#He didn't have to/shouldn't have done any of this

[gremlin-bot]

There is No Closure, Just Adapting To Life

Ao3 link: Here Master list: Here

Summary:

Danny should have asked more questions before accepting the request to fix a different dimension's time stream from Clockwork. He didn’t think he would be de-aged and live a different life where he would latch on to a new family and friends. It was nice being a part of a community of heroes.

It really wouldn’t have been that bad if he stayed there. Too bad that he was pulled from that world and back into his old one, both fulfilling his wish to see his original family and killing all the relationships with his new ones.

Now he has to figure out how to live in his original dimension again. And maybe, just maybe find a way to visit the one he forcefully left behind.

Chapter 1: Your trial period is over; your account has been put on hold.

Danny shouldn't be thinking about the past life he lived, shouldn't think about the parents who adopted him only to disappear for months at a time, nor the vigilante family he’d inserted himself into during their time of need. That life wasn't his to begin with! Just a dimension with a timeline that needed fixing in an unconventional way. 

So, why is he crying? 

He just got back to his home, time hadn’t passed here. He can see Sam, Tucker, and Jazz again! (He'll never see Cass, Jason, Dick, Damien, Steph, Kon –) He's more experienced and better at fighting now. He can protect Amity better! (He misses Gotham. The city seemed to make heroes feel like magic) Danny has his original life back… but damn it, he wants to go back! He doesn't want to protect a city alone again! 

Danny curls into himself on his bed. Silent sobs racking his body. He's so different than he was before. His hair was longer and parted in the middle, nothing like his usual, (old), fringe style. His missing scars and the new ones he can't explain. Gods-  (No, wait, it's Ancients) he is missing his spleen! How was he going to explain that, or any of this? Even as his sobs grew more violent, their volume didn't increase. 

A trick he learned in the Wayne manor. 

He didn't want to disturb anyone with his half remembered dreams of a different life.

Danny took a shuddering breath, the feelings he’d been trying to bury since his return hitting him full force. He’d been sucked back to his original dimension without warning a day ago. Clockwork, that bastard, didn't even give him time to say goodbye to the rest of the Bats and Birds. He was in his apartment as Tim Drake one second and plopped in Danny Fenton's bedroom the next. 

His talk with the older ghost didn't make the situation any better. 

He didn't explain anything! Just that his work in that dimension's timeline was done. If Clockwork hadn't time locked the portal Danny would've been in the ancient’s lair instead of dissociating in a room that doesn't feel like his anymore. He hates not being given a choice or having a plan. 

Jason was right; anger was so much easier than actually dealing with your feelings.

His spiraling was stopped when he heard a soft knock on his door. Oh, he’d forgotten that Jazz was home. Living through a lifetime made him forget a lot about his first one. He didn't get time to follow the new spiral of thoughts before his sister opened the door. 

"Danny?" Her voice was soft, laced with worry.

"Yeah," He hates how hoarse his voice sounds.

 He should be better than this; he’s infiltrated the league of assassins for Ancients’ sake. He watched as she approached his bed, buried beneath blankets. He can hear when she actually sees him by her gasp. 

"What happened?" Jazz asked as she sat on the bed facing him.

"I… I fixed a timeline in a different dimension for Clockwork." Danny can't bring himself to look at her. Everything is still fresh. The feeling he can just barely comprehend as grief has yet to settle inside him. He takes a deep breath. He can compartmentalize this and deal with it after Jazz leaves.

"How long were you gone this time, a month or two?" Jazz looks at him with unending patience and care. 

"17 years," He whispers hesitantly.

"Oh… oh, Danny." He couldn’t have prepared himself for the shock and pained confusion on her face. She leaned her over him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Oh, he can't compartmentalize this after all. Danny’s breath hitched as fat tears began rolling down his face, dampening his pillow even more. His life as Tim made him forget what it was like to have unending support from a sibling. He loved the hodge podge of the Waynes, but he was a vigilante first. He wasn’t really family.

