide a consistent description of the experience except that you will meet god. you only ever need to do this once and never again. trust me

peyote/salvia/etc - try em if you want, you'll never ever want to again afterwords. these are drugs for idiot teenagers too lame to get real drugs. imagine being very very sick from poison and utterly terrified at the same time. No good

whippets/nitrous oxide - just find a dentist that uses it and don't bother creating hundreds of pounds of trash on your floor for this crap that lasts ten seconds. you have to understand the extremely short timeframe coupled with the cost makes zero sense. go to a phish concert parking lot and do some people watching -- you do not want to be these people. only use is as a motivator to get routine dental exam. also if you somehow manage to make it a heavy habit your fucking legs stop working, no shit, but they start working again once you quit.

don't ever do heroin/meth/pcp - is is truly a mystery why you should never do these 🙄

synthetic weed/k2/shit from the gas station - it is so funny that they sell this as "weed that won't pop you on a drug test". its not weed. it is some dubious chemical sprayed on yard waste. smoke it to have a terrible time and go nuts. only buy drugs from legitimate drug dealers!

kratom - anyone's guess as to why this is legal but it's heroin for pussies. its still heroin

dxm/cough syrup - do you ever wonder why it is exclusively teenagers robotripping? it's because it sucks ass. is like a cheesegrater on your brain in terms of health effects with repeated usage. you're better than this king

inhalants - these are at the bottom of the list for a reason. do not huff gas. don't huff paint. do not consume computer duster. not fun + fastest way to make yourself a complete, uh, (word i can't say anymore) and then dead

not listed quaaludes- unavailable due to no longer being manufactured. these ruled apparantly

sincis2c - unavailable due to not existing, i just made this up

amphetamines - cannot provide objective take here. they're my albatross, lifelong (posted 4:55am natch)

[aimedis]

milo as a dad headcanons (+sweetheart) !!

milo and sweetheart have twin sons (am i milking the redacted boys w twins headcanon?)

Dad Milo who was, unsurprisingly, very nervous to be a dad because of his own father but was also worried about his child(ren) growing up with a Department worker

But they both handled it with so much grace

Dad Milo who almost passed out when they found out he was having twins

Parents Milo and Sweetheart whose twins are literally identical and are nearly impossible to tell apart aside from the fact that the oldest's hair is longer than the youngest's (even before they got hair, Milo and Sweetheart could tell them apart easily) 

The twins have an attitude that rivals Milo and Sweetheart's combined (so much so that Sweetheart has threatened to beat their ass) ((does not believe in hitting them though)) 

Parents Milo and Sweetheart who swear in front of their kids but respect that other parents don't want that around their kids (the swearing doesn't make their kids scared of them at all)

Parent Sweetheart who is generally a pretty gentle parent, the slightly vulgar language is only used when the twins are being excessively difficult for the sake of being difficult 

Dad Milo who is insanely protective of his kids (but not in an overbearing way, in the ‘if you hurt my kids you’re dead’ way) 

Sweetheart the workaholic who has literally left work hours earlier to get their oldest a cake pop after he called from Milo’s phone

Dad Milo whose lockscreen is a picture of the twins sitting on the kitchen counter with ice-cream all over their faces

Dad Milo who almost cries when he holds his son as he screams bloody murder while getting vaccinations

Dad Milo who pretends it doesn't hurt whenever one of the twins screams 'i hate you!' in a toddlerlike fit of rage but even after the apologies and makeups, he lies awake at night thinking about it over and over (because maybe he's just like his dad after all)

Dad Milo who still remains calm and firm in his discipline but also remembering to be kind and careful with his boys

Dad Milo who sings and dances with the twins

Parents Milo and Sweetheart who rarely argue in front of their kids

Dad Milo who is practically a seer when it comes to the boys, watching them intently and preventing them from doing stupid things that could get them (seriously) injured before it actually happens 

Parents Milo and Sweetheart who are so used to being punched by their kids

The house during the solstice after the twins get their powers is a mess (Milo makes it his mission to take care of everyone no matter how shitty he feels) 

Dad Milo who pretends the twins being clingy is a hindrance but secretly loves when they want to be around him

Parent Sweetheart who walks around the house on business calls while carrying one (or both) of the twins in each arm (Milo thinks it’s domestic as all hell)

Dad Milo and the twins play a game where he pretends to attack Sweetheart (sometimes in his wolf form) and the twins try to defend them by hitting him and standing in front of them with their arms held out (Milo finds it hilarious, Sweetheart finds it mildly annoying because they always do it when they’re trying to work)

Parents Milo and Sweetheart who are the biggest bullies to their kids (in a loving way)

Parent Sweetheart who only pretended to not be able to tell the difference between the twins one time but their youngest got so upset he started crying, so they didn’t do it again

Dad Milo who treats every messy drawing or art project as the next Mona Lisa (tells everyone their oldest is gonna be a big artist someday)

Dad Milo who is the type to hear one of the boys (or god forbid, both of them) likes a type of snack, food, or drink and buy enough to fill a store (“Dad I can’t eat all of that!”)

Parents Milo and Sweetheart who are definitely the hot parents at parent teacher interviews

Dad Milo who actually can’t say no to the boys (Marie has to talk some sense into him every so often)

Dad Milo who is beyond happy that his kids love his Ma just as much as he does

Dad Milo whose kids are shifter/stealth hybrids (idc if it’s not plausible or possible) and nearly has a heart attack every other day because he has three menaces teaming up to scare the shit out of him

Dad Milo who takes pictures of his family everyday

Parent Sweetheart who gives the boys a very serious lecture about bullying, telling them to be kind to others and if people aren’t kind to them, they should tell them right away

Dad Milo who constantly stresses the importance of letting him kids know that they can talk to him and tell him anything, even if they might get in trouble (“I’d rather be disappointed while I come pick you up from somewhere you’re not supposed to be rather than sitting at your funeral”)

Parent Sweetheart who nearly quits on the spot when they’re called to release their sons from a department cell. Twice.

Dad Milo who uses empty, pointless threats on his toddlers to get them to behave (“Hey, if you don’t stop screaming, I’m gonna have to go outside and pick a flower.”)

Dad Milo who picks up the boys by their shirts to turn them around when they’re going somewhere they’re not supposed to be

Dad Milo who can’t help but smile whenever he hears anything that reminds him of his family, of home

[bennyden]

User hamatoanne's fic plagiarism

Hello, I’m the author of The Android, an AO3 Robot OC x Reader fic that was plagiarized by hamatoanne on Tumblr in her Aemond x Reader story, System Error. You can read my AO3 post for more info about the issue. As you can tell by the timestamps on AO3 and the screenshots of her now-deleted story, mine was posted months before hers. I didn’t want to make this public, but it appears Anne has not learned her lesson and is grasping at straws to keep her readers in the dark. She’s been deleting her stories to hide evidence of her plagiarism. I think you deserve to know who your beloved writer gets her words from.

I don’t know this fandom, but I’ve heard you guys can get pretty crazy. Control yourselves. The only one who needs to take responsibility is Anne. Don’t send hate to her mutuals. Don’t send hate to her followers. Don’t stalk or harass or dox anyone. Read through this post and form your opinion.

First bunch of screenshots: A side-by-side comparison of her story (now deleted) and mine (still up and linked above). I took screenshots in advance in case something like this happened so I’d have proof if I needed it. I decided to compare the first chapter of my fic with the first part of hers. I could do the whole thing, but I’m a busy college student and I think just a quick skim of the pictures below is enough for people to see the extent of her plagiarism. 

I have screenshots of her entire post, but I don’t want to make this too long to scroll through and Tumblr posts cap at 30 pictures. I’m assuming some of you have already read her story multiple times, so you’re familiar with the words. If you haven’t, then I should warn you that the fic that she plagiarized is very not SFW. I’ll let you know where the not SFW content starts so you can skip it. 

On the left is my story. On the right is what Anne posted (and took down).

Not SFW content starts here. 

Not SFW content over.

Finally, I DM’ed her. This was just before I posted to The Android on AO3 about the situation. To summarize, I wrote about how I would go about the situation and how hurt I was about a bigger creator stealing from me. I admit, I was too kind and too much of a pushover. I just wanted things to go quietly. She later replied with this and deleted her fic immediately. 

“I was completely stupid for not giving your credit” Why do they always play dumb? You copy that much and can’t even think to put my name there? You credit the artist but not the person who basically wrote your whole story? The story that gave you over 3k notes, so much more clout than any of your other stories has earned you? Total BS.

“I had every intention of giving credit where it was due…But I forgot” Right. Sure. Of course. If she felt guilty about plagiarizing, she would not be so shameless to accept praise like she did. I have examples of where she happily thanked people for complimenting "her work”, but didn’t want to bring other blogs into this, especially since they were none the wiser to her plagiarism. Ironically enough, someone even gifted her a badge for being a good writer the day she replied to my DM. She tagged that post “#a breath of fresh air on a horrible day”. I wonder why her day was horrible. Whoever gifted her that badge deserves their money back.

My thoughts when approaching her DMs were:

If she wants to keep up the story? Fine, just edit the post to say that it was heavily influenced by my story and leave a link to the original. I don’t mind. The readers will see that, click my story, compare the two, and think, “Hey, that’s not just inspiration! She plagiarized!” and her downfall would start from there without me having to do anything.

If she ignored me and didn’t fulfill that request, i would take matters into my own hands and expose her on her own post. Even more damaging.

In the end, she chose to delete the post entirely, getting rid of the evidence and her clout. I actually didn’t expect this outcome since I thought she’d like the clout too much, but I guess she decided this route would be the least damaging to her reputation. Everything was swept under the rug for now. 

And like a fool, I said thanks and went on with my life. But I decided to keep track of her. Because while I was too cowardly to do anything, I knew there would always be someone in the crowd who would take action. And it seems like people did. 

After reading the supportive comments from readers of my fic, I started to regret how lightly I handled it. I wanted to be mature even though I wanted her entire blog to fall and her reputation taken away. But I didn’t want to be a “bad person”. I wondered if I should keep pursuing the issue. I realized that my overly-people-pleasing behavior might lead her to continue her ways. I decided to speak out because others might’ve had their works taken by her and that my silence wasn’t helping. 

Next is her post, now deleted (I wonder why), about how she’s been so sad and how she’s going to be deleting her old stories and starting over. I’m likely not the only one she’s plagiarized from if she’s deleting other stories. At the time, I only saw supportive replies and reblogs on it, but maybe she deleted it after people started calling her out? Idk.

She’s playing the victim game pretty hard. Acting as a kind underdog even though she’s the big creator who stole from a nobody like me. I know I said on my AO3 update that people shouldn’t send hate to her (and even censored her name after she deleted her story) but I guess I’m a little happy that people sought to call her out on her shit. I wish I was as brave. 

Later, a nice person (we’ll call her Bob because she asked to remain anonymous) DM’ed me directly with a kind message. After seeing this, I decided I should take action and expose all of this since Anne obviously hasn’t learned and wants to keep it all hidden. Bob confirmed that I’m not the only victim of Anne’s plagiarism either.

Bob asked that I not use screenshots of our DM’s so here is a transcription of the important parts:

“Hey! I just found out that one of your fics had been plagiarized by someone in the HOTD community. First of all, I am tremendously sorry that happened…”

(For Bob’s privacy, I won’t explain her relation to Anne. Just know that Anne has refused to message her back).

“I definitely think you should make a blog post. with side by side comparison. I am still completely gobsmacked that she pilfered your entire story word for word and changed a few things. We found evidence that she had plagiarized multiple stories. Not just yours. We found out her mermaid!aemond fic was entirely stolen as well as a few others. She has quietly deleted them and hasn't spoken on them since.”

“We surmised that she takes ‘underrated’ fics from different fandoms and changes the name and that's it. It's almost like she believed that stealing from other fandoms was going to draw less attention than stealing directly from the HOTD fandom.”

So if you noticed that one of your favorite Aemond fics is gone, now you know why.

‘But benny, she still wrote her own sentences and just changed it around to fit aemond!’

Fanfiction is transformative. You know what the source material is and who created it. You know you’re not reading a copied and pasted text with maybe some words and sentences switched around. This wasn’t fanfic. According to Google, plagiarism is defined as, “the practice of taking someone else's work or ideas and passing them off as one's own.” (See what I did there? I credited Google. Is it so hard to give credit where credit is due?) She copied people's work, didn't give credit to the source material, and claimed it as her own. That's plagiarism.

I wouldn’t have had a problem if she properly credited me and linked the original story. I wouldn’t have had a problem if she didn’t blatantly copy and paste the entire text and premise. I wouldn’t even require getting permission to write a story based on my fic if she had satisfied those conditions.

She’s a 27-year-old grown-ass woman with enough free time to simp over some blond guy with an eyepatch. I’m a 21-year-old college student who only posts fics during the summer and winter because that’s when school’s on break. I’m too busy writing lab reports and essays to be an active writer online. The fact that she can disrespect smaller writers so tremendously should not be acceptable. The fact that she also deceived her devoted readers and friends about her "works" is also unacceptable.

What can you do about this? To be honest, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never had to deal with this before. I want to be a good person and say, “Don’t send any hate to Anne, don’t harass her. Just unfollow her and stop supporting her.” But that obviously hasn’t taught her anything. She’ll just make a half-assed apology, maybe go on hiatus, maybe disappear, and then pop up again under another name to steal from another creator. If you have any ideas on how to deal with this, please tell us. 

She can try to block me or delete her posts, but the evidence is out and the damage is done. Anything she does to hide this mess will only make it worse for her. I’d appreciate people bringing more awareness to this issue, especially if it can reach the eyes of others she’s taken from. 

Thanks for reading.

[dracoxmalereader]

Could you maybe do artist!reader please? Where reader misplaced his sketchbook and Draco finds it and is filled with amazing drawings and a full spread just dedicated to Draco. The reader finds him looking at the sketchbook and reader gets all embarrassed thinking Draco had stolen it just to make fun of him.

Thank you!

Picture Perfect

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Early fourth year Draco is what I had in mind when reading this, but it could be read as anything a before or a little after it, and they're seatmates in transfiguration. Reader can also be read as any house. I took a little liberties with the concept, so the reader leaves the sketchbook behind at their desk instead of losing it. Sorry if it doesn't do the concept justice, I was having a hard time figuring out how to arrange it and still have them interact dynamically without making it a multi-chaptered story, which I figured would be a drag to read. </3

Summary: Draco just wants to know what's got you lost in that book of yours chucking glances at him. Leaving it behind at your shared desk like this is... well, what you won't know won't hurt you.

Word Count: 1445

The scratching of your pencil is quick to pull Draco from his concentration. Your fingers tug it back and forth over your paper, and he watches from his peripherals as your eyes flicker between him and your book. 

He turns his head, craning his neck to see, only for you to hunch over it. Your arm blocks the page from his view. The sound of McGonagall’s long-winded explanation of a color-change charm fades into background noise. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, voice a hushed whisper. 

“Why are you asking?” You snark in return. Accusation coats your tone. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Merlin, can’t I be curious? You’ve always got your head buried in that stupid book.” He tries not to let his dejection show.

“Mind your business, Malfoy.”

From across the room, McGonagall clears her throat. The two of you look up to see her staring pointedly at you, unimpressed expression practically radiating an exasperated ‘I’ll wait.’

Draco sneers. He sneakily tries to catch a glimpse of your book as McGonagall continues her lesson, frustration bubbling up in his stomach when you inch farther from him in your seat and angle yourself and the book away.

