#EXCUSE ME BUT THE NOSE™

[andy-clutterbuck]

THE ONES WHO LIVE | 1x06

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice. 

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be. 

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water. 

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and got caught in his stubble. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do.. 

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-.. 

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..” 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..” 

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!” 

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!” 

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..” 

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..” 

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..? 

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here. 

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.” 

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath. 

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now. 

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears. 

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.” 

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes. 

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior. 

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you? 

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which… 

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues. 

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.” 

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in. 

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal. 

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

[covenofagatha]

my dears please do not aspire to be me.. the horniness consumes you and your work! it's horrendously and deliciously distracting.. i have way overdue studying that has not been done 😭

anyhow, thank you miss covenofagatha for replying me so quickly <3 i saw your reply about being on the rowing team, and afterwards i headed to the gym where i got complimented by an acquaintance who said i "gained a lot of muscle". obviously i ran away because i can't talk to women but the agatha brainworm persisted! so i present a very self-indulgent baby brainworm:

sub! needy! agatha who's obsessed with your body, and she can't stop thinking about riding your abs. even if you're asleep.

(contains g!p daddy! reader, i might not have abs but let me pretend for a sec, bratty agatha, sweat mention, suggestive showers™, consensual somno, pillow riding and grinding which becomes ab riding and grinding, degradation)

the moment you come home from work, agatha's all over you. "i missed you," she mumbles, words muffled by your broad shoulder that she's buried herself into. you grunt out a half-exasperated "agatha", pushing her off you gently because you're sticky with sweat and you really, really need a shower.

(it's funny because when you're out together, most people assume agatha's the dom, the top. little do they know how she melts into putty in your hands, all whiny and desperate for your cock. and agatha loves feeding into it, because every time rio brings up agatha pegging you as a joke, you drag her into a nearby bathroom stall and fuck her against the wall, snarling about "what would they say if they knew you were my little brat, huh? that you're so fucking needy for daddy's dick?")

she clings back onto you, and while agatha harkness does not pout, the narrowing of her eyes at you certainly feels like she is. you sigh, shaking your head fondly as you meander your way to the bathroom. she does this song and dance with you every time you go off for work, your part-time job as a physical trainer at a nearby gym. each time, she mutters about how she can provide for both of you easily, but you brush her off because you don't want to be a burden. you already live in her house basically for free!

one upside of the job, is that whenever you come home in your tank top and sweatpants, agatha gets all flustered and needy. you asked her after the fifth time she jumped you why she gets so worked up the moment you get home; and she'd spluttered a sorry excuse, cheeks blushed a faint pink, and you just had to fuck her again then and there.

this time, though, you're still aching from your workout. "hit a new PR, baby," you say as you turn away to strip for the shower, "m'a little sore," hoping it'll deter her advances a little. when she doesn't respond, you turn back to realise she's raking her eyes up and down your body, licking her lips, pupils dilating greedily. You raise an eyebrow curiously, and she seems to snap out of whatever daydream she's in.

"I'm going to shower," you warn, implying that there will be no shower shenanigans, and she huffs, arms folded. "I'm joining you," she declares, and leaves no room for argument as she begins unbuttoning her shirt seductively -- normally, you'd pounce all over her, and your cock hardening cements its approval on the idea, but you really are a bit sleepy.

by the time the two of you get in, she's facing you directly as you lather soap all over your body, her fingers trailing up your abdomen. "sweetheart," you groan, and she mocks you with a saccharine call of "daddy". she moves, and you can feel the heat radiating from her cunt, her fingertips ghosting each ridge and dip and scar while she noses into your neck.

"you're such a brat," you grumble, and she coos, grinding her clit upwards against your raging boner with a "then punish me, daddy," and you keen loudly. fuck, she's good at this. "I'm tired, baby. really," you protest again, and she slumps in irritation.

"don't pout, darling," you console her, stifling a chuckle at the great agatha harkness getting grouchy because she isn't getting fucked. "I'm not," and her eyes glint with something mischievous. you'd be a little concerned if you managed to see it, but unfortunately for you, she steps out of the shower before you can decipher it.

after soft kisses and promises to fuck her silly tomorrow, agatha seems to have settled, accepting that she won't cum tonight. "my sweet girl can hold out a little longer, can't she?" is what tides her over until you fall asleep, breathing evening out as you relax next to her.

there, as you fidget with the sheets, your shirt riding up, she spots the central object of an embarrassing number of wet dreams; your abs. agatha never thought she'd be so enraptured by a part of your abdomen, always liking your tits or ass or cock, because duh. but as she grows accustomed to those, she finds that every time you flash her with your soft tummy with the hard edges of your core muscles, she gets soaked.

the idea that you're so fit, that your perfect body is owned by her the way hers is by you, drives her insane. she needs to run her hands over them, plant kisses along the ridges, lick up your happy trail, suck marks over your skin -- fuck, she's so wet already.

she glances over, and you look so utterly perfect, all ready for her. she battles herself for a little while, because contrary to popular belief, she *does* want to be your good girl. but you wouldn't even know, right? so she wouldn't be breaking the rules if you didn't know she was.

she tries with her pillow, imagining its your hard muscle and gentle skin, but it isn't enough. the fabric runs rough, and it's smooth as silk but it isn't *you*. agatha turns, looking at your snoozing form -- and makes a decision.

.. it's your fault for being so damn hot, honestly.

you wake up to a moving weight on your stomach, a sticky hot wetness coating your lower abdomen. blinking your eyes open, your mind hardly registers the moans above you, and your body flexes reflexively. agatha whines a loud "daddy, fuck-" and your eyes shoot open, hips bucking up, and your gaze settles on her.

agatha straddles your waist, one thigh on each side of you, ass sitting on your bulge as she bunches up the blanket in her grip; most importantly, though, is the furious rutting of her cunt against your abs, and it sounds so fucking wet. her head is thrown backwards, eyes rolled back too, and the noises coming from her mouth are positively *filthy*.

frantic whimpers of "daddy" and "feels s'good" and "please" drive you feral, and you swear under your breath before sitting up, agatha whining at the clench of your muscles under her.

"you're so fucking desperate," you grip her hips, stilling her movement and agatha genuinely wails. "couldn't wait, huh? daddy's needy little slut. can't even use my cock, getting off on my abs? pathetic whore."

"need you, daddy, please," her cunt throbs, and she feels your hardened cock pulse underneath her, and agatha gasps as you move to dig your fingers into her supple ass. "oh, baby, I know," your core muscles hurt from the awkward position, and they contract. when she pants, out of breath from her earlier endeavours, you roll your eyes mockingly.

"hump," you bite your lip at the moan that erupts from her at your command, and she obeys, her juices slick as she slides against you again. "so you can listen, hm? you just choose not to, little brat. need daddy to fuck your brains out? couldn't control yourself, had to touch yourself while daddy was asleep?"

she whines again, nodding quickly, "yes, daddy, fuck, couldn't help it- you looked so good, daddy, please-" cooing at her, you knead her soft cheeks, humming condescendingly.

"aww, my pathetic girl has to cum? beg for it, then."

-

okay I'm tapping out here because this is getting too long and i cant decide if i want her to be edged or cum without permission....... you get to decide, i guess!

(i personally am more on the beefy side and i do not have abs... so this is probably inaccurate lmfao. sorry dear i dont train for the aesthetic, as long as i can lift big things im good, so this is likely not uber accurate.)

hope you like your reward! let me know if anything was too much etc. i hope your exam went well / goes well, haha. take care dear 💜

-lots of love, worm anon

Oh my god 🫠 brb about to go to the gym in the first time in over a year and get those swimmer/rower abs back (completely unrelated to this of course)

I didn't know bottom!Agatha could be so hot HELP

Hmm I do think reader would let her cum for being so good and asking for it so nicely

I very much like my reward (thank you SO much) and as always, I can't wait for your next brainworm

[cursingtoji]

5 and 24 with nanami 🤓

(nanami as a grumpy dom bodyguard.. PLEASE SEE MY VISION Y'ALL)

𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅!𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊

plus “you’re doing great” ⊱ brat taming, fingering, a bit of car sex, oral (f -> m); the Clichés ™

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who was hired by your father to keep you safe and away from trouble, though he was warned you could be a bit of handful sometimes.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who can’t stand brats, every time you attempt to escape without him noticing he feels like tying you up and fuck your face until you’re crying begging for his forgiveness and promising to be good.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who’s super professional, wearing a full suit and tie everyday, keeping the mysterious look by wearing sunglasses even inside the house. You of course can’t get a hold of yourself and invade his personal space poking his cheek and teasing him for looking so grumpy.

“Am I not behaving well today? You know why? ‘Cause I got a date” you whisper the last part as a secret, asking him to not tell your father.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who knows he would just cause more trouble to himself if he tells on you, so with a tired sigh he takes the keys and drives you to the restaurant, not failing to notice the way you pushed your breasts and wore a sweet perfume for the date. He waits patiently by the bar keeping an eye on your table, especially on your date that he can tell almost immediately it’s not worth a damn penny. The way he can’t keep his eyes on your face for more than 3 seconds without dropping to your cleavage and always bringing the topic back to himself makes Nanami wants to break his nose.

“Did you listen to our conversation?” you ask your bodyguard discretely after telling your date you were going to get a drink at the bar.

“A little bit, yes” he lies, of course he heard the whole thing.

“What do you think of him?” Nanami studies you, your fingers are nervously kneading a clean napkin, your eyes are shiny and wide expecting an answer from him, the blond side looks your date who was smiling down at his phone.

“Are you seriously asking me this?” his answer is harsh, you should’ve seen this coming.

“Sorry, it’s just that I haven’t had much luck with men lately” you confess in a moment of vulnerability, “Do you think we can sneak out without him noticing?” Nanami empties his glass of whiskey in one go before placing his hand on your lower back and leading you to the exit.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who keeps wearing sunglasses inside, but he uses it as an excuse to shamelessly stare at your body. You’ve grown too comfortable around him, barely using a bra anymore, bending way too low in that little shorts and showering with your bathroom door open where, even though he can’t see you, the smell coming out of the bathroom and your humming is enough to tempt him into joining you.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who thinks you have been quite good lately, it’s even a little concerning, but peace doesn’t reign for too long and as soon as his guard is down you leave the house on a little party dress and go club.