Just a coworker.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much. Just know that I’ll always be here for you little brother,” Jazz’s voice was gentle. Oh, did he miss her during those years. Cass and Barbara helped him cope with missing Jazz whether they knew it or not.  He turned into her, relishing in the fact she was here. He may be missing a whole new family, but he got his old one back.

“I missed you, Jazz. Can you stay here with me for a little while?” He pleaded between silent sobs.

“Of course. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

---------—x—---------

Tim woke up to the sound of typing and the sight of red hair. He must have crashed at Barbara’s last night. He sits up, not fully awake just yet.

“Morning, Babs,” he yawns, eyes blurry. 

The gentle but persistent clicking of keys stops with a hitch of her breath. "Danny, it's me Jazz. Is Babs someone you were close to… before?" 

The voice he hears back isn't Barbara's.

It's one he barely recognizes now, made even harder to place with the barely covered pain. Jazz deserves a better brother than him. 

What kind of brother is he, that he doesn't even remember his own sister at first glance. 

Danny takes a deep shaky breath. No, he can't think like that. He hasn't seen her in 17 years, Of course he isn't going to recognize her. Still she hasn't changed one bit. 

He can't tell if that makes it better or worse.

"Yeah" he croaks, voice rough from sleep and the lump that's formed in his throat. “She has hair like yours.”

“Oh… do you want to talk about it?” she offers awkwardly. She was completely out of her depth but still wanting to help in her own way. (Alfred would have loved to meet her.)

Danny shakes his head, pushing past the aching in his chest as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn't look back at Jazz, he doesn't want to see the pitying look in her eyes. Something ugly, angry, and raw always tends to creep into him when that particular emotion is directed at him, and she doesn't deserve that.

What a cruel joke that the one thing that he gets in spades in both lives is pity.

He needs a strategy if he plans to survive the next couple of days, (the rest of his life), and that starts small. Get ready and investigate what the hell was happening in his life before… his time mission. He lost so much time with his breakdown, how annoying. 

Tim (no, he's Danny now) huffs, opening his closet. Well before he starts anything he needs a damn shower. 

---------—x—---------

By the time Danny was clean and dressed, Jazz had left him with a journal with his name on it and her scrapbook. Ancients, she really is the best big sister. (Cass would contest that). 

He knows that he should dive into them right away, but… he can put it off a little longer. Remembering and relearning will take time, and he has all the time in the world now, whether he likes it or not. Diving deep will be too much. He’s too emotionally raw, and just needs something to latch on to, like: 

Next day survival plan 101, start small. 

He can look at Danny’s phone; he’ll figure out what to do with Tim’s later. Remember, one step at a time; one thing at a time. Finding the device was easy, it was on the nightstand where he always leaves it. Seems like this is one of the habits he kept in both lifes. Opening it up was easier than he originally expected; he really didn't have a sense of cybersecurity beyond Tucker back then.

(…Now?)

The device was familiar in so many different ways; he always did gravitate towards technology (with Tucker pushing him forward right next to him). The screen lit up, showing the basic layout of all phones; he dismissed notifications from dumb games, leaving the social media ones. What he was really looking for was his messages.

He had a couple new messages from Sam and Tucker in their group chat. He should look at the chat, but, in doing so, he'd be facing the people he had been grieving their missing presence for the last 17 years. A missing presence that had him picked up so many new hobbies, just because they reminded him of his two best friends. Danny would have never touched a camera if it wasn't for the ache in his chest everytime he passed a looming gargoyle. The hundreds of pictures will finally be seen by their intended audience, if he could only get himself to open the gods damned chat!

Shaky breath slips from his lips as he steadies his thoughts. Baby steps. Look at the messages and go from there.

— New Messages —

PettyWitch

Tucker I swear if your ass isn't up rn, I'm coming over and replacing all of the meat in your fridge with lettuce.

TFine

give me a sec 2 get down there you can stop calling me 

i'm not going to answer

what about Danny

how come you aren't calling HIM!!!!!

PettyWitch

Bc Danny can actually get up before noon during the weekends unlike other people in this chat! So he can be trusted to get to Nasty Burger on time. 

TFine

HEY!