He turns, leaning his head on his hands and trying not to let your fleeting gaze bother him.

Class draws on. McGonagall sets the lot of you free to practice the charm she’d gone over. Through the corner of his eye, Draco sees your friends lunge out of their seats and come sauntering up towards you.

“L/N!” One of them chirps. You're whisked away by the arm away from your shared desk, barely leaving you time to even close your book, much less take it with you.

Draco’s eyes trail to it, knuckles twitching. He debates in his head his course of action, hands inching towards it for just a second before Goyle lays a startling hand on his shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin. 

Whipping around to hiss at Goyle, he barks an insult at him. 

“What are you doing? Gonna take a look in that weirdo’s sketchbook?” Goyle snickers, Crabbe and Pansy approaching behind him. “Let’s see it, then-” He steps around the front of the desk, reaching for the book. 

Draco snatches it before he can grab it. “Piss off, you oaf! Last I checked this is your second worst class after charms, no?” 

He narrows his eyes at Goyle, who stares back at him dumbly.

“That’s what I thought. It would do you well to pay attention for once, unless you’d rather all of Slytherin know what a bloody dunce you are.”

Goyle huffs through his nose, and Draco tucks the book into his robe. 

“What’s got you throwing a wobbly, Malfoy?” Crabbe asks. He settles into your chair beside Draco, who’s brows draw tight. 

Pansy leans on the desk in front of him, shifting her weight back in forth in boredom waiting for his answer.

“Mind your business, Crabbe.” The blonde spits back.

They make quick work of the charm. Draco sends Goyle to bring their freshly recolored candles and goblets up to McGonagall for grading as Crabbe and Pansy disperse back to their regular seats. He turns to look behind him, glancing at you where you’re laughing with your friends. 

He watches you raise your wand to the friend that had pulled you away and with a flick and incantation, a vibrant green color bleeds into his hair until there’s none of its original color left. Your face contorts around chest-heaving cackles. 

It tugs at a part of Draco, fondness blooming in the space behind his sinuses. The corner of his mouth lifts up into a smirk of its own volition, and he has to yank himself back forwards before you can catch him staring.

He reaches into his robe, pulling your book out. He runs his thumbs along the sides of it. In the desk beside yours, a ravenclaw he hasn’t had the pleasantry of meeting yet is craning in his seat to try and snoop as well. Draco crinkles his nose and hunches over the book, protecting it from protruding eyes much like you had. 

Shaky fingers slip under the cover of the book and a chunk of the pages. Draco sucks in a breath and holds it as he flips the book open. Smoky, smudged drawings peer back at him. One of McGonagall, one of Crabbe and Goyle when they’d still sat in front of you, some of people he didn’t recognize. The breath leaves him, mouth hanging open behind it. 

He blinks down and turns another page, more drawings and doodles of all kinds plastered over it. Some drawings of hallways and staircases and Filch’s cat on one side, on the other a full-paged view of the great lake from the astronomy tower with tedious fingerprints smudged in the graphite. He gives himself a moment just to admire it, brows high on his face.

His fingers trace it lightly, careful not to ruin its artistry as he turns the page again and feels his face heat up at the sight that greets him. Doodles of him, some close and some far, smattered across the paper. At every distance the detail is admirable, the indents of your pencil visible in every stroke down to his individual eyelashes like he was the only muse you cared to draw so vividly. 

One of him in the tree in the courtyard, one of him with his cheeks puffed up with food in the great hall, one of him booing Potter in the stands at a quidditch game. He turns one more page and catches a brief glimpse of a half-done drawing that he presumes is the one you had just been working on before familiar hands are wrenching the sketchbook away from him.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Draco hadn’t even noticed the chatter of the classroom dying down. McGonagall starts droning on again about another spell she’s assigning for homework, and Draco stares up at your embarrassed expression, face growing impossibly warmer. 

“Well? Do you just think it’s funny to go sticking your nose in everyone’s business?” Your brows are furrowed and you’re red down to your neck, exasperatedly plopping down in your seat. You throw an expectant glare at him. "Just for something to make fun of me for?"

He tries to find the words, but his drying mouth stays halfway open. A strangled croak is all he can manage.

An audible huff funnels through your nose. “Don’t bother, it’s not like I’d expect you to have anything nice to say.”

You finally rip your focus away from him, and your grip on the book relaxes, moving to stuff it into your bag. Draco reaches out to grab your wrist before you can, a tad breathless when your eyes meet again. 

“They’re good.” He whisper-shouts. The compliment feels foreign on his tongue, running on urgency to carry him through it.

“What?”

He tries to keep his tone even, fighting to level his expression. “Your drawings, they’re good.” It comes out in a near-hiss, annoyed repetition not helping him sound less threatening.

“Oh.” Your face cinches in suspicion, but you set your sketchbook back down on the desk regardless. “Thanks.” Your pupils flicker up and down him where he’s still finding the rest of his words. 

“Just,” He starts on a sigh, and your shoulders draw up in fearful anticipation. His hand leaves your wrist. “Get my good side, yeah?” 

He pulls back to strike a poignant pose, chin resting on a loosely balled fist. Awkward silence settles between the two of you. At least, until he sees you cup a hand around your mouth in his peripherals and hears a choked giggle fight its way through.

“Hey!” He yaps, wrenching from his pose, sneer from earlier etching itself back onto him. “Be serious, I can’t have you immortalizing me if I look like I’ve just escaped Azkaban.”

“Immortalizing?” You tease, and he ignores the offense that flares up in his lungs. He maneuvers back into his pose as you're flipping your sketchbook open and twirling your pencil between your fingers. 

“Shut it, or I’ll burn that book of yours next time you leave it so graciously for me to steal.”

You shake your head, still smiling a smile that makes his heart skip a beat. The tip of your pencil taps against the paper, creative gaze washing over him. Another breathy chuckle from you has him considering tattling to his father, but as the sound of scribbling becomes audible another, smaller part of him is too busy wondering if you’d let him draw you, too.

So sorry I said "2 days + an extra day or two to hibernate" and then took a month-long hiatus, I got all my schoolwork done in time and then my graduation project snuck up on me. Finally, I had avoided truancy court by the hair of my teeth, and then I get an email from my counselor saying "You need to get accepted into a four-year college or hand in a letter from an employer stating you are/will be working full-time or you can't graduate"

Behaving like we pay tuition. You're a public highschool that's 20 million dollars in debt be so unequivocally fr. Two years in a row now people have deliberately lit the cafeteria microwave on fire and they didn't even get suspended for it, but I decide I want to chill for a year after highschool and not immediately jump into more work, all of a sudden I'm not allowed to graduate at all.

Someone blew up a toilet last year and the bathroom was leaking sewage for three weeks, not to mention the freshman that broke in TWICE over the summer, smashed a bunch of shit and got caught by police having a fire extinguisher fight on the roof. Y'all should be more worried about what your students are doing IN the building, not what they'll be doing when they're out of it. And that's the end of my tedtalk. <3

I'm getting through my requests, but I'm super swamped with stuff because of the project, so I'll probably still be pretty slow. Sob. Draco Malfoy would NEVER treat me like this. I am just a man, I should be playing League and getting e-kittens, not doing job shadows to graduate.

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @0-alastair-0 @mqzze @itsfitzroyy @dolly-dollar

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VII. twenty-one questions.

parts: previously / next plot: everything comes to a head. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, reader's a little stupid, descriptions of surgical stitching, blood, surgical needles, knives, violence, mentions of drugs and underage substance abuse (alcohol), minor character death(s). words: 11.4k.

a/n: it has been yet another hot minute and this chapter has given me a lot of grief in terms of all the ideas I had for it and what it ended up being. as you can tell by the word count, I could Not shut up

Alfred calls you bright and early to watch Bruce spar.

The billionaire had mentioned it before, and while you didn't doubt you would meet an untimely fate were you to challenge Mr. Pennyworth one-on-one, it was a whole other thing seeing them both on the mat.

Alfred is slow but thoughtful; when Bruce attacks, he goes for several hits at once. Alfred anticipates each one. He's more defense than offense, but when he strikes Bruce in the chest even you can feel it.

Bruce is lean, quick. He ducks and rolls and uses every part of his body, not just his fists. He looks a little sloppy when he wraps his legs around Alfred's—out of practice, maybe?—but it doesn't keep him from succeeding. Alfred fights like a soldier. Bruce fights like a martial artist.

Bruce makes a noise when Alfred falls to the mat and you spring up with attention, "Everything okay?"

You hear "his leg" and "I'm fine" overlap one another.

The real reason Alfred had called you was because he wanted you to watch Bruce hurt himself. The vestiges of a sprain, he guessed, that Bruce was too stubborn to rest. When he couldn't convince Bruce to pass on sparring, he resorted to you: "an objective spectator." Alfred had sounded pleased. Bruce had looked about ready to suplex him.

You head over anyway, ignoring the protests of the injured so you could kneel and survey the damage. "Can you walk?"

Bruce doesn't meet your eyes. He forces his body to stand, but you can easily tell he's favoring a side. You reach a hand up and pinch his injured calf, hearing him hiss through his teeth. "Of course it's going to hurt when you do that." He sounds childishly annoyed. Alfred is fighting a smile from his spot next to you.

"I don't understand. You're head of the company, you can afford to take a few days off. Even chair rest is still rest."

"Ah, but there lies the conundrum," Alfred pushes himself up to his feet, "he cannot sit still."

Bruce extends his hand to you, still avoiding eye contact. You hesitate but take it anyway, and the ease with which he hoists you to your feet is a bit disorienting.

Since your agreement with Batman, you were forced to be patient. After all, there were more pressing matters in Gotham besides your own ticking time bomb. He'd promised that he'd get back to you soon about Bruce and, until then, you would have to grin and bear it.

Alfred excuses himself to get busy with lunch the minute Dory enters with the groceries, leaving the two of you alone in the middle of the living room. "As your doctor," you begin, "I can't in good conscience let you keep pushing your body past its limit."

"It barely hurts anymore."

You bend as if you're about to grab at his leg again and he takes a step back, annoyed—if not offended, "You have no record of chronic pain. No record of serious past injuries at all. Yet you strain yourself doing... what, exactly? Sparring all day? You may be young, Bruce, but your body isn't indestructible."

You get the feeling he's heard this before, bristling like a scolded cat as you stare him down, "I'm fine," he brushes past you toward the table he and Alfred moved to the far end of the room, grabbing a sweating glass of water, "Alfred's just being... Alfred. He worries too much."

"I worry," Bruce raises a brow as he takes a swig and you clear your throat, "you said you need to be reminded to care of yourself. Well, that's my job now. Not that the hospital couldn't use more of your money but it's not worth the pain you'll be in." Bruce leans against the table, one leg crossed over the other. You approach, briefly taking note of the water that dribbles down his chin. "I'm starting to think you're just a masochist."

"Yeah? How do you figure?" His lip twitches up into a smile.

You open your mouth but the thought stops you cold. You were going to say, "Because I know someone just like you," but then you're transported back to that fateful morning where you first met. Bruce and all his... familiarity. The wild speculation of your exhausted mind. All of which, at the time, overlapped perfectly. Yet now that you knew them both better, they were worlds apart to you. Except for that one thing.

What was it that set them apart, again?

Your eyes drift up to Bruce's. "I get your type at General sometimes," you divert, "real pains in the ass."

Bruce steps closer to you with his glass abandoned on the table, "And your type can't seem to leave well enough alone."

You prickle. If it weren't for the fact that he was so clearly teasing you, you'd have lingered on the almost double meaning, "The fact you think this," you raise your foot and tap the side of Bruce's injured leg; his eyes narrow, "is well enough further proves my point. You need rest."

Bruce rolls his shoulders back; his compression tee clings to every muscle as he does, drawing your attention for a brief moment. "I'll think about it."

Your jaw drops. Bruce smiles. You feel a white hot flash of irritation that's wiped away when Alfred reenters the room, dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, eyes fixed on you, "Will you be staying for lunch?"

Before you can say no, Bruce interjects for you, "Yes. Thank you, Alfred." Then he turns to you, pats your arm like a friend, and pushes you in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm gonna shower. Make yourself at home."

You stumble over yourself, regaining balance just as Bruce's head disappears over the top floor banister. How quickly he could retreat when leaving you to the lions.

But Alfred is in a good mood today. Better than usual, actually. The hair on your neck stands on end as you follow him to the kitchen, preparing for the good mood to sour now that it wasjust the two of you, but it doesn't come. You watch him hum a little tune as he fixes up some vegetables to sauté.

You even find yourself getting comfortable at the island when he breaks the silence, "I appreciate what you're doing for Bruce... regardless of its efficacy. It's nice to know someone else has common sense in this house." Alfred sets down four empty plates at the breakfast table.

You take note of his tone, an improvement from his barely concealed dislike from weeks before. You take that as a small victory for today, "It's like arguing with a brick wall. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Like a soldier." Without asking, he fills a glass to the brim with water and hands it to you.

"Right. You're a veteran." Your observation gives him pause, the food he tends to at the stove crackling away. "I can tell. I've treated a lot of veterans so I can spot them from a mile away now."

Alfred snorts, straightening his shoulders. "I served as a young lad. Eventually retired and came here, took on the job as the Waynes' butler and bodyguard. I've been with them for quite some time. Since before Bruce was even born."

"You practically raised him."

"Rather... clumsily, might I add," Alfred glances at you and you're surprised to see him bashful, genuinely, "protecting him, I could handle. Raising him... well, that was another matter entirely."

"But you did a pretty good job. I mean, he's accomplished a lot. Especially with the mayor. I imagine that's why he's working so hard: really seems like he's dedicated to restoring his father's legacy."

You can't help the little hook you throw out.

Right before the Mayor was elected, when a bomb shook the penthouse of 1939 Kane St., Edward Nashton had taken to the airwaves to out Thomas Wayne as a cold-blooded killer. Not long after, the man who'd pulled the trigger was shot dead in the street before he could be brought to justice. That would bring anyone out of hiding.

Wayne Enterprises inevitably challenged the claims, Bruce Wayne had taken to his father's defense in an impassioned press conference that even you tuned into, and Gotham General made the decision to keep his father's statue in the courtyard.

It was never ruled out, though. After all, all of the Riddler's other exposés were true. But there was no paper trail. Nothing but he said, he said, and with everyone involved dead, it was Bruce Wayne's word over a zealot who'd flooded the city.

You take a sip from your glass to let Alfred ruminate on his reply. He doesn't raise his eyes to you again, "Precisely."

"I've been keeping a close eye on him in the news. His philanthropy this past year has been really remarkable." That was a bold-faced lie. You'd been keeping an eye on him for the past few weeks. Everything else you knew about Bruce Wayne's newfound appreciation for the poor and needy came from Em. "Some of the people at the party, however..."

"Councilman Roberts, was it? He was awfully spirited from what Master Bruce relayed to me."

The very mention of his name makes your blood pressure spike, "The guest list was very diverse."

Alfred transfers the cutting board to the sink, "Master Bruce has his reasons. He's become rather fixated on the state of political affairs. First behind the scenes, and now..."

"Now center stage." You finish for him, swirling your glass. "Think he'll run for office one day?"

Alfred looks somewhere between amused and horrified.

It would be natural. Thomas Wayne had almost done it. Why not Bruce? It'd be a comeback story for the ages if someone didn't try to kill him again.