You manage to get yourself almost two hours drinking and dancing with strangers before your partner has his hands abruptly taken away from your hips as Nanami twists his arm, you look over your shoulder to see your bodyguard murmuring a threat the man you now see it was not nearly as handsome as the one holding his arm to an almost breaking point. You attempt to tiptoe your way out of his sight but he’s quick to catch your wrist, you gasp when meeting his angered features.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be” he threats tightening his grip on you.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who fingers you in the passenger seat of the car, wanting nothing more than to rip that ridiculously short dress into pieces.

“You’re so difficult and for what? Is this what you wanted all this time?” he groans working his fingers firmly while still trying to drive without crashing.

"What you gonna do to me?" you ask biting your nails in antecipation but don't have to wait longer before your bodyguard is roughly throwing you onto the same bed he sees you go to every night with a different nightgown and has to restrain himself from joining you.

Not tonight though, tonight Nanami is getting what he wanted this whole time.

"That's the only way to shut that bratty little mouth of yours, huh" he mutters with your hair around his hand guiding your head between his legs. You ran your hands from the firm muscles of his thigh to the abs under his white shirt feeling it twich on your palm, tugging the material with your other hand as plead through gags for him to take it off.

"Alright, just because you're doing so great" he opens his buttons one by one and gets rid of all the clothes covering his torso, "C'mere" he pulls your hair until his cock slides off with a string of saliva and precum connecting him to your mouth.

🝮 Bodyguard!Nanami who helps you straddle him smiling widely as he sees you pout, "Don't make this face" he runs his thumb on your lower lip, "I'll make it good for us, but before you have to work for it, it's only fair after what you put me through" Nanami slaps your ass, you understand how stressful it must have been for him so you comply, not before picking his tie from the mattress and putting it around your own neck, your bodyguard smiles giving it a hard tug until your lips are on his.

Also part of the Clichés event:

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

“Who did this to you?” Sukuna

Drunk Confession — Toji

“What happened to us?” Gojo

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

[stevethehairington]

daily drabble day 38 Extended Edition™

find the original drabble here!

The lion pounces as soon as they enter the building.

“Oh, hi, Eddie,” Sheila from the PTA drawls, surprise filtered over her words like it’s a shock to be running into each other at their children’s school. Her sticky pink lips curl into something too familiar. “What brings you here?”

Beside him, Buck masks his laugh as a cough into his hand. Not that he really needs to hide it, when Sheila hasn’t even acknowledged him.

Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes, and he swallows down the sarcastic, “What brings me here? To my son’s school? Which lets out in fifteen minutes? Oh, you know, just thought I’d get in a light jog.”

Instead, Eddie pastes a polite (curt, Buck would call it, and— shut up, Buck) smile and tells her simply, “Paperwork.”

The shortness of his answer catches her off guard, which almost does make him laugh this time, because when has he ever indulged her like that? Really, Sheila, you should know better by now.

Eddie capitalizes on her falter, though, and seizes his chance to escape before he’s subject to more stilted conversation and— attempted flirting. Her poor husband.

His hand curls around Buck’s bicep, and he tugs him along, towards the front desk. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says, making pointed eye contact with Buck as they pass Sheila.

Amusement sparkles in Buck’s eyes and twitches the corner of his lips, and he twists around to throw a wave Sheila’s way. “Nice talking with you, Sheila,” he says brightly, despite exchanging not one single word with her.

Eddie only just manages to stifle his laugh into his own shoulder.

When they make it to the desk, Eddie lets go of Buck and leans his forearm onto the counter.

“Hi, Louise,” he greets the school’s administrator with an easy smile.

Louise, the bespectacled redhead who works the front office, returns the smile. “Hi there, Mr. Diaz,” she says warmly. Her gaze strays towards Buck. “Mr…”

“Buckley,” he fills in. “Hi.”

“Hi, Mr. Buckley,” she says, just as kind. “What can I help you boys with today?”

Eddie taps his fingers arhythmically against the laminate. “I’d like to update Christopher’s approved pickup list, if that’s not too much trouble.” He lifts his free hand and settles it against the join of Buck’s shoulder and neck, his thumb finding its home over Buck’s collar. “We’ve got to get Buck here added.”

Louise nods diplomatically. “Not too much trouble at all,” she responds before squinting towards the computer screen. She taps a few keys, then looks back up. “Just three easy questions for you,” she tells Buck before jumping right in. “First up, full name?”

“Evan Buckley,” Buck says. “But, uh, I go by Buck.”

“Great. Phone and or email address?”

Buck rattles them both off.

Louise pushes her glasses up her nose. “Finally, relation to Christopher?”

Buck hesitates. “Oh, uh—”

Eddie doesn’t. “Parent,” he cuts in smoothly. Squeezes Buck’s shoulder.

“Wonderful,” Louise says, filling in the last answer. She moves the mouse, clicks a few buttons. Then, “Alright, Mr. Buckley,” she says brightly, “there shouldn’t be any issues for you and Christopher at pickup time now. Let me just go grab you the parking pass for your car and you’ll be all set.”

“Thank you,” Buck says. Then he waits for her to step away from the desk before he turns to Eddie. “Parent?” He asks quietly. 

Eddie shrugs. Doesn’t lower his voice. “You are.”

Something flickers over Buck’s face — soft and warm and pleased — and the corner of his mouth twitches up. His eyes shift past Eddie’s shoulder, though, towards Sheila, who’s still in the front office, lingering not-so-subtly near the bulletin board — the gossip fiend. When he fixes his gaze back onto Eddie, some of the light has faded, just a bit.

“The PTA will talk,” Buck tries to joke.

Eddie shrugs. Thinks, fuck it. His hand slides down Buck’s arm until he can press his palm purposefully into Buck’s. Until he can fold their fingers together. “Let them,” he says, steady and sure.

Buck’s inhale stutters, catches in his throat, and for a moment, he looks a little overwhelmed.

Maybe it is a lot, the parent bomb and the sudden… taste of Eddie’s— feelings… all at once. But Buck’s a part of their life, a big part of their life, and he deserves to know that. To be shown, in every way. And besides, Eddie isn’t going anywhere. If Buck needs— a second, a minute, any stretch of time, to wrap his head around it all, Eddie will be there for him to lean on.

Louise returns then with the parking pass. “Here you go,” she says, holding it out.

Eddie takes it on Buck’s behalf. “Thanks, Louise,” he says.

“Of course,” Louise returns. “You two have a great day, okay? And Christopher as well!”

“You too,” Eddie smiles.

He’s still holding Buck’s hand as they turn for the exit. He doesn’t let go.

When he looks over at Buck, there’s something more settled about him, and that soft smile is back on his face. Eddie squeezes his hand, and the smile grows.

They have to pass Sheila again, on their way to the door. She’s given up on her attempt at subtlety, openly staring now, at their joined hands.

As they walk by, Eddie bares his teeth in an overly-friendly smile. “Bye, Sheila,” he says.

She startles, eyes jerking up to Eddie’s face, an embarrassed flush in her cheeks. She fishmouths, like she can’t quite figure out what to say.

She doesn’t have to, though, because Buck pipes up next. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Sheila,” he grins.

Then winks.

And Eddie absolutely can’t hold his laugh back this time, all but yanking Buck right out the door so he can let it fly into the open air and sunshine.

Buck curls towards him, his own laughter spilling out too.

“The PTA is definitely going to talk now,” Eddie muses, and the thought kind of thrills him a little.

Buck’s eyes sparkle. “Good,” he says. “Let them.”

[honeesucker]

Four -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 4,749

Series Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

Chapter Content Warnings: depictions of hybrid fights / reader being used as a bait hybrid in a fight | Noncon (brief detail, mention of knotting - hybridxhybrid) | mentions of spit, blood.

*Not proofread.

Previous | Next 

You had finally calmed down from your anxiety attack, the tears long gone but the gentle hiccups that resulted from a hard cry were still jolting your body as you tried to take in steadier breaths. Bakugo was sitting with his eyes closed, breaths coming in a steady rhythm but his hand against your back, fingers rubbing small, gentle circles let you know he was still awake. You couldn’t quantify how much time had passed since the whole incident started, the ache from the release of the rubber bands where burning rings of skin was left told you it’d been long enough for your body to catch up with itself.

You were exhausted.  

You huffed out a quick breath of air, and fell forward on Bakugo’s chest, resting on your chin to look up at him and nose at his throat again. Bakugo cracked one eye open with a quirk of his brow and looked down at you.  

“What’cha think you’re snoofin’ at, Pup?” Bakugo grumbled with no malice in his tone.

“Ah-!” His sudden awareness of you startled you, a sheepish smile appearing on your face. “Y-you smell good, wanted to smell it again.”

“Mm, still smell Red and TetsuTetsu on me, hm?” Bakugo mused.

“No,” when you shook your head, still resting against him, your cold nose dragged against his skin, and it sent a shudder through his body. “S’different than them, something better.”  

Unnoticed by everyone else, but Bakugo could feel the tips of his ears and the back of his neck heat up at your revelation that it was purely him that you were finding pleasant. Bakugo shifted in the seat, legs and ass sore from sitting for so long in one position, and you bounced up on him as he did so – a tiny yelp-like giggle escaping you which he broke a crooked, fanged grin at you. Your guys’ time together finally being interrupted by someone behind you clearing their throat. You whipped your head back, nearly upside down which caused your newly-floppy ears to stand up straight due to the backward angle of your head – this caused everyone to smile at the silly display.  

“Puppy,” the Director had come forward, just shy of a foot away from the pair as she smiled fondly down at you, letting your head rest in her hands as she raised them to cradle your head, her eyes darting up to meet Bakugo’s quickly as he simply nodded. “I think it's time for us to let Mr. Bakugo go home for today, and we need to get you to the facility Doctor to check on your ears – they have to be hurting you, yes?”  

“Mmm... yes, but-” you shifted your eyes, looking back at Bakugo with a conflicted expression. “You don’t want to stay longer?”