Their banter goes on. Danny scrolls through it with a painful kind of fondness draping over him. A hole that once gouged his heart was being filled, only to have a different part get ripped out for the same reason. The people he missed will always have some type of mouth on them, especially one that gets them in trouble. Moving past the too fresh grief and focusing on the conversation at hand does bring about a pressing issue, he's supposed to meet up with Sam and Tucker soon.

Shit.

Looks like he's facing more ghosts of his past-turned-present sooner than he thought. It's Tucker and Sam. They stuck with him through his death and his first hero career. If anyone besides Jazz could sympathize with him, it was them. Resolve hardened like the Bat he is (was —there is no way back to them now), he spends the little remaining time flipping through pictures and looping handwriting as he pieces the memory of his old life back together.

[guppybibi]

Tattoo artist!Johnny who had already met you a year ago when you made an impulsive decision of getting a tattoo with your current boyfriend's name.

This was nothing new for Johnny having seen this numerous times before, in both men and women, and he knows they'll come crawling back to get them covered up after a nasty breakup. It's been a running game in the shop, all of the workers betting their money on how long it'll take before the customer comes back to cover up the tattoo.

Nothing new, right? Then why was Johnny so surprised when he saw you walk into the shop, the door chimes ringing when you swing the door open to reveal you. Eyes still red and puffy while you sniffled, not doing a very good job on hiding the fact you had been crying. His coworkers shot him a knowing look, recalling the bet from last year.

"Pretty thing, ain't she?" One of Johnny's coworkers commented, looking at the back of your figure as you stepped out of the shop with a huge grin on your face. Probably excited to show the tattoo of your boyfriend's name to him.

"Yeah, too bad she's taken. Lucky man better be treatin' her right." Johnny remarks, noticing the look he was given. "Not for long, I bet. I'm giving them a year max." Johnny blinks once, then again. "Fine, I'm giving them five years." Of course, his coworker was pretty shocked from that. Out of all the people they've bet on, this was probably the longest bet Johnny had ever put.

"Seriously? Don't ya think that's too long?" His coworker asks skeptically, raising a brow at Johnny. "Aye, the gal is lovely. If her boyfriend drops her then that's like committing a war crime." Well, his coworker couldn't really disagree with him on that.

Johnny shoots his coworker a glare that simply said he had more important matters to attend to. Luckily, Johnny was a charmer so cooing a birdie like you into comfort shouldn't be that hard, right?

I mean, it's a break up, not exactly the end of the world here. Plus, you're a gorgeous gal, plenty of fish out there you could probably catch in less than an hour.

"Morning, lass! Welcome back, I see that you've got a little problem, huh?" He points out, seeing you nod subtly. "Alright, I'm assuming it's a cover up for the tattoo you got done a year ago?"

He clearly wasn't surprised when you nodded, having seen this too many times before. He wrote down some stuff, not caring about the paperwork much..before leading you further into the parlor.

The two of you discussed how you wanted the previous tattoo to get covered up, Johnny nudging in to suggest some stylistic choices a few times, which you gladly didn't mind.

Then began the process once you agreed with the design choice, you wanted to get this over with. To remove a past mistake from your life.

Johnny cleansed your skin, disinfecting it with a cold gel. He could see you squirming and struggling not to make a sound. He also does notice another tattoo covered up above your previous tattoo, curiosity swirling around in his mind now.

He tried hushing it, it wasn't any of his business. He's here to do his job, nothing else.

He was quiet for most of the process, aside from some rather awkward small talk about the weather and a few details of what happened between you and your boyfriend. Not that it helped, it really just made Johnny even more curious.

And finally, after who knows how long, the tattoo was covered up now! You seemed to have gotten rid of the nerves from earlier, looking a lot more calmer now.

"Alright, lass. I'm sure y'know how the caring process goes so I'll leave it up to ye." He said, cleaning up all his materials in a snap. He gives in to his curiosity, finding the courage in him to ask you about the other covered up tattoo.

"Uh..before you go lass, mind if I ask ye somethin'? It's about the other tattoo you got 'ere.." You immediately knew which one he was referring to, face reddening in embarrassment as you recalled the immature decision..