"I'd rather he keep out of it. Being in a position like that has never been his true calling."

"Yeah? And what is?"

Alfred doesn't look like he wants to say. He scrubs at the surface of the wooden board, absentmindedly brushing the same spot clean over and over. His eyes catch yours for a split second, just as quick as the smile that he flashes when the answer finally spills out of him, "Altruism."

You and Alfred don't talk much more until Bruce comes down. Dory joins you all at the table soon after and, rather awkwardly, you find yourself having a quiet lunch with the Waynes. Hooks abandoned. Fish not caught.

You wait for what feels like hours, but eventually he arrives.

His car is an absolute monster. It growls as it pulls up beside you in the withering glow of street lights, and if it weren't for said lights, it would blend into the shadows almost completely. The raindrops that dot the hood help catch the light on the deep black paint job.

You look for the door handle but it opens for you. Inside, you see Batman with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. You swallow. This is new territory.

You throw your bag in first, then climb into the passenger seat, very aware of the pocket knife stuffed in the pocket of your scrubs. You go to close the door and it closes for you all on its own. Behind you is an intimidating engine that vibrates through your every bone and muscle, and when you look to the driver, he is staring straight ahead. A few beats pass as you try to keep your teeth from chattering, "Do the seat belts move on their own, too?"

Batman looks at you from his peripheral. Then—twisting in his seat—he reaches across you to retrieve the seat belt, dragging it across the front of your body until it clicks at your side, "'Fraid not."

Despite all the rumbling of the car engine, it's a smooth ride through the city. Even the littering of pot holes and uneven pavement doesn't ruin it. Still, it does nothing to quell your nerves.

You feel small, sinking into the passenger seat built for people wearing a lot more armor than you. You also note that there's nowhere for your legs to go underneath the seat. You bump the solid obstruction with the backs of your sneakers but can't make out what it is.

There are other weird things you notice when you start looking. Starting where your shoulders rest are six holes going down the seat, three on each side, all a foot apart from the last. You press your finger into one of the holes and feel hard metal on either side of the gap. Upon further inspection, Batman's seat has it too, "What are these for?" You ask.

Batman doesn't need to look at you to know what you're messing with, "Restraints."

You recoil, "I beg your pardon?"

"I could show you."

"I'm- sorry, what..." You bend at the waist to feel the metal plate beneath the seat and recognize that there are holes along the sides there too.

"In case I need to bring someone along who's less than willing. Metal bars are installed in the seats. Only I know how to activate them."

"Why your seat too?"

"In case someone tries to steal the car," he makes a turn into one of the boroughs and you realize you're getting close to your destination, "but I've considered putting a trunk in the back for... passengers."

"And where do you get the money for such... modest mods?"

At that, Batman does not answer you. You figured he wouldn't. There were a hundred answers he could give you that would surely, most definitely give his identity away. It doesn't stop your brain from beginning to wander.

It doesn't get very far before you're pulling up into the alley between two houses, shrouding the car in the shadow of Joey Russo's home.

It's not as nicely kept as the other houses on the street, and its age doesn't do it any favors. A lot of the off-white paint has been chipped off or discolored over the years. There's a piece-of-junk car in the driveway that looks like it works, but just barely. The lawn has outgrown the neighbors', kept at bay by patches of dead grass where you can tell someone had gone to town with weedkiller. There are old, faded garden decorations around the front porch. Some gnomes with their ceramic hats caved in, a wind chime missing most of its chimes.

You're wandering out of the alley and into the harsh, orange beam of the streetlight when you feel Batman's hand roughly drag you back into the dark. You're about to ask what the problem is when your eyes catch the side of the house.

There's a little window with its grey curtains shut, a dead flower limp on the sill. Next to the window is a backdoor cracked open.

You do not protest when Batman presses up against the side of the house and moves you behind him. There are dogs barking, cars driving by, faint sirens in the distance, but you can't hear anything from inside.

You watch as he presses his hand to the door and slowly pushes it open, peeking in from a safe distance into the dark. Most of the windows are blocked out by sheer curtains, and no light in the house is on from what you can tell.

Batman is a hulking thing, always, but every step is feather-light on the weathered floorboards as you both enter. There's no sign of Russo, even though the house feels warm. Like it'd been lived in recently. Your heart picks up as you swear you see a shadow move in the corner of your eye, but it's just the wind picking up one of the curtains.

You so desperately want to ask him what he's thinking but your voice is stuck in your throat, the thought crashing down upon you that you are here, that somewhere in this house is the man who had ensured you'd be here today (in nearly all the ways that that could apply), and that it was not so far behind you as you might've hoped.

And were you to get an answer—any answer—from Russo tonight, it would not change the fact that your name was still on Bruce Wayne's payroll.

You feel sick to your stomach all over again.

When the living room is clear, you're simultaneously relieved and terrified when Batman leaves you to scope out the adjoining dining room. The house is silent aside from your breathing.

It's a few moments alone that does it; you start to feel another wave of anxiety. It had been a few minutes, hadn't it? Maybe. A minute at least. You're not confident enough to go looking for Batman, and you fear calling out to him would just detrimentally unsettle the atmosphere. You listen for where he might be, any creaks in the floors boards, but there's nothing.

Just as you're about to step into the dining room yourself, something moves out of your peripheral again. Only this time, you realize too late that it's not the curtain.

You barely register the pain at first—the skin of your upper arm splitting in half—but then it's white-hot and you're choking on a cry before you can stop yourself. Something had rushed at you, a person. You shakily touch where they'd cut you.

Was it a knife? It had to be, with how cleanly it tore your skin. Your brain jumps to the next question: was it covered in anything? Would you get infected?

You stumble back and reach into your pocket for your own knife with a little more urgency. The person rushes at you again with something akin to a battle cry and you narrowly dodge their raised weapon, only the sound of it ripping through the curtains tells you it wasn't just another delayed reaction.

You slash at their back while they're still turned and manage to actually make a cut before jumping back. It's not enough, though. Your attacker spins and even though the light has now turned them into nothing but a silhouette, you can feel their crazed gaze on you.

It feels boiling. It feels personal.

Their breathing is ragged, panting from more than just the fight. It sounds like they're foaming at the mouth, rabid and wild, as they spit at you, "You should've died with your little bitch of a friend when you had the chance."

The anger in their voice stuns you before the words do.

They come at you again and you sidestep them once more but it's staggered, allowing the tip of their weapon to slice your cheek open. When you cry out this time, you yell for Batman.

You don't have any concept of time right now, but as you fall to the floor, you swing at your attacker's ankle, hoping to cut a vein, when you feel Batman rush past you and directly into your attacker.

They both crash into the coffee table, glass and wood shattering in a cacophony. You watch through burning eyes as the two wrestle each other, keeping your hand pressed to your arm to still the bleeding even as it slips against the skin. Batman has them pinned when your attacker starts wildly kicking, and one of his feet hits Batman hard in the leg. You don't expect it to be the leverage he needs, but it's enough to daze Batman—he looks suddenly awash with pain—and that's all the attacker needs to slip out from beneath him and head out the back door.

Your heart stutters. How hard did he have to hit him through the suit for it to cripple him so easily?

Batman tries to recover, tries to deploy the grapple gun in his gauntlet to trip him, but he slips into the alleyway just narrowly. Batman is after him in an instant.

You force yourself up from the floor to follow after him, when you realize that within all that commotion, no one else in the house made themselves known.

You stumble up the staircase, haphazardly swiping at the wall for light switches that might help clear the spots in your vision. "Russo!" You call out, and your voice is shaky. You realize you're trembling.

There are too many doors on the upper floor but there is one that is cracked open. You rush toward it first, shoving it open with your good shoulder.

And there, to confirm your worst suspicion, is proof.

You've had enough training in your field not to immediately vomit at the sight even as the smell overpowers you. He's lost weight and he looks smaller than he had been when you were just sixteen. Laying on the floor, drenched in his own blood, Detective Joey Russo isn't the crystal clear picture you'd preserved in your head these past 17 years.

You make it only a few steps before falling to your knees beside him. It's clear he'd passed from the stab wounds not long before you'd arrived and there's just so many. His chest, his stomach, his arms and legs and skull—his face had taken the worst of it. Whoever had done this had been furious.

You can barely bring yourself to stare into his eyes but when you do, you sob. You try to look anywhere else but your eyes just catch on pictures of him on the wall, happy, smiling, with a wife and a kid who leave no traces of themselves in this room.

It's just him. All alone here.

You sway a bit as you reach a hand up to shut his eyes but the blood on your fingers stops you. You realize that you've left a trail on the way up here, and as your eyes retrace back to the bedroom door, you see Batman standing there looking down at you.

He doesn't ask, just walks over to you and hoists you up to stand, forcing you to lean into him for support.

The time between him finding you and the walk downstairs passes in a muddy amount of time and you're stumbling into the hood of his car as your head swims.

You must be losing a bit of blood.

Batman presses a hand to your arm. His other hand goes to your cheek and you flinch away at the sting.

You watch him dizzily. He reaches down to the bottom of his cape and rips a strip off to tie around your bicep. "GCPD is on the way. We have to get you stitched up."

"If only there were a surgeon around." Batman doesn't find your joke funny. Neither do you, all things considered.

The doors open on their own again and he sits you in the passenger seat, leaning it back as far as it'll go before buckling you in. You think you feel his hand linger on yours before he abandons you for the driver's side. The thrum of the engine is the least of your concerns now.

You're halfway down the street when you mumble, "He said... I should've died."

"Stop talking." He doesn't say it with menace, or at least not the kind where you actually mean it. It's all bark and... worry, you think.

You hate the smell of your own blood, which is funny because it smells about the same as everyone else's and usually that's just fine for you. Or maybe you're still smelling Russo's.

You think of your attacker. About what they said. That you should've died with your "little bitch of a friend". It's too convenient to not be—one of the street lights you pass is far too bright and you have to shut your eyes to keep the thought going—be about her. And why her? Why Russo? Why now?

17 years of nothing. And now everything at once.

"Russo," your voice is weaker, "we gotta go back for him."

"Stop talking! I'm trying- shit." This is the most panic you've ever heard in Batman's voice before. The most fear. He hadn't been this worried when he was dying on your living room floor. "Please." He begs.

You're of sound mind enough to know what he's really asking. You should know, even as you sway in and out of consciousness.

You conserve what little energy you have left to focus on the side of his face. His jaw forever clenched. Eyelashes long enough to catch the city light on. And although it's not entirely clear from the angle you're laying at, you search out the blue of his eyes as his face turns to look at you. It's the last thing you see before you give in.

When you come to, you are laying in a hospital bed with a throbbing arm and an equally throbbing cheek. Your scrubs are still in tact, even with the bloodstains down the front and sides. The knees of your pants are stained too, and you are harshly reminded that this blood doesn't belong to you.

The next thing you notice is Em sitting in the chair beside your bed, head thrown back in a peaceful nap. She must've heard—or seen, you don't recall getting from the car to here—and came to keep you company. You'd reach over to tap her knee if it were your good arm's side. The next thing you notice after that is that there is someone else in the room with you two.

It takes a second, but you remember him: a kindly face even with the cloud of disturb that hangs over him. When he sees you're awake, he gets up from his position against the wall and approaches the other side of the bed, "Detective James Gordon," he introduces himself, nodding to you, "we met at the precinct before."

Your voice comes out scraggly, "I remember you."

He flashes you a quick smile, "Well, I'm happy to see you're alright. You lost a bit of blood, but your friend—" A pen materializes in his hand and he points it at Em, still dead to the world, "—said it was just a few stitches."

"Are you here to arrest me?"

He's trained well enough not to look shocked, but you see his expression shift, "Why would I arrest you?"

You swallow, looking down at your scrubs once more, "I assume you're not here to talk about our mutual friend."

James nods. "We examined Joey Russo's home. We found, among other things, your DNA on the scene. Blood in the living room and... upstairs bedroom."

You pinch your pants leg, trying to get at the skin so you could keep the churning of your stomach at bay. Anything to distract yourself from the very vivid image of Russo's lifeless eyes.

James clicks his pen and you focus back on him. He's got a small notepad in his other hand with a few words already written down. You wonder what he's written about, what he's thinking about you right now. "From what I understand, you dropped by the precinct recently asking for the whereabouts of Russo and were denied given his retirement. You mentioned that you were inquiring about an old case involving yourself, is that correct?" James continues after your nod, "You brought this up to the Batman too."

"Yes," your voice wobbles, "I asked if... he could help me."

"And?"

"He said no."

"But you were both there tonight. So, what happened? Why were you looking for Joey Russo?"

You lean up on your good arm, allowing your legs to swing from the bed so you could sit upright in front of James. One glance over your shoulder tells you Em is still asleep, "I told him it was urgent. I had reason to believe confidential information about the case had been leaked to someone. I wanted to confront him, find out if he... was the one that leaked it."

"The case being part of your sealed juvenile records, correct?" James casts a look over you, somewhere between pitying and skeptical, "given your involvement in this situation, I was given access to this record. Detective Russo worked your case 17 years ago, and was, in fact, the person to get your records sealed in the first place. Along with... three others, I believe. And you believed someone had unauthorized access to it?"

"I know- I know. I know they did."

"Can you tell me the name of this person?"

Detective Gordon seems trustworthy. Batman trusts him, you can tell that much. It's just the saying it out loud part that trips you up, "My, um... my employer. Not Rudy, but Bruce Wayne. I'm his personal doctor. I became aware he had this information and wanted to check with Russo myself before I said anything."

James doesn't bother hiding his intrigue this time. His eyebrows shoot up a bit when you say Bruce's name, "Right. And... do you have proof that he has this information? A picture or a recorded conversation, a witness even?"

Of course not. You'd been happy enough to get out of that penthouse without being caught. Your silence is answer enough. James writes something down on his notepad and nods at you, "Well, a single person—especially not a civilian employer—should be able to access something that's not public record. Even Russo couldn't, having been retired. I can't imagine Russo was the one to give him that information unless he just had a file lying around, and I doubt he did. He never revisited that case before he retired in any capacity."

"Is there any way Bruce could have accessed it?"

"There's plenty of ways if you have an in somewhere and the leverage to do so, but this is all speculation. I can look into it, though. See if anyone's accessed the file recently, sniff around. If you come across anything solid, let me know."

You doubted you would. After that night, those files had probably gone into a room with lock and key.

"There was something else that I wanted to talk about, though," James shifts closer to you, "Our mutual friend assured me that you've never been to Russo's house before tonight, and that he had been with you the entire time you were there. From what I understand, there was someone else in the house with the two of you. Do you have any idea who he might've been?"

"No, I... I didn't really get a good look at him."

"What about his voice? Could you describe it?"

"Uh, young. Sounded about my age." Your fingers grip the bedsheets tightly, "He said something. He said that... I should have died. Along with my friend."

James' eyes narrow on you, "Your friend?"

"Alex," you choke out, feeling a tear spill out of your eye, "I know he was talking about Alex."

"Hm. You think that's why he attacked you? He knows you?"

"But I don't know him."

James flips his notepad back a few pages, "There were eight people there the night Alex Villanueva was murdered, including herself and you: your three friends, none of whom have stepped foot in Gotham since 2019. The shooter, Natalie Young. Her younger brother, Dimitri Young. And a fellow member of their gang, Lucien Goulding. Natalie was killed in a shootout 17 years ago, Goulding is currently in prison, and Dimitri... he should be serving life in prison right now."