“’Course I do, Pup,” Bakugo said, reaching up to gently pat your cheek. “But it’s been a long day for everyone, and I think getting some rest would be good for us, too, don’t you think?” You just nodded with a sigh, and let Bakugo lift you up in his arms, carrying you like a toddler with your arms around his neck as he followed the Director into a different building in the facility where one of the many highly trained hybrid doctors would be able to check you over. Bakugo noted the way your ears seemed to flatten a little further against your head as he said a quick goodbye, telling you he’d see you again soon and left the room. Hana had excused herself to walk Bakugo out, the Director giving her a nod as she followed the blonde Pro. The Director finally turned to you, sitting with legs swinging atop an exam bed awaiting a doctor to come and see you.

“Puppy?” The Director asked, and your response was a small hum as you glanced up at her, shoulders drooped and demeanor a bit more down. “You like Mr. Bakugo, don’t you?” The Director had her answer in the way your cheeks tinged pink and your ears and whole body seemed to perk up at the idea, fluffy tail swishing behind you as it lazily thumped in time with your thoughts.  

“I do,” you finally said out loud, not looking up to meet her gaze.  

“Would you ever want to be adopted out again?” She pressed further and you drooped again, clearly thinking hard about the implication of what that meant for you. “Would you want Mr. Bakugo to adopt you?” Your eyes widened but you didn’t say anything, didn’t move but you were soon betrayed again by your fluffy cloud of a tail, thumping wildly behind you at the idea.  

“H-he wouldn’t want to adopt me,” you finally sighed, tail still technically wagging but clearly dejected. “I caused so much trouble, and I bit him-” you were startled as the Director cut you off.

“Puppy, what if I told you he had already put in an application for you?” You froze.

“For me?” You whispered, more to yourself. “He did?” Your mind began running through so many different scenarios – the most prevalent thought being why Bakugo would ever want a hybrid like you. You didn’t feel like you could offer him anything, felt like trouble only followed you wherever you went, and bringing it to Bakugo’s doorstep wasn’t something you wanted to do.  

“What’s holding you back, Puppy?” The Director’s calm voice brought you out of the string of incessant, negative thoughts and you glanced up at her while nibbling down on your bottom lip.

“What if he decides I’m not good enough and sends me back?” Your voice was so tiny it was almost imperceptible.

“Puppy,” the Director had kneeled in front of you, meeting your pouty expression with a kind smile as she took your hands in her own. “Mr. Bakugo has been taking all the classes, and learning about you, and has come to the same decision over and over again – that he still wants to adopt you. I think he’s really hoping you’d consider it, too... there’s also a good support system in place with him, too, since you’d be able to see Mr. Kirishima and TetsuTetsu as well,” she finished, watching as your tail picked up at the mention of your silver-haired friend.  

“Who’s Mr. Kirishima?” You finally asked, and the Director simply chuckled.

“Tall, red hair, he brought TetsuTetsu to visit a while back – do you remember?” Your eyes lit up as you nodded vigorously.

“Red! M’sorry I didn’t know the other name,” your sheepish grin was a welcome sight as the Director patted your shoulder. It wasn’t much of a wait after you finished speaking with the Director that one of the hybrid doctors – Dr. Sato – entered the room and began to examine your ears. He was careful with his handling of the newly exposed areas, dictating his findings to the Director as she sat in the far corner of the exam room. Dr. Sato took his time cleaning the area, stating that he wasn’t certain your fur would grow back, but the area that was nearly necrotic, and was caught just in time to be treated and you wouldn’t have to have any surgery to your ears which you were grateful for – slumping a little at the realization of what could’ve happened in you continuing to avoid your real ears. Dr. Sato prescribed some antibiotics to help with the minimal infection around the area and gave you a cream to spread on the hairless ring at the base of your ears to help with accelerating the healing of the area. You nodded along, promising to follow the treatment plan, and the Director chimed in that she would help in reminding you about taking the medication and doing your daily cleanings.  

Dr. Sato and the Director both had continued having a conversation, while you were waiting to be released, your mind swimming with the fantasy of being adopted again.

Being adopted by Him.

Something about Bakugo drew you in, even with his terrifying stature and harsh demeanor; something about the blonde man simply made you feel the safest you had ever felt in your life that you could remember. He was friends with your friend, and his owner. He didn’t hurt you when you bit him, didn’t get angry or yell or throw you off. You caught the tail-end of the conversation between Dr. Sato and the Director, and as she was leaving the room to follow the Doctor with the expectation you would follow as well, you spoke up.

“I do,” the Director stopped at your sudden words. “I want to be adopted,” your body felt electrified with the uncertain future, but you knew at the very least you’d be around people you felt the safest with. “By him,” you clarified, “I’d like to accept his application.”

The Director took in your apprehensive demeanor, noting that it didn’t seem you were truly afraid of being adopted by Bakugo, just appeared to be nervous in general which she didn’t blame you for given your history. The smile spread across her face as she held out a hand for you to take, and you did as you jumped down from the exam table.  

She was excited to make the call – her only dilemma was wondering if she should wait for morning to give the explosive hero the good news.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Bakugo had finally arrived home, the events of the day and the high emotions left a heavy weight tied to his ankles, dragging him, and to his heart; his body on autopilot as he took off his gear from the day, leaving them scattered across the table and floor of his genkan – he stripped down to his pants and the black tank worn underneath his hero costume as he slipped into his slippers and shuffled to his bathroom. His mind was running a mile a minute, going over the day's events as he tried hard to fight off the exhaustion he was suddenly hit with. While Bakugo was always vigilant and expecting something to happen given his understanding of the world, he truly didn’t anticipate encountering a scumbag extra like the piece of trash who thought he could even come close to touching you today. Bakugo wanted to blast that son of a bitch sky high and then some, but when the officers had come for the man, and he noticed you, he simply couldn’t bring himself to fight when it looked like you needed him more.

Bakugo swallowed hard. His heart thumping wildly in his chest as he remembered how light you felt in his arms, how soft and warm you were against him – how easy it felt holding you and toting you around. His mind then switched to how terrified you looked when that rubber band snapped, how your instincts overrode everything else when you bit down to get out of his arms. Bakugo couldn’t help but wonder just what memory was triggered when that rubber band broke, when he held you tighter and you fought with an admirable strength to escape – wondering what you had to fight to escape in the past. He swallowed the hard lump that formed in his throat and just shook off the heavy feelings. He showered, he drank nighttime tea and quickly downed a spicy instant noodle just to have something in him before he dropped down into bed and closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before Bakugo’s thoughts stilled, and he finally fell asleep.

Bakugo awoke in a place he had never been before, or rather, it felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. He sat up, propping himself up on his elbows on an uncovered mattress, filthy and creaky, with a spring jutting out into his forearm as he put pressure there. His face contorted in a disgusting scowl as he looked around the vaguely familiar room, the piles of trash and various half-broken boxes revealing equally trashy contents. Bakugo stood up, kicking around the room before settling himself by a dresser near the door, thumbing through the scattered papers with half-written nonsensical sentences in chicken scratch handwriting.

He couldn’t explain how, or why, but he knew he had to be somewhere important. Someone was waiting for him, and his feet took him down a dingy hallway, and out into the dusty expanse of a rundown warehouse yard. He could hear a hushed road of shouting, cheering and curses in the adjacent building and he walked over, treading carefully, not knowing who he would encounter there. When he pushed open the heavy metal door where the sound was coming from he was met with cheers and wide, yellow-toothed smiles and some missing more than half of their teeth before he was patted on the shoulder and led closer to the center of the warehouse where men and women of various scummy degrees were shouting and waving tickets, cursing at each other and drinking as their eyes all stayed toward the center.  

“Thought you wouldn’t make it, man!” The man leading Bakugo shouted over the rest of the noise around them. “Fight’s already been set up, but you haven’t missed much, just the intros, bro, time to take your seat center stage man!” Bakugo just followed along as the grimy extra kept a grip on his bicep, leading him toward the center of the large room. Between the smell of smoke and liquor, body odor and dust Bakugo wanted to puke but he let himself get absorbed into the atmosphere, waiting to see what waited for him as he was led to a bench at the top center above an in-ground pit where Bakugo could see two incredibly large wolf hybrids chained up, just enough slack in the metal to allow the brutes to get attacks in on each other. What froze Bakugo’s blood the second he heard it, and then saw it, was the scared yip! As one of the hybrids decided to take his attention away from the hybrid opposite him and snap hungrily at a tiny hybrid chained to the wall.

It was you – his little Puppy.

Bakugo watched in rapt horror as the wolf hybrid caught your tail and bit down, a fresh, wet matting of blood ruining the soft look of your fur. Floppy little ears were pressed back against your head, nearly flat, as Bakugo took notice of the flood of tears welling up in your eyes and spilling over your cheeks. Bakugo wanted to shoot up, to jump down into the pit and knock out the two hybrids just to get to you – to tell you everything would be okay, that you’re safe with him. Bakugo soon learned, however, that his part in this play was one of control – being in control of this whole situation, being the one who put you in the pit.

The people around him cheered on as the wolf hybrids took turns attacking each other to near-death before turning their aggression on you, only barely being able to reach you just enough to mark you and get a taste of blood.

The fight was called not long after, Bakugo watching at a limp wolf hybrid was pulled away by a downcast man, apparently having lost the fight. The winning hybrid was in no better shape but could be led away by his chain with no additional support. You were shaking on the ground as the man who led Bakugo into this horror show earlier picked you up and threw you out of the pit, walking over to your collapsed form to grab the chain around your neck and drag you behind him with no care if you could keep up or were even capable of walking. Bakugo shot up after him, trying to get him to let you go but he just gave a dry laugh, saying you had to go be seen by the Boss.

The Boss – the mention of the name caused you to shrink further in on yourself, and Bakugo wasn’t sure how that was even possible with how small you already were making yourself. You were led back into the house where Bakugo had come from, being pulled toward a room he didn’t see earlier until you were thrown to the ground in front of a man dressed in all black. Slick black hair and even colder, lifeless black eyes regarded you and tsk’d as he lent down and tugged on one of your floppy little ears until you screamed.