"Aah..sure, go ahead." You replied awkwardly, a sheepish smile gracing your face. "Thanks, lass. Mind if ye tell me what was written on there? I- I just noticed that the way it was covered up. The artist did a great job, I'm jealous."

Yeah okay he was just making excuses to get things flowing..never mind that.

"Oo..oh! I don't mind at all, don't worry. That's all in the past..can't really reverse it, you know? It was my ex-boyfriend's name." You answer, shrugging it off. Seems like you were the type of gal to move on from a relationship quick.

"I see, glad you were willing to share that. I wonder if I know who he is." He chuckles, evidently not expecting you to actually tell him who it was. Sure, Johnny was the type to encourage people to loosen up and get comfortable. But..maybe not to this extent.

"His name was Simon, Simon Riley—" And practically everything you said after that was unheard of.

Looks like Johnny needs to pay Simon a visit at the pub tonight.

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

* **FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

The Shower Scene

Noah leaned over the sink, watching intently in the mirror as the razor glided across his skin. The pitter-patter of the shower the only sound in the bathroom, broken every so often as water splashed. He had lost track of how many times they'd done exactly this. One of them in the shower while the other did whatever they needed to. And every single time he had to fight tooth and nail not to sneak a peek. Friends weren't exactly supposed to want to see the other one naked. But damn it, he couldn't help it.

With a groan he leaned down, rinsing the remaining shaving cream from his face. Friends also didn't sleep in the same bed more than half the time. Or cuddle the way him and Quinn did. They sure as shit didn't get jealous every time one of them went out on a date. She had such shitty taste in men, too. All of them absolute tools that left her disappointed at the end of every date. Yet she still went back. It made zero sense.

Her phone on the counter lit up. A quick glance and he wanted to vomit. Here she was, getting ready for another date with another boring asshole that if he even made it past the first date would disappoint her, again, by the end of the second or third. What the fuck was she doing wasting her time with these idiots?

"Noah? Can you pass me my towel?"

Noah paused for a moment, wondering just what would happen if he said no. If he made her get out and get her towel herself. It was tempting. Maybe a little too tempting. Resigning himself he grabbed her towel off the rack, passing it through the shower curtain to her.

"Got any plans tonight?" He knew the answer, but fuck it, why not torture himself and hear her say it?

"Yeah." She stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in her towel. "Got a date."

Biting back the words that so desperately wanted to escape he moved aside and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He watched her as she applied her leave-in conditioner. Watched as she wiped her hands on her towel before she picked up her phone. Ignored the pit in his stomach as she responded to whatever the douchebag had said.

"You deserve better."

"You don't even know him, Noah."

"Don't have to. You have fucking terrible taste in men." Noah's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I shouldn't have said that."

Quinn laughed. Actually laughed. But it wasn't her usual laugh. He could hear the pain hiding behind it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Yes, you did. It's okay, though. You're not wrong. Just look at how we met." Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I would like to get dressed now, if you don't mind."

Noah stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Of course he had meant it, but he hadn't meant to actually say it. She didn't need to tell him that his words had stung. He could hear it in her voice. See it in the way she looked at him through the mirror.

"I'm just tired of seeing you hurt when they all inevitably do the same stupid shit. I love you, terror pixie." He bent down, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I love you, too, Bigfoot."

She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. At least she was smiling again. With a weary sigh he reached up, ruffling her hair before darting out of the bathroom. Part of him, real deep down, knew that if he had just asked her to cancel. To stay home with him, she would have, no questions asked. But that would be selfish. Who knows? Maybe this guy wasn't a total douchebag. And maybe he would turn out to be the love of her life. The thought made him physically ill.

Noah burst into Jolly's room, quickly closing the door behind him. Jolly merely looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow arched.

"Lemme guess. Another date tonight?"

"Yeah. And we all know how it's gonna go. Gonna need all of you to get lost for a while."