Your brows furrow, "Should?"

"He and several other inmates were reported missing from Arkham five days ago."

Your mouth goes dry. You squirm in bed with a sudden urge to take off running and never look back. Maybe you'd aim for your mom and dad's in New Jersey, or maybe the Atlantic.

You remember when Dimitri was a head shorter than you, had yet to sprout up so young. You remember what it was like looking at this kid not much younger than you, green eyes watering, curled up on the concrete as Alex kicked and punched and bled him until he could barely limp home.

And how he looked when Natalie came for you. Still a kid.

"Bat said he was about 5'11, 210 pounds, green eyes, shaved head and tattoos. A bit different from what he was when you last saw him. It makes sense you don't remember."

"He wanted to kill me." You whisper.

James—he's an angel, really—gives you a moment to let it sink in. "We want to put a security detail on you. We have strong reason to believe Dimitri was the one to kill Russo, and it's very possible you were next on his list, but I don't think he anticipated you being there tonight... which might've saved your life."

You shake your head, "Batman saved my life."

The detective smiles, "Twice in a row might make him your guardian angel." The both of you turn when you hear Em stir awake from behind, and James goes to dismiss himself, "Well, thank you for your time. You should probably be heading home to get some rest soon, but if you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to let me know." James hands you a business card, "And I'll look into Bruce Wayne for ya. Could be something there. Our mutual friend might know. Take it easy."

"Wait," you call, before he can get out the door, "Russo. He had a- a kid. A son. And a wife, I think. They weren't at the house. Are they okay?"

James looks a little pained as he answers you, "No... uh, his son was murdered a while back. His ex-wife's been living back home in Boston ever since. She's been notified."

There isn't much else to say after that, so he ducks his head as a final goodbye and exits the room, raincoat swaying behind him.

You're awoken by an incessant ringing about 24 hours later.

Popping one eye open, your brain takes in the shadowy lighting of your living room, blinds still halfway up from when you'd first returned home early that morning. Judith had caught you slumped outside of your apartment door and flanked by two officers—roused by the sound of you coming home late—and had helped you to your couch, poured you a glass of water, and stayed with you until the painkillers put you to sleep.

Frankly, you gave yourself permission to lie and rot today. But the ringing would not stop.

You grab your phone, uncaring of the caller, and accidentally press it to your cut cheek with a hiss, "Yes?"

You expect it to be Em, checking in to see if you were still alive. You also expect it to be your mother, checking in to make sure you still planned on staying in Gotham. You even expect it to be Rudy (who had been just about on the verge of tears when he saw you with a busted cheek).

It's none of them. "Can I see you?"

You place the voice instantly, actually going breathless. "I'm- what's... what's wrong?"

Sitting up hurts like a bitch and you realize that you're about two hours past your scheduled Tylenol. You inhale through your teeth and try to gather your bearings.

"I got... stabbed," Bruce sounds guarded, but it shockingly doesn't come across like that's because of the stabbing, "I need your help."

"Jesus! You need to call 911. Or- or get one of your ten million drivers to take you to the ER, or call a fucking helicopter to-"

"The tower, can you come? Now?"

You weren't supposed to be driving. The cops had brought you home, and you very much did not want to ask for that favor. You drop your forehead into your palm, massaging your temple with your thumb, "How deep is it? Did you stop the bleeding?"

"I've got something on it. I just need you to stitch me up."

You glance around the room, hazy, and reach for your water, "I'll need a ride. Can't drive right now."

"He's waiting outside." The line goes dead.

You don't believe him until you go to open your apartment door and see a suited man leaned against the opposite wall, nodding politely at you. You must look like you've sprung from the dead after last night, but no one makes a comment about it. The two officers on either side of the door nod to you, "Says he's a driver for Bruce Wayne and that you'd know what he was here for. His ID checks out, but we're gonna have to tail him if you go with him."

You shut the door and look through the peephole, but the driver looks comfortable waiting.

You'd wonder how Bruce knew you'd need a ride before you said as much, but it was clear by this point that he knew everything about you.

You probably shouldn't go. Not until Gordon looked into him, or Batman. Right?

You root around in your coat pocket for the phone Batman had given you and send a quick text to his number.

Going to Wayne's. Tell Gordon to hurry up with a warrant.

You pop two pills and pull on your coat.

When the elevator doors part, you drag yourself down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the main room. Alfred nor Dory is anywhere to be seen, but with it being past 10 at night, you can only imagine they're off to bed by now. There is just a single light coming from the kitchen, and when you turn to the breakfast table, there is Bruce. Waiting.

He doesn't look at you when you approach, however. One of his hands is holding stained gauze under the neck of his shirt, and the other is gripping the table with white knuckles. You wash your hands at the kitchen sink, then round up on his left side where he's pressing against the back of his shoulder, just out of reach for him to stitch himself. You fear he would've tried had you not answered the phone.

Or, God forbid, come to you.

He looks up when you're right in front of him, scanning you quickly, "Are you okay?" He doesn't sound all that surprised to see you like this. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You pull the neck of his shirt down to survey the damage, for lack of a good explanation, "I'm certain I've got a better excuse than you." Bruce shifts when you move his hand away, exposing the bloody flesh that makes you wince. You set your things on the table and command him to lift his shirt. He hesitates. "What is your excuse?"

"Got caught off guard."

"Where?"

Slowly, Bruce slips his shirt off, allowing you to see the full expanse of his back. There was the angry red stab wound, but there were other things too: moles and beauty marks scattered across his skin that paled in comparison to the several jagged lines across his shoulders and lower back—pink raised skin where it looked like he'd been cut before. Cuts that had healed years ago. You hover your fingers above one and realize they're shaking. "You never told me you and Alfred fight with knives."

"We don't," he glances at you over his shoulder but looks away just as quickly, "some of those scars are from martial artists I trained with in Thailand."

"Some?" You see so many, and those are only the ones that leave visible scars.

"Others are from the Russians."

You begin to lightly clean around his wound and ready the anesthesia but, despite the fact that he cannot see it in your hand, he waves it off completely, "Are they... the people who gave you this?"

He goes silent again. You feel like you should stop asking questions at this point, but they itch at your throat.

He wouldn't call you here to fix this unless he had nowhere else to go.

When you make the first stitch and he doesn't flinch, your eyes flit to his other scars. Martial arts training, he said. The second stitch and still no response. On the third stitch, you press your thumb against the edge of the wound and push down. He actually swears at you as blood dribbles out of the wound, and the hand that had been gripping the table reaches back to grab your lower thigh, effectively bringing the operation to a halt.

You shove his hand off, "What the hell happened? Your hands, your leg—that was easy to explain. But this?"

He has the audacity to glare at you over his shoulder, "I don't pay you to ask questions."

"No, you don't. And yet you could've hired anyone but you hired me. Even though..." You trail off, eyes blazing, because you're not feeling that confident, "the least you can do is tell me what happened."

Bruce holds your gaze until you feel your knees begin to wobble in place. For once, he doesn't look like a wide-eyed, nervous animal in front of you. He looks angry.

Then it's gone. Bruce rolls his shoulders back and you watch the needle, still hanging by its thread, roll against his muscles. More blood seeps from the wound as your hands itch to get back to work. "One question," he starts, looking away from you, "the night of the party, upstairs. You told Alfred no one got on the elevator. But you did, didn't you?"

You swallow. "He said it was broken."

"Be honest with me and I'll be honest with you."

"About anything?"

From behind, you can see Bruce's jaw twitch just so, "Everything."

You step closer. Taking your needle, you resume the suture, "A question for a question, then. To keep it fair."

"Alright."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was looking for someone."

"Who were you looking for?"

"That's another question."

"Fine," you try not to take your frustration out on his skin, "I did. Who were you-"

"Dimitri Young." You still in your stitching. It feels like your heart is inside your head, thumping against your skull with every beat. "What did you see down there?"

You have to rake your petrified brain for context, having nearly forgotten everything that had come before... before... "I- I was... nothing." Bruce hisses through his teeth and you realize that you're just pressing the needlepoint into his skin mindlessly. "Files. A computer. A car underneath a sheet, some tools, a motorbike. A TV playing the news." You don't bother with hiding it now, "How do you know about Dimitri?"

"Because I know about you. Why did you go down there? Not knowing what you might find?"

It takes all that you have to keep the burning tears at bay, "Because I don't trust you. Because everything about this has felt off. I needed to know what you were hiding. What are you gonna do with what you know?"

Bruce takes a moment as if he's thinking about it, but when he answers you, you're for once certain of his honesty, "Nothing. I might set it on fire, if that's what you want."

"You could have another copy lying around. Or a way to access it again."

"I could. But I don't. And I wouldn't want to." He turns his head over his shoulder and you are frozen under his stare, "I'm being honest with you."

"How did you get it?"

"That's another question."

You complete the next few stitches with a little more force than needed, "Then ask me something."

"Why did you take the job if you didn't trust me?"

You laugh humorlessly, "Because I knew the pay would be fucking ridiculous. How did you get my file?"

"You wouldn't have turned me down the first time if that were true."

"Answer me."

"Be honest with me, I'll be honest with you. Why'd you take the job?"

"Because-" You choke, "you... sent me those ridiculous flowers and a handwritten note." Bruce's head tilts, you choke out more, "And when I asked you why you offered me the job, you said that it was because I noticed you were hurt when no one else did. And I said it felt like more than that. I think- I have been trying to get an answer."

Bruce studies you. He must believe you because he finally answers your question, "Russo had nothing to do with it."

"Who did you pay to get it for you, then?"

"That's-"

"Just ask me, God damn it." You finish off the suture and bite off the thread.

"Why did you turn your life around?"

You'd thought about that a lot after that night. The simplest answer was right there, but if you were being honest with yourself (and you were being more honest than you would've liked tonight), you really didn't want to die. "I wanted to live. That's what I'd always wanted. Even though I... really didn't act like it. I never wanted to live more until that moment." This time when you lock eyes with Bruce, you don't want him to look away. Maybe it's because he's defeated you, broken your pride, whatever. Right now, you want to see him.

You don't have to ask again. You watch him rise from the table, flexing his back again, and though you want to scold him for irritating his stitches mere seconds after you've finished them, you just... don't have it in you.

And then he's standing face-to-face with you.

You think the lights and painkillers are deceiving you at first, but this close, you are certain: he is littered with scars and wounds color-picked from late twilight skies. His back doesn't even look this bad. It's always been more than bruised knuckles and leg sprains.

And it's familiar. All of it. Bruises and cuts new and old, the shape of him, the color. The stab wound is new but all of this is months (years) in the making.

The closer you get, the more it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes follow the length of his torso and then—your fingers press against his side, up against a healed gunshot wound. You brush your thumb against it. It makes you feel nauseous.

You look up and he's looking at you. Defeated. Relieved. You can feel the denial creeping in but it all clicks into place, doesn't it?

The bullet wound, the limp, the job offer, the sprained leg. You couldn't see it because, frankly, they couldn't be any more different from each other. And yet...

Bruce's hand covers yours and keeps it there.

That damned bullet brought you together. It had brought Batman to you, it had brought you to Bruce, and it had solidified in no small way that whatever had led you to this moment in time was years in the making. All because you wanted to live.

"Come with me." And Bruce leads you upstairs.

17 years ago.

"I think it could be good," Alex holds up the bottle to you, "if you're down."

You hate the taste of whatever she's giving you but it does make you tingly. You take a big swig and set it between you on the concrete, "You know I'll go wherever you go."

Alex grins, "That's the spirit!"

On Tuesdays, you and Alex like to watch the cars go by from the alley. It's between a Thai restaurant and a laundromat so it always smells good; if it's not the fabric softener, then it's the pho. It's where you always find her. After a few heart-to-hearts spent curled up on the ground with her here, it became "your" territory.

Claiming it didn't stop people from holing up inside and standing around a barrel fire, nor did it stop the laundromat owner nor the line cooks from coming out to smoke and take out the trash. But it did mean that you both liked it here. For lack of other places to go.

"You know that piece of shit from the Vipers won't take no for an answer?" Alex kicks at a rat that scuttles past, making sure it wouldn't take a bite out of her ankle.

"You're very popular, it's not a surprise."

"Shit, it's just cause they know my parents don't give a shit where I go. They're all like, 'Come join us! You could be one of our best! We'll pay you more in a day than you'd make stealing in a week!' but they don't talk about all the kids floating in the river when they try to do better for themselves."

"Like you'd let someone boss you around." You giggle, and Alex beams.

"No way in hell! I love my independence. See, I can take whatever I want whenever I want. Those sad fucks in the Vipers have to answer to some... some random guy they rarely ever see. Why would I want that?"

You'd seen the kids the Vipers recruited. There was no age limit, some as young as nine were happily making deliveries. It used to be a joke in your school that any kid with a front door would end up in the Vipers eventually.

You wondered if you would've ended up there too, had you not been with Alex.

Your makeshift gang of two which had grown by three in the last few months was less organized than the Vipers. It didn't pay unless you pulled your weight, and most of it was at Alex's discretion. For the most part, none of you moved without her. She was the head, the leader, and the only reason you could afford your new winter boots this month.

And you would truly follow her wherever she went.

You watch a few more cars pass. You press your head to the brick and let the sounds of the city light your nerves. That is until you feel a breeze where Alex had once been. You open an eye and find her inching further into the alley. "Hey," you call, but she turns and shushes you so your next words come out in a whisper, "where you going?"

She frantically waves you over.

You don't see what she's looking at until you get about halfway down the alley, but the voices are crystal clear at this point. There's a woman and a young boy standing off behind a dumpster, but when the woman catches sight of you and Alex, she shoves something into the boy's hands and dips around the corner. The boy, flustered, is just barely able to put it away before Alex is grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the light.

It becomes clear that he's not a young boy. He's about your age, maybe off by a year or two, but so thin and lanky that his puffer jacket engulfs him completely. Alex yanks his sleeve down to reveal a poorly done tattoo of a snake going up his upper arm, jagged and unfinished like he'd run off in the middle of getting it done. It didn't seem too far-fetched an idea: the guy looked 92 pounds soaking wet.

"You're on the wrong turf, kid." Alex warns, but you know her tone of voice is too final to be a warning.

The guy yanks his arm back, "Fuck off."

You realize what he was fumbling with when the woman had run. A small bag of something white, and a wad of cash sticking out of his pocket. You snort, "Dealing for the Vipers a little far from home, aren't you? You must be new."

The guy tries to escape but Alex grabs the hood of his jacket and drags him back, "We'll overlook the trespassing if you give us a cut."

"Leave me alone. This place doesn't belong to anyone." But as soon as he says it, Alex takes a hold of his dirty blond hair and yanks his face up to look at her. You go to grab his money while he's distracted but you don't expect him to brandish a knife until he slashes at you. He misses, but it sets Alex off.

She uses his hair to throw him into the side of the dumpster and you can see the thoughts rattling around his head upon impact.

"Right, everything belongs to the Vipers. Is that why your boss is still Falcone's little bitch?"

The guy is indignant against the taunts. He tries to slash at her but Alex is faster, always has been, and she has his wrist in a death grip before he can even get close. You watch her twist it back until he lets out a cry of pain, the knife clattering to the floor at your feet. You take it and hold it up to his neck, watching his eyes go wild between you and Alex.

"Give us the money and we'll pretend this never happened-" you start, but jump back when you feel something wet hit your cheek. You almost don't believe it, but the guy has some spittle dribbling down his bottom lip and a satisfied smile when you lock eyes with him again.