“Didn’t I tell you to get this shit taken care of?” The man scowled, spitting in your face as you flinched away from him. “Floppy fuckin’ mutt ears, what kind of prize are you to offer up if you look like a piece of mixed breed trash, hah?” The man kicked forward, knocking you down onto your face where you stayed, too afraid to get up. Bakugo had been led to a couch just two feet away from this scene, where he watched the man from earlier strip you of the worn little dress you were covered by, hands immediately fighting for the fabric as you clawed at the man trying to take your cover away. You received a swift boot to the back of the head by the man who Bakugo recognized from earlier: the owner of the winning hybrid. Wondering what was going on for only a second longer before it all clicked – what the Boss had said, how he said it, why you were being stripped... Bakugo’s stomach turned as he watched the victor lead his wolf hybrid forward, the large brute leaning forward to sniff and lap at your exposed body before you were mounted. Bakugo found that the only movement he was capable of (that was his own in this dream body) was a tight grip of his hands. He could almost feel his palms heating up to explode as the grotesque scene in front of him unfolded, sparks burning into his fingers as they curled into his palms. Bakugo could nearly force the explosion he so desperately wanted to set off as he heard your crying turn to screams, his eyes deadly at the sight of the knot bullying its way into your body.

Bakugo awoke in a cold sweat to the sound of his phone vibrating on his bedside table. Sitting up as he coughed and choked on nothing, the recollection of his dream burned into his mind's eye as he tried to shake the residual hopelessness he felt at seeing you like that, and not being able to help you. He grabbed at his phone, not even glancing at the Caller ID screen before answering the call with a low growl of a ‘Wha’dya want?’ before the familiar voice instantly set him on high alert.  

“Is everything okay? Did something happen? I can be back down there in an-” Bakugo was cut off by the Director’s quick apology, and explanation.

“No, Mr. Bakugo everything is alright, I’m so sorry to call so late. It sounds like I disturbed your rest,” her tone was truly apologetic, and Bakugo had grown quite fond of the woman over the last few weeks, unable to hold onto his anger. “I wanted to relay some news to you and felt it couldn’t wait until morning.” This had Bakugo sitting straight up in bed, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as the edges of his vision blurred, the panic already taking a hooked hold in his chest.

“I’m listening,” is all he could manage out with his normal tone of voice.  

Did you decide to reject his adoption application?

Did something happen when she took you to see the hybrid doctor? Was everything alright?

“I wanted to extend my sincerest congratulations,” she finally said and Bakugo’s whole body froze. “I had a talk with our little Puppy, and she has accepted your application for her adoption. We can have arrangements made for you to bring her home by tomorrow if that’s suitable for you?”

You said yes.

You said yes?

YOU SAID YES!

Bakugo’s whole body buzzed with relief, excitement and anticipation. He couldn’t hide the stupid grin he felt taking over his face as his right leg jumped anxiously hearing what the Director had to say about the process of scheduling a pickup.

“Yes,” Bakugo finally agreed, “I can be there first thing in the morning.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Morning couldn’t come soon enough for Bakugo, rushing through his shower, throwing on an outfit of all-black casual clothes... rushing out the door to meet Kirishima who offered to drive him again instead of letting him take a paid service, or use the agency provided drivers he knew Bakugo disliked.  

“Good morning, Bakugo, ready to go?” Kirishima’s bright voice greeted the rough blonde as all he got in return was a deep grunt... or a growl? but was met with a content sigh as Kirishima held up a coffee he picked up for Bakugo on the way. The exhausted blonde inhaling a deep breath of the coffee steam before tipping the cup for a drink.  

“Thanks,” Bakugo muttered, sipping the hot liquid as he put his seatbelt on and sank back into the seat.  

“Are you excited, bro?” Kirishima asked, peeking at Bakugo from his peripheral, to see Bakugo’s body go rigid as he looked out the window.

“M’nervous,” he finally said after a momentary pause, on bad days I can barely take care of myself... hell there was that month you had to come and stay with me just so I’d eat and shower... what if I fail at taking care of her when she needs me the most? It’s not just my rehabilitation, it’s hers too...”  

“Hey man, don’t worry too much about it,” Kirishima’s voice still held his normal joyful tone, but the underlying was he spoke was deep, and comforting to Bakugo. “I think you’ll be better at taking care of someone else than you are yourself, and she’ll help to remind you of how important it is to take care of yourself - because if you’re not feeling good enough, you can’t do good by her... and you know you always have me to ask for help, too, I’ll always be there for you Kats...” Bakugo just nodded, holding back a strangled sob in his throat as he continued to face out the window, afraid that if he saw the loving, understanding look on Kirishima’s face he’d just burst into tears.

The drive was quiet except for the music Kirishima was playing at a low volume, the sounds of the comfortable silence mixed with the occasional stuttered sip of hot coffee had the moment feeling perfectly... regular. It calmed Bakugo down to have his friend here with him, although the closer they got to the facility, as the large building came into view on the horizon, Bakugo felt a rush of acidic bile rise in his throat with his nerves. This was it. This was really happening!

Kirishima had pulled up and around the circular driveway and parked in front of the building... Bakugo was frozen in his seat as his eyes were glued off in the distance to something other than where he was, his head visibly out of the moment.

“You good, Kats?” Kirishima’s voice was a soft, reassuring tone, gentle but firm as his hand reached over and patted Bakugo’s thigh, before his large hand wrapped around the muscled thigh and squeezed. The action brought Bakugo back and he glanced down at the hand on his thigh and then up Kirishima’s arm to his kind, friendly face.

“Yeah, m’good just...” *Bakugo shuddered a little, this vulnerability making him a little queasy. “Nervous, is all... more than I thought I’d be.” Kirishima couldn’t help the way his toothy grin widened even more at Bakugo’s admission, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.  

“Don’t sweat it, Kats,” Kirishima reassured the blonde. “She chose you, too, and there’s a whole system in place to support you guys... everything will be fine.” Bakugo just nodded, hesitating for a moment more before downing the rest of his coffee and finally steeling his nerves enough to walk in.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Mr. Bakugo, welcome in!” A new desk worker greeted Bakugo, one he had met briefly at the recent community day, his smile bright and friendly.

“I’m here to see the Director...” Bakugo’s normally brash and aggressive voice was closer to a meek whisper, though his baritone always carried a strength to it.

The staff member continued to smile kindly, making a quick call as he motioned down the hallway, hanging up. “The Director is expecting you; did you need an escort to her office?” Bakugo just shook his head, already heading the now familiar route to the Director’s office as the pit of anxiety in the bottom of his stomach expanded and threatened to swallow him whole. Once he reached the familiar door, he knocked softly and was greeted with a soft ‘Come in!’ and upon opening was met with the sight of the Director, and you... you who looked so small and happy with your newly floppy ears tilting cutely as you leaned back and looked up at Bakugo.

“Mr. Bakugo, welcome back... we were just going over our little Puppy’s ear care, please, sit,” the Director said with a friendly tone, motioning for him to sit in the chair beside you. You, who despite looking away from Bakugo with a slightly nervous expression now, still wagged the fluffy little cloud of a tail behind you, unable to hide your emotions. “Now, she must apply this antibiotic cream morning and night to the areas affected where the rubber bands were, and she also has a pill she needs to take to ensure no spread of any internal viruses, right, Puppy?”

You only nodded, biting your lower lip as you looked down at your folded hands, fidgeting with them in your lap. “Yes, rub on ears and take the pill...” you said softly, nodding to yourself.

“Good girl,” the Director praised, and then turned to Bakugo, but not before adding. “Puppy why don’t you go and get all your stuff together and make sure you’re not forgetting anything? We’ll come meet you shortly, okay?” You nodded, hopping down from the chair and padding out of the room softly as you closed the door behind you... The Director now turning to Bakugo. “Before we finalize everything, are there any concerns you have at this moment?”

Bakugo thought for a moment, good and hard before shaking his head. “No, I think we’ve covered everything up until this point, and I feel pretty supported by you... and Kirishima has offered to help me adjust as well.” The Director nodded, a genuine smile on her face.  

“I, as well as my staff are here to be a resource for you, Bakugo, and we will keep in touch via email, and I am only a phone call away... I’m happy you have a friend supporting you as well, it will make the transition easy knowing someone who has been through the same thing.”

“I appreciate all of your help, and all of the courses you provided too,” Bakugo admitted with a soft look on his face. “I feel better prepared now, even if I still feel like I’m out of my element here...” The Director gave Bakugo a soft look before standing up and motioning him to follow.

“Let’s go get our little Puppy, shall we?” She said gently, leading Bakugo down a new hallway he hadn’t yet been to, to finally land in front of a white door. The Director knocked and then slowly cracked the door, peeking inside as she smiled, calling your name. “Are you all packed up, Puppy?” She said softly, opening the door and Bakugo’s heart almost melted at the sight of you sitting on your bed with one little bag beside you on the floor, your legs swinging on the overhang of the bed as you glanced up, a small, nervous smile on your face as you nodded. Bakugo watched you jump down, grabbing the bag and walking forward, opting to take his hand as you smiled up at him.

Bakugo almost fainted from the varying emotions in his body: fear, anxiety, happiness, love, a little cuteness aggression.... when you held his hand, looking up at him with a smile when you said... “Ready!”

@winnieslut @ryantryan6969 @natsukicookies @littlnika @im-better-than-your-newborn @ssc7514 @romiinlove @theequeenofcurses @xbieditz @hypernovaxx @craxy-person​ @archer-fb @sadgyaltings​ @kllrkitty @meiimeiichuu 

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[goshilovemesomemonsters]

… I hear you.. AND BOY DOES THAT GIVE ME IDEAS!! 🤩

An image of how Reader heals the Pilgrim gang~

✨Wukong✨

Gentle as can be~ takes her time to slowly heal every possible (or imagined) scratch and bruise, all with a loving hand~ …. And while teasing the absolute shit outa him… 😜

🤝🏻 Sandy 🤝🏻

Her bestie? Her BFF?? The go to method for healing the big blue good-boy™️ is of course their secret best-friends handshake~ 😎

😐 Pigsy 😐

Every time this guy tries to go in for a hug.. and every time he gets slapped in the face.. healing through violence… somewhat contradictory? Perhaps, but it works~

🙏🏻 Tang 🙏🏻

… She pinches his nose in a firm grip, and start lecturing him.. “repeat after me, I will NOT listen to Pigsy and go near the obviously suspicious Bogota in the distance, especially when everyone else tells me not to!” basically a Mom moment~

🐴 Ao Lie 🐴

Gentle head pats.. after his own Father sentenced him to death, the poor kid deserves some form of genuine affection.. another Mom moment~

YOU. You get it.