[amazingmsme]

Won’t You Stay? (Just a Little Bit Longer)

AN: FINALLY finished the last fic for tickletober! Sorry for the wait, I wanted to finish the other fics first & been pretty busy. This one was a blast to write, & I got to really dive into their relationship dynamic! Mark & Karen def picked Ted up at a bar lmaooo. Anyway, without further ado, here’s day 31!

No warnings, but things are insinuated. Nothing explicit, just some light bondage.

In Hatchetfield, the strange quickly becomes mundane. Having lived there all his life, Ted was not easily phased. He saw weird shit all the time and brushed it off with ease. Yet he was still taken aback when the notoriously prude-y, picture perfect couple that was Karen and Mark Chasity walked up to him at the bar of all places. He didn't even think they went to bars.  He thought uptight christian nut jobs like that fainted at the smell of booze, but apparently he was wrong. He was wrong about a lot of things, lately.

"So, what's the score?" Mark asked as he slid up to the bar, pointing at one of the numerous flat screens above shelves of liquor. "21 to six," he answered with a smirk, taking a swig of his beer. Mark let out a low whistle.

"Geez, they're getting creamed." Ted scoffed in amusement, looking him up and down.

"Don't tell me you're a fuckin' Cowboys fan," he taunted. He chuckled shyly, ducking his head.

"What can I say? I like to root for the underdogs."

Was he hallucinating, or did Mark just fucking wink at him? Wasn't his wife right there? Wait, where did she go? He could've sworn she had been clinging to his arm just a second ago-

"A piña colada please," Karen spoke up on his left. He nearly jumped out of his skin because when the hell did she sit down? And shouldn't she have at least sat on his other side? Maybe, I don't know, next to her husband?

Apparently, she wasn't done with her order, feeling the need to specify, "And make it dirty." She was looking directly at him when she said that, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she bit her lip.

Ted was extremely confused. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were coming onto him. But that was impossible! There's no way in hell that they would be looking for a third, and especially not someone like him.

They were nothing but pure vanilla, as pristine as the driven snow. He was like a muddy puddle. This was just a coincidence. A really, really weird coincidence.

"I'll have a Jim Beam, on the rocks. Actually, make that two."

Okay, maybe they were trying to take him home.

"That's okay, I'm fine with a beer," he tried to decline, but Mark insisted.

"We all deserve a taste of the finer things in life."

Ted felt a blush creep to his cheeks, and not just from the alcohol. He couldn't remember the last time a sexual advancement had made him this flustered.

"Don't you agree?" Mark prompted when Ted didn't answer. He shook himself out of it and nodded vigorously.

"It's what separates us from the animals," he said, trying to sound smart.