Alex wasn't just fast. You remember her standing up to your childhood bullies between classes and giving them shiners that she still bragged up to this day. It took a few years before you both stopped ending up with twice as many injuries, and a few more years after that before you stopped having bullies at all.

And this guy— maybe he didn't know what he'd gotten himself into and that extended to more than just this moment in time—was half the size of the guys Alex had beaten to tears in the past.

It does not surprise you that he crumbles to the ground with the very first punch to his gut. Alex hits hard first to make the fights quick, and so when her next punch lands on his nose, you know that something has been broken. With each kick to his gut, the tears free flow as if surely, the next hit will kill him.

You watch silently. Alex is unforgiving.

After a minute or two goes by, he is so beaten down that he wheezes every time he breezes. You're certain Alex has gone overboard but something in your heart swells at the thought that it was for you.

When all is said and done, you snatch the money from his jacket and he doesn't bother to stop you, head leaning against the ground as tears and blood and snot trickle into a puddle. For good measure, Alex snatches the drugs too, "Don't show your face in this alley again or you won't leave alive."

And you know this is a lie. A trick to make her bigger and badder. A threat that she would never follow through on. Because Alex always made herself look bigger, badder, scarier, deadlier. It's what protected you both on the streets. It's what made you follow her, what made your friends follow her.

Alex was everything, and you would follow her anywhere.

You ride in silence together down to the terminus. You feel much the same as you did the first time. Bruce pulls back the gate and you spill out into the dark, but much like before, the lights and TV kick on. The News 7 jingle plays, Bruce pads over to mute it.

You watch him stand a few feet away from you, avoiding your eyes as they sweep the floor. There are those same tools scattered about, hubcaps stacked on top of tires, wires going from one side of the room to the other. It looks just like you'd last seen it, only the car that had once been covered by tarp is now on full display. It gleams in the overhead lights, as much of a monster in clear view as it was in shadow.

He really wasn't shitting you.

When you still don't say anything, Bruce walks over to his desk. Underneath it is a crate full of folders, and you realize he's getting yours when he turns and holds one out to you. You take it, inching closer. Without a word shared, Bruce pulls up something on his computer and you nearly flinch when your mugshot is reflected back at you on one of the screens.

"Your record isn't accessible unless I use a workaround which isn't... legal, but it's how I found your file without Russo. The GCPD doesn't know." You peer at him from the corner of your eye, urging him to explain, "I taught myself how to get in."

Your eyes are welling up with tears the longer you stare at the younger version of yourself. Bruce continues, "I know what the record says. That they traced back a few robberies to you and your friends over the years, and that you'd had a run in with a Viper the night you met Russo. You helped track them down, took out a portion of the gang's operation, and your record was sealed. That's all."

"They didn't trace all of them back to us," you start, not really wanting to talk, "just some. There were more."

Bruce seems to sense that as he closes the record, "It's your turn. To ask, I mean."

You look at Bruce in the face and hate the softness there. You can't be angry, or numb like you wish you could be. Your chest is all twisted up with emotion with no one feeling staying for long, even if it would flare up again every once in a while. "Did you know about me before or after you asked me to work for you?"

"Before. After that morning, I couldn't stop... thinking about you. Truth be told, me and Alfred have been doing this alone ever since I started. Before you, he was the one that would stitch me up, kept me out of doctor's offices where someone might talk. But he was also running the company for me, and taking care of me, and worrying about me. I knew if I was going to commit to this, I would need to try and stay alive, and I always meant to find someone but it wasn't an easy decision to make. Until I met you."

You know it's his turn now, but you can't help asking, "And you didn't think... maybe the kid with a record would be a bad idea?"

Bruce cracks a smile, "I mean, the stitches never got infected." You would've laughed at that if you were in a better mood. "I wasn't always so understanding. But I imagine someone who's dedicated the better part of their life to saving lives has more than made up for it."

Your head automatically shakes, "I can never make up for what I did."

"You don't have to tell me everything," he begins delicately, "but I need to know what Dimitri is after. I need to know what he's thinking. You're the only one who can help me."

You blink away a few tears and plop into a stool by his desk, dropping your head in your hands. The memories suffocate you, rushing at you like a flash flood. You don't know where to start, let alone what you want to tell him. An hour ago, you were certain he was caught up in a Gotham mob, planning to use your history as blackmail for... something.

You can't quite reconcile the feelings you have for Batman with the face of Bruce Wayne. Or who you thought was Bruce Wayne.

But he was right. You were the best chance at catching Dimitri. You were the only one who could make it up to Russo.

You swallow at the memory of Russo's mutilated body, but then... you remember him in that police station. When you were 16 and wishing you were dead. You suck in a sharp breath, "I met Alex when I was a baby. I mean, we've known each other for a long time- knew each other. She and I used to be attached at the hip. She protected me from bullies and I would sneak out at night to listen to her vent about her parents, about Gotham. She fucking hated it here. I did too.

"Alex and I learned that if you want to survive, you have to be powerful. So we became powerful. You might not think a pair of 14 year olds are all that powerful in the grand scheme of things but when it was just us against the world, it was addicting. When we wanted something, we just... took it. We started off pickpocket-ting on the streets, usually assholes who could afford to lose a hundred or two. And then we started robbing places, small-time stuff, you know. Run down houses, apartments, swiping out of registers when no one was looking. If anyone gave us shit, we just turned tail and ran. It was hard enough trying to make ends meet for our parents, and we liked the thrill of it. We rarely ever got caught.

"Eventually, some of our friends from school joined us and we become a little piece-of-shit gang. God. We were like... fucking 15, running around the city like we were so big and bad. My parents had no clue what I was really up to but they knew something was wrong. I didn't care. I was with Alex and I would follow Alex anywhere. We had this little alleyway, right? Between a Thai place and a laundromat. That's where I could always find her. And one day, we were fucking around and caught some guy dealing back there. Alex got pissed. We tried to take his money but he defended himself. I said something... he spit at me. And Alex just lost it.

"She beat him into the concrete and I just... watched. This guy, couldn't even throw a punch if his life depended on it, and she just wailed on him. And I watched. And I liked it. I felt powerful. We felt powerful. I know, a pair of jackass teenagers hurting people for fun? We were pathetic. But it didn't feel that way, being with Alex. She was my best friend."

The tears are free-falling now and you don't even bother to wipe them away. It would feel cowardly. You couldn't hide from Bruce now, not anymore. Not if he wanted to believe in you. "We didn't know who this kid was, other than the fact he was a Viper. A young one, a weak one. We didn't think he'd even last a week. Most kids like him end up getting disposed of by the boss anyway. And then all five of us were fucking around in that alley again when they showed up: the guy, Dimitri, and his sister Nat and this other kid. All of 'em Vipers.

"Nat wanted the money and the drugs back. Kid had a black eye so I guess he'd gotten shit from his boss about it. Alex was... indignant. Refused. For once, I begged her to give in but she just wouldn't fucking listen. Of course she wouldn't, do you know how much I enabled her? We were on top of the world, why would she give in? And she really pissed Nat off with that, but then she started mouthing off and then... Nat shot her. Right in front of me. It was instant."

Bruce remains incredibly still. His lips part to say something but nothing really comes out. You keep on going, "I was so shocked that I didn't even move when Nat turned the gun on me. It was like... I don't know, it was like I couldn't quite believe she was dead. But I understood what happened. Logically. I saw it happen. I saw the bullet in her brain. And when Nat turned on me, I think a part of me just... didn't want to have to think about it. Like a coward. If it wasn't for our friends pulling me out of the way, I wouldn't... be here. Next thing I knew, I was at the GCPD getting investigated for murder."

"They thought one of you did it?"

"The cops that brought us in, yeah. They just so happened to be around the corner when we ran into them. By that time, Nat and Dimitri had run off. The cops thought it was some fight between the five of us and that one of us pulled the trigger, but they couldn't find the gun. That's when Detective Russo showed up."

"And he offered to get you a plea deal."

You nod, sniffling, "He told me... he said that he could tell I'd never seen something like that before. There was no way I could've done it. And when I couldn't even finish the whole story without choking up, he said... he said that in exchange for our help catching Natalie, he would make sure all the crimes they tied back to us were sealed and expunged."

"What about Natalie? How did they find her?"

"The GCPD had been looking into the Vipers for months. Vipers almost exclusively recruit minors because they're more loyal, but there wasn't a way to get in without putting some innocent kid in danger. So they had us look into it. We found one of their hideouts by the docks. GCPD wanted to get the kids out and into the foster system since a lot of them were orphans, like Natalie and Dimitri. But the ambush didn't take. They got a couple kids out but... a few died, including Nat. Last I heard of Dimitri, he got tried as an adult for killing a cop during the shootout. That was life in Arkham."

Bruce shifts closer, "Until he got out. And he came looking for Russo."

"He was just a kid, Bruce," your voice cracks, "he was just a kid. He couldn't even defend himself. And because we were assholes we got his sister killed and we got him put away. He was just a kid."

"So were you."

Something about the tender way Bruce says that makes you sob. For years, you've looked back on that moment with so much guilt, knowing how lucky you were to make it out of that situation alive and unscathed. How lucky you were to be taken seriously, to be cared for, for a detective like Joey Russo to show you a picture of his kid in his wallet and tell you that he would hate to see them in your position.

You were lucky that you got to fix your grades and go to college, study medicine, save lives, be here. Natalie didn't get that. Dimitri didn't get that. Alex didn't get that.

"You said... you said you hated Gotham. Why did you stay?"

You wipe at your cheeks, "I- I honestly... I wanted to. My parents made a deal with me that we would leave for New Jersey after I graduated but I didn't want to leave. I couldn't. I couldn't leave Alex. I couldn't leave the city, after all I'd done to it. In it. I wanted to leave like my friends because the guilt was so much but I felt obligated to fix it. I wanted to help people. Not hurt them. And I've worked hard to do better. I just can't leave. I don't want to leave."

What surprises you is the hand on your face afterwards. Bruce cups his your cheek. His thumb brushes away some tears, and it feels so unlike Bruce even though it's him, even though he's the one who cradled and comforted you after being held hostage, even though he was the one that stood on your fire escape and confessed that he trusted you, liked you even. Your brain just sort of stops there. You melt like putty in his hand. You realize you've been craving a gentle touch like this for a while.

"Then you won't have to," Bruce casts his eyes to the side, looking at where you laid your file on the desk. You can see the cogs turning beneath his furrowed brow, "I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"...You won't like it."

[ohmyamor]

Richkid!Ateez

a/n: no jongho in this because it was a request inspired by my original richkid jongho post as well as part 2.

hongjoong

you first met hongjoong when you stumbled upon him in an empty classroom long after school had ended

as the vice president for the arts club, you, along with the president of the club, were tasked with gathering some extra supplies

the two of you had gone to the administration to ask for more funding to buy some new supplies, ones that didn't look like they had been run through by a pack of first graders

but admin didn't seem to particularly care for such trivial things like the arts

dismissing you quite quickly and telling you to look for extra supplies around the school

and so, you and the president were tasked with going through every singly empty classroom in hopes of scrounging together some decent supplies

the president had taken the east side of the school, while you looked on the west side in hopes of covering more ground

dragging your feet, you walked towards the last classroom of your side of the school

so far, you had only managed to find a few more packs of colored pencils and markers

and although it wasn't anything remarkable, you were grateful to have found anything in the first place

so with low hopes, you prayed that you would be able to find something else in the last room

slamming the door open, you jump when you make eye contact with someone sitting in the middle of the room

all the desks are pushed to the sides of the room quite messily

some of the chairs are knocked over, like someone pushed them away in a rush and never bothered to pick it up

and in the middle of the mess sits Kim Honjoong

in front of him on the ground is a large black jacket that's spread out, different colored paints and markers surrounding him

of course, you know who he is

it's kind of hard not to

his family runs one of the biggest banks in the country, and they sent him to this school in hopes of properly preparing him to take over the family business

but (according to the rumors) Hongjoong had all but stuck his middle finger in his family's faces, slacking off and doing everything in his power to avoid learning anything about business and money

you had heard rumors that he was quite artistic, and looking at the beautifully painted jacket that lays on the ground in front of him, you believe the rumors are true

"Oh," you say awkwardly when Hongjoong looks up from his project to stare at you

"uh, sorry, I didn't think anyone else would still be here," you explain

Hongjoong tilts his head to side

"I like working here because no one ever uses this classroom so I can keep all my supplies safe," he gestures to the loads of paints that surround him

you nod, still feeling a little bit bad about walking in on him

"okay, well, I'm gonna go now," you point behind you and begin to close the door

"wait!"

you pause, peering into the classroom once again

"what are you doing here so late?" Hongjoong raises his eyebrow

"I'm part of the art club and we need more supplies, but this stupid school doesn't think the arts are worth their money," you roll your eyes, "so, we're stuck looking for extra ones in the empty classrooms."

"no offense," you add, realizing you just called this very prestigious school stupid in front of a kid who comes from a very prestigious family

Hongjoong cracks a small smile

"no offense taken"

it's quiet for another moment

"I didn't realize we had an art club," Hongjoong comments

you nod

"yeah, the school doesn't really like us promoting it. I'm pretty sure it's because they want everyone to join the fencing club or whatever rich people do on their free time," you joke

you can't help but feel a little bit proud at the way Hongjoong throws his head back in laughter

"maybe I'll join," he says once his laughter has died down

you're a little shocked, but do your best not to let it show on your face

"well, we meet every Thursday after school," you tell him

"just don't expect us to have all your fancy paints and stuff, we're on a budget"

Hongjoong giggles before sending you a cocky smile

"don't worry, I know some people who would love to make a very generous donation to the art club"

it's about a week later when you and your president get called into the office

the principal seems annoyed, tossing you guys a piece of paper that you soon realize is a check

grabbing it off the desk, you and the president can't help but stare with wide eyes and gaping mouths at the number of zeroes you see written

"wh-who donated this?" your president asks, completely floored

"The Kim family," replies your principal, muttering a "surprisingly" under their breath

later that day during lunch, you happen to pass by Hongjoong who's talking with his group of friends

the two of you make eye contact and he sends you a wink

looking away, you bite back the smile that threatens to appear on your face

seonghwa

"ohmygodimsofucked" you breathe out harshly, running through the doors of the building

you grip your bag tightly, praying that your stuff doesn't fall out of the small hole on the bottom

your cat had taken it upon herself to use it as a personal scratching post

although you're pretty sure she did it because she was mad that you started limiting her on how many treats she ate

you're not one for fat-shaming, but she was getting pretty chunky

your shoes squeak as you book it past different classrooms, ignoring the weird looks from the students inside of them

you were already late for your exam, and you had three minutes to make it to class before you exceeded the 10-minute grace period your teacher allowed on test days

you can already see the door at the very end of the hall and mentally cheer

almost there, almost there, almost the-

"what are you doing?"

you let out a scream as you feel the tip of your shoe scrape the ground, sending you hurdling forward

you shove your arms out in front of you and allow the palms of your hands to break the momentum of your fall

"ow" you wince, feeling the sharp sting from the tile flooring

"oh my goodness, are you okay?"

at the familiar voice, you look up, only to see none other than Park Seonghwa staring at you with concern

oh fuck

Park Seonghwa, top student in your grade and the entire school, teacher fan-favorite, and hall monitor

of course, not that Seonghwa was mean or anything

he has a reputation for being quite nice, causing all the students to love him

not to mention his other-worldly beauty

the amount of chocolate he gets on Valentine's Day could rival how much they sell at candy stores

but, he is also known for being quite serious when it comes to attendance and tardiness

whenever he catches students ditching class or being late, he has no problem lecturing them and giving them after school detention

which you absolutely cannot afford today because you have to go pick up your younger brother from his school across town

"excuse me?" his voice pulls you out of your worries

"huh?" you answer, staring at him wide-eyed

"are you okay?" Seonghwa stares at you concerned

"that was a pretty nasty fall," he comments, glancing down at the way you clench your hands to try and stop the stinging

reaching out, Seonghwa gently touches your hand

"May I?," he asks, looking up at you through his eyelashes

you can't reply, absolutely shocked at what's happening, only managing to give him a small nod

he ever so gently opens your hands and winces at the sight of your bright red and scratched up palms

without saying a word, Seonghwa brings his backpack to his front and opens the smallest pocket, rummaging around inside of it before letting out a satisfied hum and pulling something out

it's a cat band-aid

you can't stop the small "cute" that escapes your mouth at the sight of it

Seonghwa's face turns red

"they were the only ones left at the store," he mutters as he begins to carefully place the bandages on your hands

he says sorry when you let out a hiss at the sting

once he's done, Seonghwa helps you stand up and holds your bag out to you

"how come you're in such a rush?" he questions

you glance down at your phone, sighing when you realize that you've missed the 10 minute mark

"I had an exam today and my teacher allows us a ten minute grace period, so I was hoping I would make it," you explain, "but I already missed it."