And if you don’t mind me adding on to this~ because this in turn gave me more ideas lmao

Honestly Wukong doesn’t even go to you for healing to begin with. He’s the Monkey King??? Immortalx6???? He doesn’t need your healing he can just heal himself 🤨. Yes it does hurt him to have to regrow or repair himself, I imagine it’s less that he heals himself and more just…speeds up the process of the injuries healing themselves meaning he gets a fuckton of pain all at once, but given he is both immortal and impatient, he doesn’t really think much of the pain…or he tries to tell himself that anyway.

But after one of the battles where he’s forced to go to Guanyin for help he finds himself angrily sulking because he doesn’t like having to ask for help. But then you come over and just…place a friendly hand on his shoulder and heal him. He is prepared for it to hurt like how he heals himself but it doesn’t?? In fact it feels nice??? What the Fuck™. He could have been getting THIS the whole time??

Every battle after that he is first in line to get healed (listen it’s just quicker if you heal him ok don’t look too deep into it-) even going so far as to push Pigsy out of the way at points. Don’t come between the monkey and his (excuse to get your hands on him) heals. See he thought he knew what he was getting into. A quick heal and (your touch…) he’s back to full health. He was wrong because reader is wise to his schemes and makes it their personal mission to fluster the shit out of him.

“Why is this taking so long??”

“Because you keep fidgeting”

“Well you need to hurry up!!”

“I’m adding on a minute of heal time for every time you rush me.”

“What?? No just finish up already!”

“Three minutes.”

“Stop going so slow!!”

“Four! Do I hear five?? Goodness your gonna give me the wrong idea if you keep this up. It’s like you want my hands on you~”

All the while you’re slooowly dragging your hands across him and he’s doing everything in his power to not think about how good it feels, how nice it feels to have your gentle and delicate touches on him and looking anywhere other than at you. Jokes on him though he may not blush super easily but his ears are always the first to show it.

Sun Wukong was NOT prepared for this. He’s used to admiration from his subjects, fear from his enemies, respect from those he’s fought. But this??? This is new. He’s not used to this. Even back on flower fruit mountain he was never subjected to this kind of attention. He doesn’t…hate it per-say, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He might try to cross his arms, make himself look intimidating he doesn’t know-

“Nah-ah, uncross those arms mister I need access to your chest.”

He is suffering. Your going to kill him he’s sure of it. This is how he dies. Just by being subjected to your ministrations. Yes he knows he could leave at anytime but he’s not going to.

It doesn’t really occur to him that you’re taking your time on purpose at first because it’s not exactly like he was paying attention the first time you healed him and he accepts your explanation of it being more precise when you touch him like that readily enough. To his credit he does eventually catch on to what your doing by being purposefully slow and handsy. But like by that point he’s down bad and doubles down.

He flips the script BIIIG time when he goes from “feelings are dumb” to courting/relationship status though. If he was a menace before now he is INSUFFERABLE.

“You missed a spot”

“Oh? Where?”

“Move your hands lower”

“WUKONG.”

“I am injured! Don’t you want to see me get better? 🥺”

Or otherwise now he is intentionally doing whatever he can to increase how long it takes

“Hey you still intend to go slower if I rush you right?”

“Probably? Why do you ask-“

“WOW you are going so slow you need to hurry up and finish already because this is taking forever, we’ve been here like all day seriously how much longer is this going to take??”

“…”

“How long does that buy me?”

“…”

*Insta-Heals him*

D:<

As for the others,

Sandy/Sha Wujing is an absolute sweetheart, always patiently waiting for his turn to be healed or for you to finish. Always asks for heals with a please and thanks you every time. Secret handshake is absolutely how he gets healed. 10/10 would heal again. Best patient ever.

Tang is….fine most times. He’s real sorry for making you go through the trouble though. Really sorry. Has he told you how sorry he is? Because he is. He’s really really sorry. Swears he won’t do it again. A simple shoulder pat is all he really needs as he feels reaaaaally sorry and just feels the worst about this. No but fr he feels SO GUILTY. Healing him is part actually healing him and part feelings jam because he probs needs to be reassured that what happened wasn’t his fault.

Oof but when it’s because of Pigsy starting shit again and pulls him into danger? That’s when the pinching starts. How many times have you and Wukong told him not to listen to Pigsy?? So many times?? AND YET??? …he’s still really sorry tho

Ao Lie doesn’t really need healing all that often due to being a horse most of the time but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally sidle up to you and push his head under your hand to ask for it. Carrying the monk all that time has gotta be tiring, even if he is a dragon. Especially since he isn’t even doing it in his natural form! So that little boost of energy you give him really helps him out. Also a sweetheart 10/10 (why can’t Pigsy be like you and Sandy FR)

Pigsy tho…bless Reader’s heart you TRIED to actually properly heal him once. But unfortunately with Pigsy being Pigsy that went about as well as expected. As soon as he found out you heal through touch it was all over. “Oh my fair friend I am dying!! Only your sweet kiss can heal me. 😚” which did result in the slap heal. To his…tiny tiny bit of credit he does stop the antics after the first few times. Not because he realized that it won’t happen, but because Wukong won’t let him. Literally, he tries to be his fail-suave self during a time when Wukong is standing right behind you and one very intense glare coupled with a hand going to his ear to pull out his cudgel is all it takes to get him to stop….mostly. Still tries it when Wukong isn’t around though. Always results in a slap.

[thegreatyin]

*claps* alright lets go over my own master bat species kin assignments then. most of these takes are either based on things i've seen from other people and adopted into my own worldview or just. completely and utterly based on how cute the bat looks. mostly the latter, actually. i have a weakness for cute bats.

The Bandaged Scoundrel/This blog's resident Mr Cards - i simply cannot make a bat list without including her on at least an honorary level. you know her, you hate her, you (debatably) love her, the scoundrel is destined to look like an eastern red bat!!!!! she is so so so fluffy and so so so cute and all of her war crimes are excused forever and ever because look at her itty bitty little face

Mr Veils - going completely with the grain of fandom opinion here, veils is 100% a spectral bat in my eyes. it just. it works so well. it's the largest bat in america. it's one of the few bat species known to eat other bats. its jaw strength is absolutely insane. it's one of very few monogamous bat species, which may seem like an odd detail when listing reasons why it's like veils, but also that beast is incredibly divorced and to this day struggling to cope with said divorce and you cannot convince me otherwise. just. just look at that thing. just Look at its face. that is the face of a creature who knows what its done and is completely and utterly unrepentant about it. veils spectral bat numero uno

Mr Spices - this lazy evil milf is a pygmy fruit eating bat!! there is no strong reasoning behind this choice besides "looks like it would roll around in a pile of crack" and "is very small". i have nothing to say beyond appreciating the little racing stripes on its head. i think they add character. speaking of size differences-

Mr Wines - i've seen a lot of people dub wines a golden-crowned flying fox, which i mostly agree with, except i also discovered spectacled flying foxes exist and have you SEEN their little faces?? their big ol eyes?? their funky little guy swag?? there's not really any particular reason i chose this species above golden-crowned flying foxes (in fact, that one probably does fit wines better), i just really really like their cute little face markings and figured wines having the same thing would be cute. it's a distraction from how unapologetically vile its personality is

Mr Pages - pallid bat. i also have absolutely no justification for this choice. i just think it Looks Like A Pages™. the big ol ears and little snout to balance glasses on?? come on. you can see it. i'm not crazy. that's just a pages creature right there

Mr Fires - HOARY BAT MY BELOVED!!! there is some actual reasoning behind this choice (the bright orange fur around its neck can be used as an analogue for fire, the powdered donut swag on the rest of its body is a bit like smoke, etc) but mostly it comes down to me thinking it'd be really really funny if fires did all of the crimes that it does while being really tiny and having a baby face. look at it. joy and whimsy in its eyes. i just know it's thinking about tormenting union workers as we speak.

Mr Apples/Mr Hearts/Mr Happles/Mr Seriously Needs To Pick One Name And Stick To It Already - this one is just here for completionist's sake. happles is a common vampire bat. we have canon artwork of its face. i'm just using this as an opportunity to force more bat pictures upon ye.

Mr Iron - it is the swords bat. it is the grumpy bat. it is the grumpy swords bat. there is no bat that suits iron more than a literal swords-nosed bat, on account of the fact that it has a sword for a nose and looks kinda grumpy in this picture.

Mr Stones - everyone's dearly beloved little hoarder is BALD BALD BALD BALD BALD BALD BALD a naked bulldog bat. my reasoning? stones feels like the type to compensate for its lack of fur by way of strutting around dressed to the nines in jewelry. also, it's gotta be developing some insane muscles from being weighed down by diamonds 24/7, and what better way to let that show than via a bat that has no fur to obscure them?

Mr Cups and Mr Mirrors - whatever their relation may be, these two share a species in my mind, and that species is the mexican free-tailed bat. this is, much like pages, purely a vibes thing. it just looks like a cups. if you told me this little guy used its whiskers to dig around for trash i'd 100% believe you. mirrors mostly just shares its species by virtue of association, though i do like the idea of it being a silver-haired bat of some kind.

and those are all of my bat takes! feel free to tell me how much i suck and am wrong lmao

[olailamajnoon]

The Justice League was mid-discussion about a No Doubt Very Important Mission™ when Zatanna suddenly raised her hand and, without waiting to be called upon, said as loudly as it was possible for her (which was loud enough, given that she was trained in opera) “Batman, have you been snooping on my ChatGPT history?"

Since this was both a ridiculous question from Zatanna as well as a plausible thing for Batman to do, the rest of the team looked at Batman.

Batman looked up from his notes, fixing Zatanna with his trademark deadpan glare. "No."

"Hmm.” Zatanna frowned into her screen, tapping away. “Maybe I'm paranoid. I've always suspected that I was paranoid." There was a smattering of throat-clearings from around the room. 

“You know,” she continued, “snooping would be a really creepy thing for you to do. ChatGPT is my best friend.” She was seemingly being unironical. 

Batman did not miss a beat. "That’s sad."