Seonghwa frowns at the way you look so disappointed

"what class is it for?"

"statistics with Snow"

Seonghwa perks up at the mention of your teacher's name

"Snow? I had him last year, he loves me. If you want, I can tell him I needed your help with something and ask him to let you re-take the test, I'm pretty sure he'll say yes."

you stare at him, absolutely floored

"you would do that?"

what happened to the scary hall monitor everyone spreads rumors about?

Seonghwa hesitates, but nods

"I feel bad about scaring you and causing you to fall, which ultimately led to you missing class," he frowns

"I-Thank you, Seonghwa, I do't even know what to say," you tell him honestly

once again, a light pink flush makes its way onto Seonghwa's face

"y-yeah, of course"

taking a look at his watch, Seonghwa says something that shocks you even more

"well, since you aren't going to class, do you want to go with me to the convenience store down the block?"

did you hear that correctly?

not only is the Park Seonghwa letting you off the hook, he also bandaged your hands, offered to lie to your teacher to let you retake your exam, and now he's asking if you want to ditch for part of the day to go to the convenience store

what the fuck is going on today?

"I'm sorry, is the school's top student asking me if I want to ditch?" you can't help but tease

Seonghwa pouts slightly, crossing his arms

"I mean, I can just give you detention instead, if you want"

shaking your head no, you tell him that you'd be more than happy to go with him

"well then, let's go," he smiles, offering his arm to you, and the two of you begin making your way out of the building

yunho

you’re in your first period of the day, a chill class where your teacher allows everyone to do whatever they need/want

you sit quietly at your desk, working on some homework

some students around you do the same, while others chat quietly with their friends and some even use the time to sneak in a few more minutes of sleep

you’re so focused on completing this assignment that you don’t notice the student aid that walks into the classroom and hands your teacher a note

you only look up when the teacher calls your name

he motions you to come up to his desk

nervously, you place your pencil down and make your way to the front

“Looks like we have a new student and the office wants you to show him around,” your teacher explains, handing you the office note

you wordlessly take it from him, looking down at the paper

“Go ahead and grab your things, I’ll let your other teachers know that you might be late for your next class.”

nodding, you walk back to your desk to quickly pack up your things before heading out

once you reach the office, you walk in, sending a kind smile to the ladies who work in the front

one of them nods her head towards the principal’s room and you thank her before making your way over

knocking on the door, you wait until you hear the principal’s “come in” before opening the door and stepping inside

“Ah, (Y/n), thank you for coming in,” your principal smiles

“This is Jeong Yunho, he’s our newest student who just transferred from a different school district.”

the boy stands up from the chair and reaches out his hand

you shake it, slightly taken aback at his height

he’s incredibly tall, with black dyed hair, and yet, despite his intimidating stature, his face is kind

“Nice to me you Yunho,” you greet politely

he smiles a bit shyly, giving you a quiet hello and looking away

“As one of our top and most involved students, I knew you would be the best choice to guide Yunho around the school and help him get adjusted,” your principal smiles.

she claps her hands together

“So go ahead you two. Yunho, don’t worry, you’re in great hands with our (Y/n) here and I hope you have an excellent first day,” she smiles before ushering the two of you out

you and Yunho stand outside in the hallway, an awkward silence overcoming the both of you

“Can I see your schedule?” You ask politely

he nods, reaching into his pocket and digging out the paper

you scan your eyes over it, humming when you notice that you share most of your classes with him

“Well you’re in luck,” you send him a smile. “Looks like we share most of our classes so you can just follow me around for today.”

“Great,” Yunho replies, the tips of his ears turning slightly red

and so throughout the day, you guide Yunho to your shared classes, telling him what buildings are for which classes and some of the best spots for some quiet time

his last two classes of the day are different from yours, so you take it upon yourself to get a campus map and label where his classes are going to be

as the bell rings for lunch, you take your time packing up your things

most of the students have already filed out of the classroom by the time you’re done

and you can’t help but jump when you look up and notice Yunho standing in front of your desk

“Oh, Yunho, is everything okay?” you ask

he nods

“Yeah everything’s great, but I, uh-” his eyes flicker around nervously

“I was wondering if we could have lunch together? I don’t really know anyone else,” he admits, a shy smile taking over his face

you think about it for a second before nodding

“Yeah of course we can. But I’m sure by the end of the week you’ll have your own little group to hang out with, so don’t worry,” you reassure him

Yunho doesn’t admit that he quite enjoys spending his day with you

and so you two eat lunch together, sitting side by side in the courtyard and chatting, getting to know each other

by the time the lunch period ends, Yunho can’t help but pout

“We don’t have anymore classes together right?”

you shake your head

“No but I’m sure you’ll do great,” you send him a reassuring smile

he frowns for a split second and seems to curl into himself slightly before an idea pops into his head

“Let’s go eat after school!” he suggests cheerfully

You pause

“What?”

“After school, my family’s driver is picking me up, so if you don’t have anything to do, let’s go eat together!”

“I don’t know about that,” you trail off

you figured he would be tired of you by now, but offering to go eat together after school?

“C’mon, I’ll even pay,” Yunho attempts to bribe you

he can see the hesitance on your face and gently touches your arm

“I really enjoy hanging out with you (Y/n),” he stares into your eyes

“And I’d love it if we can become friends rather than going our separate ways.”

you feel your chest warm at his words

and the way Yunho stares at you with wide, starry eyes makes you falter

you sigh

“Alright, let’s hang out after school,” you relent

“Meet me here after your last class and we can leave together.”

Yunho’s smile is breathtaking and you have to force yourself to look away

maybe this won’t be too bad you think

yeosang

out of all your classes, you think this one has to be your favorite

orchestra

you’ve been playing cello for as long as you could remember, and to be able to take a class solely dedicated to the instrument is perfect

you sit in the corner of the room where you and few other cello players have set up, watching as your instructor claps her hands

“Okay students, as you know, our spring recital is coming up.”

a few of the students cheer and a smile takes over the instructor’s face

“This year, we've decided to do things a little differently. Rather than having student solos, I thought it would be a great idea to have you guys do duets with your classmates.”

there’s mixed reactions, some students groaning while others look excitedly at their friends

“But, before you all get excited, I already went ahead and paired each of you up with a player of a different instrument.”

this time, more groans ring out throughout the room

you fidget in your seat slightly

while you don’t particularly love this idea, it’s also not necessarily the worst thing that could happen

meanwhile, the instructor has already begun to read off pairs of names

“Yeosang and (Y/n)”

you blink

Yeosang?

as in, the best violinist in your school?

oh fuck

you look around the room before finding the back of his head

his long blonde hair is styled nicely, and you watch as he reaches a hand up to gently push some of his hair behind his ear

if you weren’t nervous before, you’re definitely nervous now

once your instructor has finished reading off the pairs, she allows you all to break and get together with your partner

you sit and fidget with your bag, unsure if you should make your way over to Yeosang, or if he’s coming to you

the sound of someone clearing their throat causes you to look up

Yeosang stands in front of you, hand gripping the case for his violin

“(Y/n), right?”

you nod

“Looks like we’re partners,” he says slightly awkwardly

you nod once again, unable to look him directly in the eyes

“Okay, well, I think it would be best if we meet up after school to practice together. Meet me in the main parking lot and we can go over to my house.”

his house??

you clear your throat before replying, “okay that sounds good."

Yeosang gives you a curt nod before the bell rings and he makes his way out of the classroom

after school, you stand alone in the almost empty parking lot

next to you is your cello case and in your hands is a box of chocolate croissants one of your friends had given you

where is he? you think, beginning to get a little nervous at the thought that Yeosang might've forgotten about you

you're about to begin walking away when you spot him running out of the doors

by the time he gets to you, his normally pristine hair is slightly messy and out of place, and he pants hard

you resist the urge to fix his hair for him

"Sorry about that," Yeosang apologizes once he's regained his breath

"One of my teachers asked me to stay back to help him with something and I hadn't realized how late it had gotten," he admits sheepishly

you wave him off, letting him know it's not a big deal

"I thought you might've forgotten about me," you joke

Yeosang shakes his head

"never."

before you even have a chance to comprehend his answer, he's reaching out to pick up your cello case

you frantically try to stop him from picking it up, but he gently shoos away your hands

"I'm stronger than I look, lovely"

he guides you to his car where he carefully puts away your instruments, opening the passenger door for you and getting settled himself

once the two of you reach his house, you watch in slight awe as the large gates to the property open up

pulling up to the very front door, Yeosang begins to get out of the car and you follow, clutching the box of sweets

you watch as he hands a man in a suit the car keys before guiding you inside the house

"If you don't mind me asking," he starts. "What are those?" he gestures to the pink box in your hand

"Oh!" you look down

"A friend of mine gave me some chocolate croissants during our last period."

you push the box towards him

"Feel free to have some, as a thank you for letting me practice here and for the ride"

with a small smile, Yeosang thanks you and reaches into the box, grabbing one and pulling it out

you grab one for yourself as well before the two of you get started on learning the music sheets

it's a few minutes later when you look up at Yeosang and let out a small laugh

he has chocolate smeared on the side of his mouth and he even managed to get some on the tip of his nose

"I'm guessing the croissant was good?" you gesture to the small mess on his face

pulling his phone out, he looks in his camera and begins to turn red

you laugh even louder, reaching into your backpack to pull out a tissue

you lean across the table, getting close to Yeosang's face and ever so gently wiping off the chocolate

when you finally move away, Yeosang doesn't know if his face is red from the embarrassment or from having you so close to him

san

"c'monnnn, you have to go to at least one of their games before we graduate!" your friend pesters you about attending the school's baseball game this upcoming Friday

sure, a lot of the boys on the team are nice to look at

but between academics, extra curricular's, and family obligations, you don't really have time to be going to watch boys in tight pants run around a field

you roll your eyes, shoving her off from where she's draped herself on your shoulder

"I really don't" you reply dryly, taking a bite of your sandwich

your friend rolls her eyes

"whatever, if you think I'm gonna give up on trying to convince you then you're sorely mistaken"

she grins, and you wince

you know better than anybody that when she puts her mind to something, she always gets what she wants

the bell signaling the end of the lunch period rings and you begin to pack up your lunch

"I'll meet you after school for our volunteer hours!" your friend waves goodbye as she begins heading towards her class

you wave back and continue packing up

you sling your backpack over your shoulder, beginning the walk to the science building

just as you turn the corner, you crash into something hard

you let out a small "oof" and stumble back

before you're able to fall on your ass, a hand reaches out and grabs you by the arm, helping to stabilize you

you look up to see who you crashed into

Choi San

star player of the baseball team and the it boy of the school

"I'm so sorry!" he apologizes, eyes wide

you wave him off

"it's okay, I wasn't looking where I was going either."

he bites the inside of his cheek and tilts his head

"I don't think I've seen you around before, what's your name?"

you hesitate a little

you're a scholarship student, and while you're very proud of how your work ethic that has gotten you this scholarship to such a fancy school

you can't help but be a little nervous telling one of the most popular and wealthy students in the school who you are

"(Y/n)" you eventually reply when San's eyes won't leave yours

his eyes light up

"I thought you looked familiar! You're one of the top students in our entire grade"

you feel your face get warm and look down at your shoes

"uh, yeah, that's me"

"do you think you could help me in my language class?" San questions

you blink, not expecting those words to come out of his mouth

"uhhhh"

quite frankly, you have a lot on your plate

and you're not sure you can handle taking on another student to tutor

"I promise I'm not a lost cause!" San all but begs

"I'm just a few points away from being suspended from playing on the team and I really can't stand the idea of not playing," he rubs the back of his neck nervously

San stares at you with such hope in his eyes that you can't find it in yourself to say no

so you sigh and relent, nodding your head as San breaks into a wide smile

you notice the dimples that pop up on his cheeks when he grins

cute

"thank you thank you thank you!"

he glances down at his phone before letting out a small "oh shit"

"class is about to start, I should get going,"

"Thank you again (Y/n), for agreeing to tutor me, I really do appreciate it"

just as he begins walking away, he pauses and turns back around

"Are you coming to our game this Friday?"

"I'm not really a huge sports person," you admit. "So, probably not."

San pouts and you immediately feel the need to take back your response

"But I guess I can try making it to one."

oh your friend is never going to let you live this down

another blinding smile makes its way onto his face

"I promise to play my best to make it worth your time."

San sends you a wink

"I gotta impress my pretty tutor"

mingi

you stand awkwardly next to your dad, staring at Mingi

when your dad had mentioned that one of his friends suggested this "really great mechanic" in the neighborhood who was also "kinda young", the thought that it might be someone in your grade had never even crossed your mind

you honestly didn't even think it would be a possibility

"oh, do you two know each other?" your dad asks, looking back and forth between you and Mingi

"sort of?" you reply hesitantly

sure, you knew who he s

one of the wealthiest, smartest, hottest kids in your grade

but the two of you weren't friends by any means

the most interacting you had done was a brief "sorry" when you guys had bumped into each other in the hallway that one time

you were brought out of your thoughts when Mingi sent your dad a bright smile, reaching forward to shake his hand

"Hi sir, I'm Mingi, I share a couple of classes with (Y/n)."

he knows my name?

your dad nods, seeming impressed by the boy's manners

"well, I'm here because I've been having some car trouble and a friend of mine recommended you. I was hoping you could spare some time to take a look at it," he pats the hood of the car

Mingi nods

"Of course sir. As long as nothing's causing major issues, I should be able to get it back to you in two days," Mingi says, taking a glance at the vehicle. "I'm a little backed up with appointments right now, but I promise to try my best to get it done as fast as possible"

your dad nods

"Thanks, son."

a grin makes its way onto your dad's face

"And just remember, I know what school you go to if you do anything to hurt my baby."

you groan, missing the way Mingi's eyes dart to you rather than the car

"I would never," Mingi replies seriously

"daaaaaad" you shove his shoulder slightly, feeling your face heat up

facing Mingi, you apologize for you dad's comments

the last thing you need is for his parents to show up at your house questioning you as to why your father decided to threaten their son

just then, the sound of a phone ringing begins to echo through the small garage

pulling his phone out of his pocket, you watch your dad's eyebrows furrow as he reads the name of the caller

"give me a second kids," he says, bringing the phone up to his ear and stepping out of the garage to answer the call

once the door is shut, you look back at Mingi, who, to your surprise, is already staring at you

"I'm sorry about that," you apologize once again. "He's pretty serious about his car, doesn't like to let a lot of people touch it."

Mingi nods understandingly

"No worries, I get it. I guess I should be honored he trusted me enough to bring it here," he grins

taking a look around, you can't help but be a little impressed by how legit everything looks

not that you know much about mechanic shops

"So, I didn't know you were also a mechanic outside of school," you mention. "I thought your parents would want you to focus on business and stuff like that."

Mingi's ears turn warm and he brings an arm up to rub the side of his neck

"That's because they don't really know I do this," he admits

your mouth drops open

"How do you manage to run all of this on your own without them finding out?"

he shrugs

"'s not hard when they're never home in the first place."

you frown

"but don't feel bad," Mingi continues, noticing the look on your face. "This is something I really enjoy doing and I'm glad I can do this all on my own."

the way Mingi's face brightens up when talking about something he's so obviously passionate about makes your heart feel fuzzy

before you can say anything else, the door to the garage opens and your dad walks back in

"Sorry sweetheart, but we're gonna have to get going. The guys back at the office are having trouble sorting this deal out and they need my help," your dad rolls his eyes

"Thanks again, son, for helping me out. Whenever my car's ready just go ahead and let my daughter know since you guys see each other at school anyways," your dad places a hand on your shoulder

"I didn't sign up to be your messenger," you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest

Mingi lets out a deep laugh

"Of course, sir"

your dad begins walking out after saying goodbye to Mingi, and you follow, pausing at the door to look back at him

"Bye Mingi," you smile, sending him a small wave

"Bye (Y/N), I'll see you in class," he calls out

once the two of you leave, Mingi gets to work taking a look at your dad's car

maybe, just maybe, this car will finally give him the chance to talk to you more

wooyoung

you and Wooyoung had actually been best friends for as long as you could remember

when you were younger, your mom had been hired by Wooyoung’s family to tutor him in any and all subjects

as she was a single mom and couldn’t always afford babysitting, she would often times bring you along with her when she went to Wooyoung’s family’s house

most of the time you would sit quietly on one of the large couches and work on homework or color

but one day, a small Wooyoung had managed to sneak away from your mom and come see you

he’d always see his tutor coming in and out of the house alongside a young girl around his age, but he never actually saw you up close or talked to you

and so, as any child would do, his curiosity got the better of him and he went out in search of answers

despite the initial scare he gave you when he screamed “BOO” in your ear, the two of you had gotten along quite nicely

after his tutoring sessions and when you were done with homework, your mom and Wooyoung’s parents would watch with fond eyes as you two chased each other around the large backyard

as you both grew up, and even when your mom stopped needing to tutor him, the two of you remained incredibly close

it’s how you were even able to attend this fancy school in the first place

the tuition certainly cost an arm and a leg, something your mom would never be able to afford on her own

but Wooyoung’s parents insisted that you attend as well, saying it was one of the best schools in the country and they would put in a good word for you

they also took it upon themselves to cover the cost of your tuition, saying that at least this way, they knew you would keep an eye on their son

and so you and Wooyoung had fallen into a comfortable routine with each other, knowing the other person inside and out

so when one day you were late leaving your last class, Wooyoung couldn’t help but grow slightly concerned

you’re an incredibly punctual person, and even on the rare occasion that you would be late, you always made sure to let him know ahead of time

tapping his foot on the pavement anxiously, Wooyoung leaned against his sleek back car and glanced at his watch

“Where is she?” he muttered to himself

only the sound of your laughter caused him to look up

you were finally walking towards him, but next to you was a boy

Wooyoung stared hard at the guy next to you, watching with distaste as you waved bye a little too enthusiastically to him before skipping over to the car

“Who was that?” he asks, intrigued and annoyed at the same time

“Oh, he’s in my statistics class,” you reply vaguely

Wooyoung stares at you, noticing the way you seemed to fidget nervously and the way you kept rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet

he knows you like the back of his hand, and he knew that you weren’t telling him something

quirking a brow, Wooyoung says nothing, only continuing to stare

you sigh, reaching into your pocket to pull out a piece of paper

“He asked me out,” you finally admit, handing him the number

Yanking it out of your hand, Wooyoung looks at the phone number and address the boy had written down

“He didn’t even offer to pick you up?” your best friend scoffs

you roll your eyes

“It’s not that big of a deal Woo” you argue

he fixes you with a stern look

“I thought I raised you better than to have such low standards,” he shakes his head

“I’m literally a few months older than you!” You cry out

Clicking his tongue, Wooyoung crumples up the piece of paper and tosses it carelessly to the side, ignoring your protests

“I’m not letting you go out with some mediocre boy,” he says, opening the car door and gesturing for you to get inside

He closes the door as you try and argue with him, beginning to walk over to the driver’s side

Wooyoung elects to ignore the jealous monster that has made itself known in his heart over the idea of you going out with someone else

someone other than him

getting settled in the drivers seat, Wooyoung starts the car before turning to face you with a cheeky grin

“Dinner?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

screaming into my pillow :)

[nohoney]

part 2 to the retweet post but it’s before the viral retweet

The lengths that you and Bakugou go to to ensure your privacy is quite the effort. It’s not just you and him putting in the work; it’s his team and your team together that keep the nosy eyes of the press and the public out of your business. It’s all a collaborative effort. Just the one slip up at the hero gala where the camera crew were fucking bribed to not do a close up of the two of you at all but someone slipped and experienced the wrath of Dynamight himself while you tried to calm him down.

To kill the rumors as fast as they came up, it meant having to suffer through three public outings where it killed you and Bakugou that you couldn’t be affectionate with one another. Instead you had to appear friendly and cordial despite how desperate the two of you were wanting to just be all over each other.

But it worked and the press moved on from the rumor.

“Ah—hah fuck baby, fucking me so good!” you panted after Bakugou rolled you over so that you were on your back. You were grinding your hips so good and your eyes were rolling back as the tip of his cock hit the spot that made you so goddamn weak. The frantic movement of your hips along with your blissed out expression made Bakugou lose his mind over you. He likes when you’re desperately riding him but he loves when he fucks you stupid.

You keep endlessly cumming on his cock and your pitched whines just turn him on even more. Bakugou wants to treasure this privacy that he’s built with you, he wants to be smitten behind closed doors. He fucking adores you so much and maybe it’s just the honeymoon phase still ongoing for the two of you, but he really feels like you and him could have something for a while.

He keeps his face tucked into your neck as he pounds away at you, feeling your nails scratch down at his back that sends tingles throughout his body. Your ankles are crossed over one another and the heels of your feet dig into his lower back and he fucks even deeper into your cute pussy.

It’s almost regretful how Bakugou pulls away but he’s looking to make you scream his name. So he pushes himself off you and quickly grabs the headboard with both his hands. His muscles flex as he holds tightly and fucks away into you.

“F-fuck!! Katsuki!” you gasp out before you lose your mind over him. He fucks you stupid, concentrated on how goddamn gorgeous you are as you become a fucked out mess of a slut for him. You babble incoherently, your cunt keeps gushing and clenching around him, and god-fucking-damn, sex with you is the best Bakugou has ever fucking had!

“Y’cumming baby? You cumming for me, yeah?” Bakugou eggs you on, giving you a quick little slap to your tit to bring you back a little, “You like cumming on this cock, fucking tell me!”

“I love cumming on you! Love it, love it, love it!!” You cry out for him. He’s fucking you hard enough that your head bounces a few times against the headboard but you hardly have any care for it. You’re ascending to heaven, he’s taking you to that plane of ecstasy better than any other fuck you’ve had before him, you don’t want him to stop, don’t stop don’t stop don’t fucking stop-

Even as he fucks away his orgasm into you, his hips not stopping until he’s completely spent inside of you, Bakugou can’t help thinking just how happy he is to have you right now. And when he collapses, you giggle as he noses against your cheek and you kiss his forehead so tenderly as thank you for a mind-blowing fuck.

It’s been nice to have this with Bakugou, treasuring these past few months of you and him with your people on standby to ensure that the private screen you and him built up stays this way…

Until you’re presenting three positive pregnancy tests to him.

Your personal assistant, your make up artist, and your mother each going out of their way for your request to confirm your suspicions when you had been feeling unwell for the last few weeks and the spotting in your underwear that alerted you despite your birth control having kept your cycle in check for the past few years. “So um… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” Bakugou asks as he delicately places the third pregnancy test down on his coffee table.

“Well it’s just… I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah, we know that now. Why are you sorry you’re pregnant?”

Because you and Bakugou haven’t even reached the year one mark of your relationship. That it’s only been a blissful eight months of fucking and private dates and extra high security to ensure that there are no leaks. That with the fights and arguments and expectations you’ve had in the time you’ve seen each other, having an accidental pregnancy wasn’t in the books nor was it something you thought you would encounter.

Maybe with all the crazy amount of sex you’ve been having with the number two hero, it should have been on your radar…

“Well… I just don’t want anything to drag down your career. We made it clear that we didn’t want our public images to be intertwined. That your career is yours and mine is mine and we wanted to keep it that way for a while. We haven’t even been dating that long either. And I… want to keep it.” You’re uncomfortable as you speak, shrinking into yourself and wondering what was in store for you. That the possibility that you and Bakugou split apart all because your stupid birth control fucking failed—

“Get up.”

Great… you’re going to get kicked out now.

You could keep quiet about having the baby, the number 13 hero’s wife managed to keep her pregnancy on the down low when she took her maternity leave somehow so you could try to do the same…

Bakugou steps to you, making you uncross your arms and his hand slides underneath your shirt to rest on your lower belly. His fingers are warm and a little ticklish and he leans down to kiss the crown of your head that surprises you. “You’re not upset?”

“No, I’m happy.”

“That I’m pregnant?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou answers as if it was supposed to be obvious, “‘m excited for us.”

No way… no way!

“Are you for real? Swear to me that you’re not pranking me Katsuki.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes before sliding his hand to cup your jaw tenderly and have you look up at him. “Look at me woman, do you know me to ever do that kind of thing?” He asks and then squishes his fingers into your cheeks softly, “You’re having my baby, can’t wait to get a little brat made of you and me.”

You shyly look down and smile, sliding your hand across your tummy and grateful that you and him are together on this. “So uh I guess since we’re doing this… does that mean we have to make an announcement?” You ask as the two of you sit back down on his couch together, “I’m still pretty early so it’s not obvious right now. I only got so many outings before I start showing. I’m not exactly known for wearing baggy clothes too, y’know?”

Bakugou shrugs and starts to massage the back of your head. “Just keep doing what we’re doing and leave it to me when the time comes, alright? The only job you have is just eating whatever you want and having my baby.”

“Mmkay. In that case, can you make an order from this bakery and make me a bowl of fruit too?”

[sergeantmeows]

The Artist

A '09 Ghoap One-Shot

The Captain always had that goddamn notebook with him. It almost pissed Ghost off. All he wanted was to see what that man scribbles down in that stupid notebook, and it seemed to consume his every waking thought. Why? Why was this fucking notebook so important to him? He didn't know. All he knows is that he had to get his hands on that notebook.

So, he hatches a plan. A totally normal, sane plan to sneak into Captain MacTavish's dorm and steal the notebook while he was asleep. All while praying to God he doesn't wake up. He knows this is reckless and could end with him in a shit-ton of trouble. But the notebook.

The Captain never locked his door at night, and Ghost never knew why that also drove him crazy. In fact, everything that he didn't know about MacTavish drove him mad. He shakes that from his mind and focuses on how his hand is now twisting the Captain's doorknob. And is opening the door. And he's stepping inside. And- holy shit, he just snuck into his Captain's dorm. He should leave now, and he fully intends to, but when he whips around to leave the room, he is stopped by a sleep-thick voice, "Lieutenant?"

Shit. He slowly turns, "Um... yes, Captain?"

"What the hell are doing in here?"

"Wrong door?"

The Captain turns on his side, away from Ghost, "Christ, get yer ass out of here."

---

The day after, Ghost averts his eyes from MacTavish unless absolutely necessary. He can't believe how much of an idiot he was for even attempting to steal that notebook, but at least the man bought his lie. However, he was still obsessing over that notebook, as if what was on the pages was a mystery to life itself.

As if the universe wanted to laugh at him, he comes across MacTavish in the yard with the goddamn notebook, sketching. It feels... intimate. Like Ghost just intruded on a tender moment between MacTavish and the pages underneath his pencil. Maybe he should leave...

"What're you drawing?" the question leaves Ghost's lips before he can think. MacTavish's head shoots up, and his drawing halts.

"Nothing, Lieutenant," he dodges the question, but Ghost won't give up that easily.

"Don't look like nothin'."

"Well, it is."

"Come on, let me see."

With a huff, the Captain snaps his notebook closed and stands out of the grass, "Mind yer fecking business, Lieutenant."

---

Each failure only brought about more obsession. Ghost needed to see this notebook, and he decided to take any means necessary to do so. Even if it made him look like an asshole, and what he was about to definitely would.

He steps right to the Captain, who is scribbling in his book, and snatches it away before the other man can speak. "What the fuck-" Of course, he tries to take it back, but Ghost has already seen all he needed to see. When he gazes at the pages that have filled him with such infernal obsession for the past few weeks, he sees himself. He flips through and sees more. Sketches of himself in training, at dinner, drinking at a bar, in the field... it was baffling.

"Simon..." MacTavish softly pleads, terrified for the man's reaction.

Everything seemed to materialize for Ghost in this moment. It began to make sense why he was so concerned with the notebook and the Captain.

"Didn't know you were so obsessed with me, Captain," he says with a self-satisfied smirk as his gaze shifts to the one he loves.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Man, I like Daily Wire in concept but Matt Walsh needs to shut the fuck up about video games. The same guy who tried to resurrect the tired old "violent video games are harmful!" crap is now acting like he's the first person to notice that video games are pushing woke nonsense (even though there are about a hundred channels and outlets that have been talking about this for years) but his solution is to, of course, for the right to stop playing video games.

No. Just, no.

This is the same "bury our head in the sand and pretend pop culture doesn't exist" mindset that got us into this situation in the first place. You can't win a war (and there is a culture war going on, no matter how many people on both sides want to pretend otherwise) by retreating from every battlefield. You win by raising awareness of a problem and then offering a real solution.

And it's especially stupid seeing this cultural retreat mindset from someone working for DW because DW actually knows exactly how to fight this battle. They created their own media company to fight against woke Hollywood. Are all their movies and shows good? No, not at all. But they still did the right thing. They put their money where their mouth is, and created an alternative.

A much better example is Angel Studios, which is probably the only Christian movie studio I've ever seen that puts out top quality content with great acting, writing, and production values. They're raking in money and getting their content onto mainstream streaming services as well as theaters. In other words, they're taking their message to the people who need it the most. The ones who aren't already in the echo chamber. Unlike Daily Wire, which only offers its content on its own website through a subscription service to its own audience, and never advertises anywhere.