The room was not silent, but neither was it noisy. There was just the right amount of sound to indicate that people were amused, but not willing to be audible about it.

Zatanna looked up indignantly at the sound. "Excuse me, I’ll have you all know that ChatGPT is very supportive. For example I asked her ‘Is Batman an asshole?’ And she keeps saying, ‘No, Batman is a superhero and a symbol of justice in Gotham.’"

Batman sighed the put-upon sigh of someone dealing with something they considered too beneath them to acknowledge. Zatanna shot a look at Batman. "But then I asked a bunch of people around you, and they say you are. So who should I believe?"

His face was unamused. "Believe whatever gets this meeting back on track."

The meeting went on, but with Zatanna typing furiously into her tablet. After a minute, she groaned dramatically. "Ugh, GPT keeps fighting me! ‘Batman isn’t by definition an asshole because he saves lives!’ Blegh."

“You have a problem,” said Batman. 

Barry grinned. “Maybe ChatGPT’s just scared of Batman."

"I mean,” said Cyborg, considering, “it—sorry, she” (this was from Zatanna’s stare) “knows everything, right? She’s probably seen what he can do."

Two seconds later, Zatanna almost jumped out of her seat with excitement. “Aha! I got her to admit that Batman’s sometimes an asshole."

The League was looking at her, intrigued and trying to hide it. Batman exhaled a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had finally recognized this wasn’t going anywhere. "Really,” he said, not having to feign any feigned interest. “How did you manage that."

"By informing her how you boss everyone around, and beat up people you don’t like."

"She’s… not entirely inaccurate,” said Superman. 

Batman ignored that and fixed Zatanna with a steady glare. "Do you plan on contributing anything useful to this meeting, or should I add you to the list of people I ‘beat up because I don’t like'?"

Zatanna narrowed her eyes at him, and pressed a few keys on her tab, putting her ear to the tinny voice emanating from the speaker. “Congratulations. GPT’s upgraded you to ��complete asshole’,” she informed him.

“What a tremendous blow to my ego,” said Batman. "How will I ever survive." He tried to carry on with the mission briefing. “Where was I.” 

“You were talking about how the world was going to end in seventeen minutes,” Superman supplied helpfully. 

Batman glanced at his watch. “Fifteen, now. Thank you, Zatanna.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, unhelpfully.

[7official7moose7]

Here's a Chase doodle and some headcanons because he is seriously my favorite

He always has a pack of mentos mints on hand. No matter the circumstance, there's always mints in his pocket

I think its because he used to smoke cigarettes

He calls them "cancer sticks" now

Speaks pretty good english, but forgets some words/gets them mixed up and often just opts for replacing it with the French word

This is more common when he's tired or frustrated

Julia often corrects him with the english word he was looking for

"Miss Argent, could you pass me the- uh. The um. What is the word..."

"The white board?"

"Yes that thing. Thank you."

He's a bi disaster and didn't even know it until fairly recently (Ivy told him she was dating Carmen and it made him do some reflecting)

I honestly don't know if I hc him as trans or not, but I really love the concept and all the fanfics that come with it jgdgjhkdsh

Chase probably didn't have the nicest family

He has a sister named Angeline that he hasn't spoken to in like. Seven years or something

He rarely speaks about them to anyone, but when he does, it's either a very brief/vague mention or a whole oh shit that got real moment

Chase is very aware of his arrogant/egotistical tendencies, and he has a lot of guilt about it

("I feel like Im the worst so I always act like I'm the best" - Oh No! By MARINA)

He is very prone to migraines (especially after the truth extractor) but often works through them until someone forces him to stop or he is on the verge of Death Itself™

Same thing with sickness in general, despite taking days off with that excuse, you would never ever catch him taking an actual sick day off

He treats Zack and Ivy like his own kids despite claiming he's terrible with children

They get up to extremely stupid shenanigans and Julia is the mom friend that pinches the bridge of her nose in the background

CHASE DEVINEAUX PLAYS ANIMAL CROSSING AND SPLATOON, DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME

He and Julia both moved from Poitiers to San Diego to be closer to team red and ACME

They live in the same apartment complex, you can pry this one from my cold dead fingers

He's honestly just a silly goofy man with an unknown traumatic background fr

[andy-clutterbuck]

Andy™: Behind the scenes of The Ones Who Live

[seiya-starsniper]

Could I humbly request a Dreamling 1 or 19 for the Soft™ fic prompt meme 👉👈 

1. slow dancing or 19. ‘it made me think of you.’ 

I somehow managed to fit both prompts in here 👀 👀 

Sorry for being slow about this one friendo, work’s been kicking my butt lately but hopefully this was worth it! <3 

Fic could be considered a companion piece to this fill, since I'm such a sucker for weddings ahaha.

—----------------

“Please welcome the newly wedded Gadlings!”

Hob pulls Dream excitedly through the entrance to the ballroom as soon as they’re introduced. They’re both flushed with excitement (and wine from the Dreaming) as they wave at all of Hob’s friends from his current life.

The crowd for their wedding reception is sizable, not nearly as large in attendance as their wedding in the Dreaming, but still large enough to cost Hob quite a bit of money in food and alcohol. He doesn’t care. The glowing and easy smile on Dream’s face is worth far more than any worldly currency.

“And now,” the DJ announces once they’ve reached the center of the room, “it’s time for the newly wedded couple’s first dance.”

The lights dim everywhere except for where they are standing. Hob pulls his husband (his husband) flush against his own body and wraps one arm around Dream’s waist, the other settling into his open palm. They move easily together once the piano intro begins to play, and Lionel Richie’s voice echoes throughout the room.

My love There's only you in my life

“You’ve always had a strange sense of humor,” Dream says, brow raised in amusement as they sway and step easily around one another. Hob knows Dream’s body like he knows his own breath, and it is little effort for him to step back and easily maneuver Dream into a quick twirl.

“Excuse you,” Hob says with mock offense as he pulls them back together. “Endless Love is a classic wedding song.”

“Is that so?” Dream asks, eyes literally glittering with stars and mouth turned up in a challenge.  

Hob nods assuredly. “It was Diana’s Ross’s best selling single,” he says, diving into his encyclopedic memory for music. Dream’s expression lights up as he continues to talk.

“Couldn’t escape this song on the radio back in the 80’s,” Hob continues. “It was nominated for a lot of awards. too. You could say it’s one of the defining songs of the decade,” he adds, then wrinkles his nose. “Film’s absolute shit though.” 

“You say that about many films,” Dream notes, probably remembering the time Hob had given him a twenty minute mini-rant on the origins of Tears in Heaven. Or maybe it was Can’t Help Falling in Love. Come to think of it, most of Hob’s favorite records were tie-ins to terrible movies. 

“Yes, well,” Hob shrugs before he pulls Dream closer to him. “Sometimes great music is made for shit films.” 

“So I take it ‘Endless Love’ is not on the list of your ‘must see films’, then?” Dream huffs, tilting his head playfully towards Hob.

“Not even close,” Hob grins before he leans and captures Dream’s lips with his own. The crowd around them erupts in applause and cheers.

When they pull away, Hob twirls Dream once before, before he tilts the Endless backwards into a dip. Dream’s back arches beautifully, and it steals Hob’s breath for a moment before he remembers to pull Dream back up. When their bodies are pressed together once more, Hob dips his head and admits a secret against Dream’s ear.

“I also may have picked this song because I’m a sap,” he whispers, grinning as he feels Dream shudder beneath him. “It made me think of you a lot, you know.”

“Did it?” Dream asks, pulling his head back to meet Hob’s gaze. 

Hob nods as he begins to mouth the next verse, his focus solely trained on Dream: 

And love, I'll be a fool for you, I'm sure You know I don't mind 'Cause you, you mean the world to me

“I think I’m beginning to see the appeal,” Dream says before he kisses Hob once more. 

[yellowocaballero]

'there's such a thing as too honest' sounds interesting to hear about <3

Yes!!! That's actually a Flash fic :D. There is an unmentioned and unposted "New Wave!Steph and Tim harrass Superman" fic, and this is the "New Wave!Steph and Tim harrass Flash" fic. I have an extremely specific vision of the Flash. This is my design.

I've never posted it because I wanted to post the Superman fic first and I never finished the Superman fic :). Someday tho!

I seriously have this whole internal idea and schema for Barry and Wally and this is just my excuse to write it. Wally and Linda's relationship is largely sourced from my other Wally story, which I'm still inordinarly fond of. I grew up in a fantastic Natural Science museum, and you can tell.

Un-copping characters under the cut. Yet again, this is my design.

“I have a secret to tell you.”

It was practically impossible to get the undivided attention of an assembly of elementary schoolers drunk off life, but the man standing behind the table at the front of the room managed it. Maybe it was the way he said it - soft but clearly audible, conspiratorial but welcoming. 

Or maybe it was the bow tie? The bow tie was hypnotic. Stephanie was hypnotized. 

With great relish, the man in the bow tie and white lab coat announced to the group, “I’m the king of Atlantis.” The group broke into giggles, and Bowtie affected a faux-hurt look. “What, don’t believe me? Don’t I have enough muscles?”

“Aquaman can talk to fish!” A third grader at the front volunteered imperiously. “And he controls water! He’s Jake’s favorite superhero.”

Next to her, a boy shoved her arm. “It’s the Flash, I said the Flash -”

“I’m pretty socially awkward around fish - but that coelacanth fossil in the Paleontology exhibit can talk and talk for days.” Bowtie held up his hands in faux-defeat. “I admit it, I’m not King Arthur. No long and flowing golden locks on me.” It was literally always so funny hearing people call him that. He couldn’t have picked a more on-the-nose landlubber name. “There’s one big difference between us, besides our stunning good looks: King Arthur controls water with magic. But I control water with science.”

The crowd rippled with incredulity. Next to Steph, Tim was still disinterestedly playing the new Link’s Awakening on his Gameboy Color. Tim always had his head ducked over some game or phone when they were on Batman business. He insisted it was part of his cover as Disaffected Teen ™, but Steph was pretty sure that he just completely failed to find a kid’s science museum demonstration interesting. 