Another successful example outside of movies is Eric July's Rippaverse. He's been killing it with his comics, with every single one of his campaigns raking in over a million dollars, every cent of which is reinvested back into his business, helping it grow, creating more content, and expanding his already impressive roster of writers and artists. Mainstream writers and artists, by the way. Like Chuck Dixon, the guy who co-created Bane and wrote the seminal Tim Drake Robin comics, among many other credits, and Mike Baron, who wrote some of the best early Punisher comics. Eric had a following before he started the Rippaverse. He runs a successful YouTube channel and he's a regular contributor to The Blaze. He could have walled himself off with his fanbase, wrote comics about ancaps saving the world from the evils of government, and made some money while pandering to the people who already agreed with him. Instead, he went big. He invested his own money, runs his own distribution center, owns his own business with zero outside investors, hires the best talent he can, and offers a product that focuses on story and characters over messaging. His work isn't even "anti-woke". It's just not woke.

And that's what we need in video games. We need alternatives. We need to roll up our sleeves and wade into the deep waters and actually contribute our ideas and our talents. Offer an alternative. Hire people who know what they're doing, who care about quality content first and social engineering never. There is a huge untapped audience who would pay hand over fist for good video games free from microtransactions and woke nonsense.

But retreating is not an option. It's not brave or moral to hide in our echo chambers and scoff at anything fun. Entertainment is necessary. And maybe more importantly, it's not going anywhere. We will never live in a world where people go to work and spend time with their families at home and do nothing else. We need to engage with the world as it is. Not wait around for whatever our idea of a perfect world is to magically form so we can finally interact with it. You can't change society if you keep pretending large swaths of it don't exist.

[aurumacadicus]

1+14; angsty stuckony? 😩🫣

Hopefully this is angsty enough lol. For background purposes, Steve is a swan, Bucky is a magpie, and Tony is a hummingbird.

--

Steve had always been attracted to blues. And he probably shouldn’t have found it embarrassing, except of all the people who had showed interest in him, Peggy and Bucky had been the only two who hadn’t been upset when they noticed his eyes wandering over other people’s feathers when they were out and about. Peggy had politely but sternly told him that she was choosing to believe it was because he saw the artistic nature of them, and he’d agreed, because his eyes might have drawn toward blue feathers, but he was a monogamous bird.

Bucky teased him, though. It was always good-natured, but Steve couldn’t tell how sincere Bucky was when he noticed Steve’s eyes being drawn away and he grinned like a lecher and asked, ‘are they pretty?’ So he chose to ignore it like he had with Peggy. He had eyes. They caught blue and were drawn to it. It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t like to share, anyway.

“Steve,” Bucky said one night, when they were all battle-sore and retired to their own rooms to decompress. They were chowing through their third pizza before they went to pass out in bed. “Have you noticed Tony’s wings?”

“Buck,” Steve sighed, and the pulsing headache he’d been trying to beat to bed caught up to him. He wiped his hand on a napkin and then lifted it to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right now?”

“They’re blue,” Bucky continued blithely, munching on a garlic knot. “Shiny.”

“He’s hummingbird on his ma’s side,” Steve said tiredly, repeating what Tony had told him when he’d noticed Steve’s… looking. He’d assumed Steve was comparing them to Howard’s instead of ogling.

Steve hadn’t corrected him, too scared of the reaction he might get when the team learned about his attraction to blue feathers. Sure, it would probably be good-natured teasing, but he’d been looked at as odd back in the forties, a swan not sticking to his own kind like they were known for. He didn't want to test that theory.

“I think we should court him,” Bucky continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Seeing his blues against your whites would be sexy as hell.”

“Buck,” Steve tried again, even though he couldn’t tell if he was angry or shocked. He also couldn’t help but imagine it, Tony’s iridescent feathers quivering against his white ones. It was a pretty picture in his head.

Bucky slanted him a sharp look, quelling whatever he was about to sputter. “Don’t fucking play stupid, Steve. Your eyes are already saying yes. Have been since the first time you looked at him, probably. Now I just need your mouth to tell me the same.”

Steve felt himself flushing, and his mouth dropped open in shock. Despite that, he could feel his wings raising, feathers beginning to spread in invitation. “I just don’t want Tony to…” he began, helpless.

At that, Bucky’s stern gaze faded. “Tony isn’t going to think less of you, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said quickly, because he did. He did know that. Tony was one of the most accepting people he’d ever met. Too accepting perhaps, in some ways, but it wasn’t his business to say so.

But the few times he’d worked himself up to go after blue-feathered dames, before Peggy, they’d looked at him like he was… wrong. Like he was treating them as objects to covet. And while he’d come far enough to realize some birds were so chased after that they were wary of any potential mate that came their way, he still remembered the shame he’d felt as he wondered if they were right.

“Of course, there’s also the problem the opposite direction, where he thinks we’re joking or making fun of him,” Bucky muttered, apparently taking him at his word. He rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully as he picked through and discarded ideas. Steve waited patiently, because his tried-and-true flirtation technique was ‘god I hope they notice me first.’ Finally, he smacked his fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it. He seems to really like watching us spar.” He looked back up at Steve. “We need to manufacture a way to get him on the mat with us.”

“I’ll kill him,” Steve said simply. He was a swan. Tony was a hummingbird. Tony was only a few inches shorter than him, but his bones weren’t as solid. Delicate, Steve had called him once, and Tony had been torn between preening proudly and punching him in the face for patronizing him. Still. Steve had a hundred pounds on him of pure muscle with wings to match. Even if Tony wasn’t aware of their physical differences, he’d never allow Tony to goad him into a fight.

Bucky considered this, then leaned on the table with a sigh. “Oh boy. Well,” he groused, leaning his cheek on his fist irritably. “I suppose we can always ask Natasha to help us manufacture another ‘is that a threat or a promise’ situations with him.”

Steve remembered the situation where Tony had slanted a sly, smug look at them after mentioning him being sore for days. He remembered the lascivious tilt to his smile as his eyes flicked up and down Steve’s body before flitting to Bucky’s. He remembered the iridescent ripple of blues and greens along Tony’s wings as they fluttered becomingly behind him. He remembered the slow, syrupy drawled, 'is that a threat? or a promise,' a tease and an invitation all at once that he’d been too embarrassed to chase.

“She’ll be so insufferable about this,” Steve finally sighed, because he knew they’d be asking her.

Bucky huffed, shaking his head fondly. “Well, she usually is.”

[beautification-tales]

The Talk Show

Gina, a tomboyish skater with a baseball cap and baggy clothes, was sitting on the hood of her beat-up car when she received the call. The producer of a new talk show about sports had seen her shred the halfpipe at the local skate comp and wanted her on the show. She didn't hesitate; the chance to be on TV and showcase her skills was too good to pass up. So, here she was, waiting in the green room of the studio, her heart racing and her knuckles white from gripping her skateboard so tightly.

The door opened, revealing a tall, stylish woman with a perfectly coiffed bob and designer clothes. It was Karen, the producer. Gina stood up, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. "You must be Gina," Karen said, offering her hand. "I'm Karen. I've been looking forward to meeting you. We're going to have a blast on this show."

As they walked down the hall, Karen explained that the first order of business was to get Gina ready for her debut on the show. They entered a luxurious dressing room, where a team of hair and makeup artists were waiting. Gina felt a little uneasy as they started to fuss over her, but Karen assured her that it was all part of the process. They sat her down in front of a mirror and began to apply foundation, concealer, and blush to her normally bare face. Then they brushed on some mascara and lip gloss. Gina couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, but she trusted Karen's judgment. They fixed her hair by taking it out of the hat and styling it so that it fell upon her shoulders and covered her forehead.

Once they were done, Karen led her to another room where a stylist showed her the wardrobe she was to wear. It was a form-fitting, black dress, shiny sheer black pantyhose and louboutin black stilettos. “Wait, why do you want me to put this on? What does this have to do with skating? I can't skate in heels, that's just stupid," Gina protested. Karen smiled reassuringly and said, "Trust me, this is all part of the show's aesthetic. It's not just about your skating skills, it's about your entire image. You're going to look amazing and turn heads. Now put it on, we don't want to keep the crew waiting."

Despite her misgivings, Gina put on the dress and heels. As she stood up, she felt self-conscious and unsteady in the high heels. Karen, noticing this, laughed and said, “You look amazing Gina. Trust me this is how we get viewers hooked. Once they're hooked they will listen to every word you say.” Gina was still skeptical but she followed Karen out of the room and onto the set. “Oh one last thing, let's have you wear this necklace too.” Karen said as she handed her a gold chain with a tiny skateboard charm. Gina reluctantly put it on and it felt warm on her skin. Immediately she felt a bit better as her posture straightened. She thought she was imagining things but it was like her breasts felt heavier. She looked back and admired her ass. “Hmm my training has been paying off.” She said to herself.

As they walked onto the set, Gina couldn't help but feel like a fish out of water. The bright lights, the cameras, and the excited chatter of the crew made her heart race even faster. Karen led her to a comfortable chair where she could wait for her cue. As she sat there, Gina glanced down at the skateboard charm around her neck and tried to remind herself why she had agreed to do this in the first place. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

She listened to the host begin to speak, his voice booming through the studio. The audience laughed at something the host said, and Gina felt a pang of nervousness. "And now," the host continued, "let's bring out our special guest for today's show! Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Gina, the tomboy skater who's taking the skate park scene by storm!"

Gina's heart leapt into her throat as she heard her introduction. She forced herself to stand up and walk towards the center of the stage. The lights were so bright she could hardly see the audience. The heels clicked on the floor as she was surprised how well she walked in them now. As she stood there, the host flashed her a winning smile and embraced her with a slight hug. He led her to her seat as she sat down."So, Gina, tell us a little bit about yourself," he said, his voice smooth and charismatic.

She took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. "Well, I've been skating for most of my life," she began, her voice not as shaky as she'd expected. "I started in a local park with my friends, and I just fell in love with it. I mean, there's nothing like the feeling of flying through the air, spinning and flipping on my board. It's just...freeing." The audience laughed at her enthusiasm, and she felt a tiny bit more at ease.

Gina crossed her legs as she felt a bolt of electricity shoot through her body. It felt so good as she squeezed her legs together. “So Gina you really clean up nicely for a tomboy” the host said with a grin. Gina blushed as she realized he was flirting with her. “Well I’m usually wearing sneakers but I had to look my best for you Craig” she replied playfully. The audience laughed and cheered as they were enjoying the banter between the two of them. “Hey now! Careful or I might have to take up skating!” Craig joked.

“I can gladly show you the basics. You know I know my way around a halfpipe.” Gina smiled. She didn’t understand where this charisma had come from. She was usually quite awkward but looking into Craig’s eyes she felt amazing. Gina felt the tingle between her legs intensifying. She licked her lips and pulled at her dress and re crossed her legs. Another bolt of electricity shot through her system as her mouth opened. “Are you sure you’re a tomboy?” Craig teased, causing the audience to laugh even harder.

“I can be anything you want me to be.” Gina said, her voice dripping with sensuality. Gina felt like she was having an out of body experience watching someone else in control of her body. The audience in unison went “ooooh” as some male voices hooted in approval. “Damn Gina I think I’m buying my skateboard right now.” Craig joked pulling out his phone acting like he was browsing to shop. Gina felt her insides melt as she stared into his eyes, her heart racing.

Gina found it more difficult to hide the pleasure she was feeling. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to breathe normally. “Like I said nothing better than riding that sturdy piece of wood.” Gina closed her eyes as her body tensed. The audience was silent with a few gasps. Craig readjusted himself in his seat and took a sip of water. “Ahem well Gina thanks for coming on the show and making us all skateboarding fans.” He smiled.

“My pleasure” Gina replied, her voice throaty and sultry. The sensation in her body was becoming almost too much to bear. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to find some relief. As the segment came to an end and the audience began to applaud, Gina felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. What had just happened? She had never been so flirtatious or confident before. She couldn't believe how easily the words had flowed out of her mouth.

Karen greeted her backstage as she led her to the dressing room. “Wow Gina just Wow!” She showed the immediate responses that the show's social media received. “Bring Gina back!” , “We love Gina!”, “That woman is a smoke show!”, “Instant Fan!” The positive reviews were overwhelming as Gina’s phone started buzzing like crazy with notifications. “Feel free to stay and relax. Craig will probably want to come by and say thank you. Gina… you were amazing!” Karen gushed.

Gina sat down on the comfy couch as she felt her nerves calm down. However, the pleasure was more intense as she slowly slid her hand between her legs. The pantyhose was beginning to feel so slick as her wetness flowed from her panties. She rubbed as she held back her cries as she watched Craig end the show from her television. “What a great show We had tonight. I want to thank Tom Brady for being on and the up and coming huge star Gina White… She's going places! Good night everyone!”

Gina put her head back when she heard her name. “Up and cummin,” how appropriate she whispered.

She heard a knock on the door and took a deep breath. “Come in” she said as she fixed herself on the couch in a seductive pose. It was him. Craig. The man that she had just flirted with on national television. He walked in and smiled at her. Gina felt a flutter in her stomach. She didn't know what to say or do. "Hi Gina," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "That was... well, that was something else. I can't believe how confident you were back there. You were amazing."

“Thank you, I’m usually so awkward and nervous but tonight. It’s like I knew what to do and it felt so… natural.” Gina blushed as she looked at her lap, playing with the hem of her dress. Craig walked over to her and sat down beside her on the couch. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Yeah, people love to see flirting. It’s a fun act to put on.” He whispered.

“Who said I was acting?” She grabbed Craig’s collar and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were soft and tasted like mint. She felt his hand slip under her dress, tracing circles over her hosiery covered thigh. She moaned into the kiss, her body melting against his. He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth, their tongues tangling together. Gina reached down and unbuckled his belt, then undid his pants, freeing his hard cock. She stroked it slowly, feeling the heat and the length of it against her palm. "I was serious. Nothing better than riding some hard stiff wood," she whispered.

Craig broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "Then why don't you show me just how good you are at it?" He said as he guided her upon his lap. He grabbed her ass with a hard spank as he ripped her pantyhose open. She grabbed the couch, slipping her wet panties to the side as she lowered herself onto his cock. He groaned as she took him inside her, her tightness sending waves of pleasure through his body. She began to ride him hard, her hips moving in a rhythm that was both sensual and demanding. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment. “Oh you are definitely coming back to the show.” Craig gasped as she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. She ground her hips against him, feeling the familiar tightness building inside her. With a final thrust, she arched her back, her orgasm crashing over her in a wave of pleasure. She moaned his name as her body trembled from the release.

“Mmm Craig I’m cumming multiple times tonight alone.” She restarted riding him as their moans echoed in the room.

Meanwhile, just outside Gina’s dressing room Karen and a Production Assistant were listening. “Karen, I think we can pencil her in next month but I think you put way too much charisma spell on the necklace.” The Production Assistant said as she smiled. Karen shook her head in disagreement. “You hear that in there? That’s the sound of future ratings and advertising dollars in all our pockets.” She grinned as she put her ear back up against the door. The sounds of their moaning and breathing filled the hallway, sending a shiver down her spine. “Yeah but what happens when Gina becomes addicted to fame and beauty… she won’t be doing much skating then.” The PA said with a worried tone. Karen smirked. “ From what I’m hearing. She won’t mind at all.” Karen walked away as she turned back to say one more thing.

“Anyway that’s show biz.”