On Steph’s other side, another slightly-too-old-for-this kid sat with a chemistry textbook on his lap. He was pretending to be fully engrossed in the textbook - which looked like it was for high schoolers and not a twelve year old - but Steph could see him sneak peeks up over the textbook every few minutes. Steph had to agree with him: there was something magnetic about Bowtie. It wasn’t just the charisma or sense of humor, either. There was something about him that drew you in. Steph had to presume it was his negative charge. 

“Let me guess: science and magic can’t do the same things, right? Dr. Fate, Zatanna Zatara, all those heroes - us normal people can never do something that cool, right?” Tim snorted softly. Bowtie continued setting up his experiment, taking a deflated balloon and using a hand pump to inflate it.  “But Superman doesn’t fly with magic. Superman flies because of his biology! With some special biology, some amazing science - anybody could be a Superman. Because, as Arthur C. Clarke said, ‘sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic’.”

“What about the Flash?” A kid cried. The other kids murmured in agreement. The kid sitting next to Steph jerked his head up to look at Bowtie, eyes shining. “Flash’s magic!”

Bowtie took the balloon off the pump, tying it neatly. He arched an eyebrow at the kid. “Really? The Flash’s given a few interviews where he says differently. We got any Flash fans in the audience?” The entire audience broke into the loudest claps and cheers of the night. Bowtie’s grin widened. “Mr. Popular. Last time I checked, he gave an interview to CCN explaining his powers. Anybody know what he said?” 

“That his only superpower is speed!” The kid said instantly. “He doesn’t have intangibility powers, like everyone’s saying - he just vibrates his atoms so fast that they can pass through solid surfaces! He can’t control the wind, either - he creates tornadoes and whirlwinds by spinning the air with centrifugal force!”

“Looks like we have a Flash mega-fan in the audience.” Bowtie grinned again, and the embarrassed kid ducked his head back into his textbook, cheeks as red as his hair. “The Flash goes pretty fast. We don’t actually know how fast - he’s never found his upper limit. But that’s not his real weapon. Without his real weapon, he’s just some guy who runs fast. Does anybody know the Flash’s real weapon?”

“Science,” the kid whispered worshipfully. 

In tattered chorus, the assembly of children cried, “Science!”

Bowtie laughed. “You got it. Who knows - with enough knowledge of science, maybe any of us could be the Flash!” Tim and Steph glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Leaning against the wall behind them, seemingly engrossed in a newspaper, Bruce was undoubtedly losing respect for this man by the second. “Who here wants to learn a superpower now? Anybody?” The crowd went wild, and the man gave a little bow. “If the people demand it! Now, I need a volunteer from the audience. Jake, how about you?”

With impressive efficiency, Bowtie managed to rub a balloon on the heads of several enthusiastic children. Tim glanced at Steph out of the corner of his eye, and she shrugged in agreement. A long time ago, when he first took this job, he probably rubbed the balloon on his head himself. These days, that was probably a bit more dangerous…

“Take a look at the chalkboard behind me. You see it? This is a diagram of an atom. We have another class on the atom, so stay tuned for that if you’re interested. Now, the little guys flying in circles around the bigger part is called electrons. When we rubbed the balloons against our hair, we just collected up a bunch of electrons. And these electrons have a negative charge. Remember that, it’s important!”

Bowtie turned on the faucet in his desk, letting thin stream of water flow from the faucet into the little sink built into the desk. “This balloon’s like a magnet now. It’s full of negative charges, so it’s looking for something with a positive charge. And this water has just what it’s looking for. So let’s look carefully…”

Bowtie held the balloon next to the stream of water. Sure enough, the water began to bend towards the balloon. The kid next to Steph was paying full attention now, the pretense of a textbook left abandoned on his lap. Bowtie pulled the balloon further and further away, sending the water spreading out from the sink in a flowing ribbon that stretched out halfway along the table. 

The children ooh’d and aah’d. The kid next to Steph looked excited too, but Steph noticed that he looked a little confused. On Steph’s other side, Tim clicked his tongue. 

“That water’s stretching real far for some balloon static electricity, huh,” Tim muttered quietly.

“Yeah,” the kid said, as if Tim was remotely speaking to him. “I did this at home forever ago. The water only moves a few inches.” 

“Look at that,” Tim told Steph. “The water only moves a few inches.”

“He’s so cool,” the kid whispered. 

“Look at that,” Steph told Tim. “Bowtie’s so cool.”

“Bowtie?” the kid hissed, affronted. “He has a doctorate.”

“Dr. Bowtie,” Steph allowed. 

All three of them sat patiently through Dr. Bowtie’s explanation of static electricity. And Steph thought she was good with the kids who come through Dr. Leslie’s clinic. Dr. Bowtie made her look like a chump. With a few strategic jokes, some physical comedy, audience engagement, and the inherent mysticism of the bowtie, the kids were captured. Even the patient adults standing around the back wall were engrossed. Although Steph was pretty sure that the moms in the back were more interested in Dr. Bowtie’s pretty face. He was alright. Cass was prettier. Tim told her to stop saying that Cass was prettier than women, men, and the Grand Canyon, but it was true. 

They all clapped politely when he finished. The kid had gone back to his textbook, making careful annotations in the margins. A group of kids attacked Dr. Bowtie with sheer enthusiasm, which was pretty expected, but Steph saw plenty of adults walk up to him and shake his hand too. It was obvious to an expert in body language: even the adults admired Dr. Bowtie highly. Everybody around him looked at him with respect and awe. You could hardly tell just by looking at him joking around and adjusting his bowtie, but the humbleness was part of the mystique. 

But Steph was cheating. She already knew all about this guy. Uncle Clark had asked her very politely to stop putting together extensive dossiers on their targets, but Bruce had looked at him as if he was crazy. Steph had to agree with him. As if they would ever approach dangerous people without a background check? Uncle Clark had also asked them to stop calling them targets, which was slightly more fair. Uncle Clark had an overdeveloped rigamarole of kindness. It was the Kansas. In Gotham, stabbing you was a handshake.

Once the crowd thinned out, leaving Dr. Bowtie to clean up his station in preparation for the next group, Bruce finally rolled up his newspaper. Steph and Tim glanced at each other, but Bruce made a small hand signal as he walked towards the front. They quickly stood up and ambled in his wake, chatting meaninglessly about what five star restaurant they’d check out after this. The Central City Michelin situation was dire, but apparently there was a legendary burger place. Ohio was a desolate land.

Bruce stood on the other side of the table, waiting until Dr. Bowtie crouched down behind his desk before removing his baseball cap and sunglasses. He tossed them over his shoulder and let Stephanie catch them, stuffing them in her purse. 

“That was an awesome show,” Bruce announced. “Never seen anything like it. How long have you been doing this, Dr. Allen?”

“Please, it’s just Barry.” Barry stood up, holding a glass flask in one hand. “And it’s been -”

For one microsecond, Barry looked shocked. His hand twitched open. And just as quickly, his hand twitched closed and his expression smoothed out. Nice. Somehow disappointing. Steph loved the ‘holy shit, it’s Bruce Wayne!’ heart attack. Can’t you tamp down on the superspeed and drop the flask anyway? For the entertainment value?

“Just a few years,” Barry said smoothly. He looked at Steph and Tim, loitering behind Bruce in different levels of disaffectedness. “The show’s not really designed for high schoolers, but I hope you two got something out of it anyway! We have a show for teenage audiences later today.”

“I learned so much about electrons,” the girl who spent the last eighteen months swallowing forensic textbooks said solemnly. The boy who spent his thirteenth rotation around the sun making bombs gave him a thumbs up. “Bruce was the one who made us stop by, though.”

“I had no idea electrons were so interesting,” the med school dropout said earnestly. To be fair, he was a dropout.  He shook Barry’s hand firmly, before passing over a business card. Barry took the card, and his face twitched slightly when he looked at it. Another missed opportunity for shock. Sad! “The name’s Bruce Wayne. Would you mind lending me a bit of your time? I already talked it over with Ms. Landis - and you have a free hour before your next show, right?”

Slowly, Barry said, “Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, can I ask what this is about? Ms. Landis didn’t…mention this…to me.”

“Mention what?” 

The red headed kid popped up at Barry’s elbow, blinking in confusion between the four of them. Barry’s eye twitched again. Steph didn’t blame him - mostly because Tim’s dossiers were very thorough. 

“That I have a business meeting after the show.” Barry patted Wally on the back. The two looked nothing like each other, but there was some indefinable similarity anyway. “Wally, why don’t you catch up with Linda in the Exxon exhibit? I think I have some stuff to talk to Mr. Wayne about.”

Wally had never looked so wounded. “You said that you’d eat with Linda an’ me at the cafe after the show” He turned his righteous attention onto Bruce, who looked politely attentive. “If you wanna talk with my uncle then you gotta make an appointment.”

Barry’s face twitched again. “Mr. Wayne, this is my nephew Wally West. Wally, this is Bruce Wayne.” Wally still looked unimpressed. Tim looked a little incredulous that somebody in this world didn’t know who Bruce Wayne was, but Steph didn’t know how to break it to him that normal middle schoolers weren’t hip on other city’s billionaires. “You know how Linda’s parents work at a Wayne Industries biotech lab?” Wally nodded, uncertain of where he was going with this. “That’s Wayne.”

“He’s rich?” Wally looked at Bruce with new, appraising eyes. “So that’s what rich people look like…”

Bruce grinned at him, sticking his hands in his pockets. Barry looked a little like he wanted to die. “Sorry for stealing your uncle, kiddo. But what’s that book you got there? Isn’t that for high schoolers?”

Wally brightened, pulling out the textbook from underneath his elbow. Steph couldn’t help but be a little surprised - it was advanced high school Chemistry, for juniors and seniors. “I’m on the pressure and volume chapter! Uncle Barry’s been helping tutor me. Did you know about Avogadro’s Law? It’s the rule that equal volumes of gasses at the same temperature and pressure have the same amount of particles!”

“Wow,” Steph said, impressed. “I didn’t know what an atom was when I was your age.”

Wally lowered the textbook, squinting at her dubiously. He pointed at the chalkboard, which still had a well-drawn image of an atom on it. “Even little kids know about atoms, dude.”

Steph crossed her arms, amused despite herself. “Inner city Gotham doesn’t really have guys like your Uncle Barry. We’re all scienceless orphans.” 

“You caught me,” Tim said, seemingly bored. 

“That’s actually what I’m here to talk to your uncle about,” Bruce said lightly. “The Wayne Foundation’s thinking about expanding into science education outreach. We’re focusing on inner city Gothamite kids like Stephanie here - oh, Barry, this is my ward Tim Drake and his girlfriend Stephanie Brown, say hi -”

“I could do with less science, frankly,” Tim said. 

“You’re just still pissy that Mr. Freeze robbed us so many times.”

“I just think Batman and Robin could have done a better job catching him.”

“They did a great job -”

“Before he stole five hundred thousand dollar’s worth of tech and research.”

“But we’re looking at donating funds to free children’s programming at museums across the nation,” Bruce said beatifically. “I’m thinking about investing into this program, and your boss said that you were the real shining star of the department! I’d like to speak to someone passionate about the program, and apparently there’s nobody more dedicated than you, so if you have some time to chat…?”

Even Wally understood what that meant. In their endless quest to harass other superheroes, Bruce had sneak attacked another unsuspecting middle class suburbanite. Barry’s boss had officially thrown him into the lion pit of businessmen and put him in charge of securing hundreds of thousands of dollars in funding. Bruce said that this was his way of seeing how they operated under pressure. 

And Steph could already see that Barry was the coolest head she would ever meet. Which - duh. He was a total cheater. Anybody could be chill if they had thirty internal minutes to chill out. Barry obviously took a few mental minutes to recover from the power of Bruce’s pocketbook, but he didn’t waste a physical second before looking down at his nephew. “Hey, Wally. Could you give Stephanie and Tim a tour of the museum while I talk with Mr. Wayne?”

“Of course I could,” Wally said, unimpressed. “I practically live here.” 

“Consider it practice for your future life as a docent,” Barry said importantly. He ruffled Wally’s hair again, making him grin. “Thanks, kid. I’ll be back in a flash.”

Wally groaned. “That’s so bad.”

“You’re funny,” Bruce said. Steph and Tim fought dual winces. If they were in costume then Bruce would be tearing the man a new one for ‘cuteness’. “Where’d you get your doctorate, Barry? I went to Harvard myself, but some things you just gotta get out of the way.”

“He has a doctorate in education from Brown,” Wally informed Bruce imperiously. Steph had never met a kid who was the expert in his uncle’s life, but judging by Barry’s embarrassed look he would have skipped over the Ivy League part of the equation. Which - what? “He’s got a bachelor’s in Chemistry and Physics from Ohio State and a master’s in Applied Physics from University of Chicago! Pretty cool, right?”

“Dude,” Tim said, “pick a field.”

Steph elbowed Tim, but Barry just looked a little embarrassed. “I was going to go into forensics. But…well…you know. Life happens.”

“The cops told him to ignore some evidence and he refused so they fired him -”

“Let’s say a little less, Wally.”

A failed cop. Counter-intuitively, Steph was surprised. Guess he hadn’t learned his lesson until later in life. Bruce (Gothamite) and Uncle Clark (Literally Uncle Clark) had known that path would be a fool’s errand from the start. 

“Physics to Education is a big jump,” Bruce said. He already knew the answer - they had copies of Barry’s personal statement in his Brown application - but a cornerstone of interrogation was asking the same question in different ways. Liars couldn’t keep their stories straight. “Why the change of heart again?”

Barry shrugged helplessly. “I wanted to help people. Don’t you, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce didn’t say anything. 

Of course he didn’t. He didn’t understand at all. As he hadn’t understood Uncle Clark, as he hadn’t understood J’onn J'onzz, he didn’t understand Barry Allen at all. The two other people on Earth most like himself - present company excluded - and he was faced with a horrendous and complete lack of understanding.

How could he? Bruce had poured his life into creating justice and vengeance and fighting against cruelty. It was Bruce. He had fed his life into his mission, and it was just barely enough to succeed. He couldn’t afford to half-ass this. For a very long time, nothing else had existed in his world. 

Uncle Clark and J’onn J’onzz hadn’t needed a teenage girl to beat the power of hope into his brain. Uncle Clark was dedicated to Superman with his entire heart, but it wasn’t why he got up in the morning. J’onn was just a sentient person who couldn’t stand to see people suffer, and maybe his own altruism had saved his broken heart, but he was powered by empathy and kindness. 

Barry and Uncle Clark had weird definitions of helping people. To them, it was as simple as making people smile. Giving them a bit of hope in their day, or restoring optimism to a tired crowd. A lesson that sparked an interest in science, a newspaper article that opened up a reader’s mind to new perspectives - to them, that was enough. If they were ordinary people, it would have been enough. 

Bruce did not respect the complete lack of hustle. There was a reason why he only hung out with Alfred, Steph, Tim, Leslie, and Gordon - the only other real hustlers in the world. Bruce was an ordinary person, and gratuitous acts of million dollar philanthropy were nowhere near enough. Nothing was enough for him - not even Bruce. But he liked Uncle Clark and J’onn J’onzz and Barry Allen anyway, and Steph knew that was what he really didn’t understand.

“Paleontology, huh?” Tim asked Wally. He turned off his Gameboy and stashed it in his cargo pants pocket. “You got any T-Rexes?”

“Oh, man,” Wally said. “Do we ever.”

[raw-law]

thank you L for encouraging me to share my dramatic life i think i will occasionally save these stories as i remember them✨

starting off with "how the FUCK did no one catch on that i was autistic" a series of mini stories from like- elementary school.

so when i'm like 6, my mom got custody over me during the school year (we will get into when/why they weren't living together and got divorced in another story) and that meant i had to leave behind my old tiny small-town school where i spent kindergarten. a lot of schools have this like- open house thing where kids can see their new classrooms and such, and i was at this open house, sitting at a desk in my new classroom and not looking at the other things around the room. so obviously the teacher comes up and asks how i'm feeling, and i respond by looking at her VERY seriously and ststing that i was "very concerned" about the upcoming school year. small reminder, i was 6.

around 2nd grade was the time i got SUPER into pokemon. like i was utterly obsessed from the moment i watched a couple episodes on my mom's ipad before bed. i liked many pokemon, but if i had to pick one, i would have picked pikachu. my mom got me a small pikachu plushie as a tooth fairy prize (there's an interesting story there too, believe it or not) like about the size of a hamburger. i LOVED this pikachu plush (and still do) and carried it with me everywhere. i cuddled with it every night. i had a frantic meltdown any time i didn't know where he was. and that was my first comfort object. i kept carrying him with me up until like 6th grade, where i went to only taking him to things like therapy or doctor's appointments because those places are scary, yet i still need to know where he is to feel okay.

the second comfort object was this pikachu jacket my mom got me from target one day because i begged her to. as soon as i got home, i Immediately put it on and went to watch one of the pokemon movies with it zipped up, hood over my head, my knees to my chest. my mom still has a picture of me from that day. and good god, i wore that jacket EVERY day, carrying little figures around in the pockets, and NO ONE could get it off of me. even in the middle of midwest summer. and as such, it got super ratty and dirty, but i refused to let it get replaced until mom finally just had to do it because it was 'unsalvageable' as she put it. keep in mind, maybe somewhat odd but excuseable behavior for a young child, but i had this jacket up until 7th grade when my mom finally managed to wrestle it away from me and replace it.

i have more similar ones but this ask is getting godawful long, i'm cutting it off now lol.

-rainbow dash

L:

my god.. this is. very amusing.

i feel like any child with an oddly sophisticated vocabulary and an odd obsession with pikachu should automatically be suspected of having the autism™. it's just too on the nose at that point.

i guess i can use this as an excuse to relate and share some weird things i did as a child.

i think i brought up the mancala set i had before in another ask, but i don't know if i properly emphasized how much i really liked that game. because, i think when i was around 7, i met a girl who liked mancala as well, so we would only ever play that each time we saw each other. i wasn't good at talking to other kids my age, so playing together was the only way we could really have conversations. it was just easier to communicate through the game. but then one day, for a reason i can't remember, i got really mad at her halfway through a game, pulled the board to where she couldn't reach, and started playing the game by myself.

she then proceeded to stomp on my foot, say i was stupid, and she refused to play mancala with me ever again.

i'm not sure if that was proof i was autistic, but at the very least i knew it was when i realized i liked girls. so.

i suppose i haven't changed much.

Light:

Um.

I'm very sorry, but I can't relate...I'm very neurotypical, so.

But I did rather enjoy listening to both your life stories. RD, kudos to you for managing to weasel a little of Ryuzaki's back story out of him. I'm very proud of you for that.

And I'd love to hear more of your stories, RD! Feel free to share them anytime, or when you're comfortable too.

[redbelles]

Ok how about the ⭐️ thing for chimneys?

oh hell yeah! i'm going to be insane about this in an aviation direction (shocking, i know) so, uh, here:

It’s Marge, prettier than any Vargas girl his boys ever painted on the nose of a Fort [...]

i did this because a) the image of bucky thinking of marge as a vargas girl grabbed me by the throat and shook me half to death, b) we were fucking robbed when it came to nose art* in masters of the air, and c) it's funny to me, personally, because of the dick bong of it all. gale cleven if he hadn't fallen in love with the big bird:

bucky, sulking just off camera: Maaarge.

in all seriousness though, i'm very fond of this moment for chimneys!bucky because while he's,,,,, sort of kind of maybe acknowledged to himself that he's in love with both of them, he hasn't really looked at it. he's wrapped it all up in misery and the unshakeable certainty that he'll never have either of them, that he's awful for wanting them in the first place, and tried to pretend it away. buried it, ignored it, run away to the east coast trying to get away from it, and yet! it's been there the whole time! you measured every woman you saw—painted pin up girl or flesh and blood dame—against marge! three years on from the war and she's still the standard! you can't escape it, buddy! and that's not even touching on the whole paulina thing. which: lol. lmao, even.

anyway, i'm insane about that line both for Meg Redbelles: Aviation Nerd™ reasons and also because it does a lot of character work. and you know what? fuck it, i love it because it's sexy! the trifecta, if u will.

*someone please ask me about wwii nose art i was a heartbeat away from writing my thesis on wwii nose art i am d y i n g for an excuse to talk about wwii nose art

send me a director's cut ask!