"Well I couldn't agree more," Karen added, looking past Ted to her husband. And just like that, they found their third.

~~~

Things were admittedly a little awkward and stiff at first, but they quickly found their groove. They both were surprisingly kinky, not that Ted was complaining. It was just... so unexpected coming from them.

It felt nice being in on their dirty little secret. Or was he the secret in question?

Oh well. He supposed it didn't matter. Not when things were this good.

Ted flopped back on the bed, lying between the pair with a relaxed smile on his face. Karen snuggled closer to his right side, Mark lacing their fingers together on his left.

"That was really fun," Karen purred, walking her fingers up his chest.

"I'll say," Mark chimed in, offering a quick peck to Ted's cheek. He leaned across him so he could reach Karen, kissing her cheek.

"Yeah, you guys are amazing," he said, still breathless and dazed. "Same time again next week?" he asked, only half joking.

"Hey, there's no need to rush off again," Mark assured.

"Yeah, who are you? Cinderella?" she teased, the wine making her giggle at her own joke. Tipsy Karen was absolutely adorable. "Stay for a while," she insisted softly.

"That's okay, I don't wanna overstay my welcome," he shot back playfully. But what was meant as a lighthearted joke clearly struck a chord with each of them.

"After everything, you don't think you're welcome to just relax in our home? You're not just our lover, you're our guest. Stay; have a snack, watch some TV, whatever you wanna do." And didn't that sound nice...

But Ted Spankoffski never really had nice things. Or if he did, they didn't stick around for long.

"You sure? 'Cause if you're busy, I can get outta your hair," he offered, nervous butterflies fluttering about in the pit of his stomach. He's used to being the bootycall; to showing up on a whim for some casual sex, and getting kicked back out on the streets once they were done with him. But they actually wanted him to stay, which was why it was too good to be true.

"Oh I can be busy, if that's what you want," Mark growled, rolling over to straddle Ted's waist. He leaned down to plant a kiss to his lips, lingering with a gentle bite. Ted hummed, melting into the bed.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Chasity," Ted smirked.

"I try," he shot him a wink, allowing his hand to roam Ted's chest.

"So why don't you ever want to stay?" Karen asked, with an exaggerated pout. The question caught him off guard, so he answered honestly.

"I want to stay, just... still not really used to the idea of you guys wanting that too," he admitted. Normally, he's never allow himself to be so vulnerable and bold with his emotions. But Mark and Karen were different. They didn't judge people, even people like him who should be judged, and they were nice. Like, genuinely nice. When he was with them, he felt seen and heard. He had spent nearly his whole life trying to run away from his emotions, but with them, he could finally relax.

"Oh Ted... Of course we want that," Karen spoke barely above a whisper, carding her fingers through his hair. Ted looked between them hopefully.

"Really?"

She offered a sweet, radiant smile. "Really."

"You're not just saying that to cheer me up?" he asked playfully.

"No, if we wanted to cheer you up, we'd do this!" Without warning, Mark began scribbling over his sides, drawing out a surprised giggly shriek.

"Hehehey wahahahait! D-dohon't!" he whined, flopping around uselessly on the bed.

"Why not? Is someone a little bit tiiiiiicklish?" Karen chimed in, using her long nails to flutter under his chin. He snorted and slammed his neck against his shoulder for protection.

"Noho!" he denied, a giddy, nervous grin plastered to his face.

"Uh oh honey, looks like we've got ourselves a liar," Mark taunted from above. His hands continued to knead the slight pudge around his middle, drawing out a few deeper laughs.

"Oh no, what should we do?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"I think..." Mark trailed off for dramatic effect, smirking when he heard Ted whine. "We should get the cuffs." The way Ted's eyes snapped open to look at them was priceless.

"What?" he screeched, excitement bubbling up inside him.

"That's the punishment for dirty rotten liars," Karen purred,  leaning over the side of the bed to rummage through their box of toys. She popped back up, showing off a pair of fuzzy, leopard print cuffs.

"Ihihi wasn't-" he began to protest, but Mark shushed him by placing a finger to his smiling lips.

"Don't try to back out now," Mark said, cocking his head to the side. "Arms up, tough guy."

"Why don't you make mehehe!" his defiant protest melted away into giggles. He didn't bother holding back his laughter; he doubted he could even if he wanted to.

Even through his delirium, he knew they were doing this for him. To make him relax, to show him they really cared... And to tease the living hell out of him.

God, they knew him so well.

He didn't resist when Mark slowly raised his arms above his head, snapping the cuffs into place, looping the short chain around the headboard. Ted gave his arms a weak tug, just for show. He squirmed in anticipation, a giddy smile plastered on his face from the threat of what was to come.

"You're gonna stay right there until we decide you can go. Got that?" Karen asked, cocking her head expectantly. Her tone was halfway between stern and caring.

"Yehes ma'am!" he agreed, arching his back when she slowly scribbled along his bare waistline.

"And we won't stop until you admit to yourself that we want you around for more than just sex," Mark added pointedly. Ted couldn't help but smirk at the new caveat.

"Well in that case, we'd be here ahahall nihihight! Ihihit was just ahaha joke!"

"Our love is no laughing matter!" Karen chastised through her own giggles, the fucking hypocrite.

“Oh, I got a joke for ya! What’s a pirate’s favorite letter of the alphabet?” Mark asked, barely able to finish his sentence before Ted answered.

“Ihihit’s R!”

“Ooo, close, but no.”

“What?” he screeched in shock before it took on a higher pitch as Mark dug into his ribs. Apparently, answering wrong had consequences.

“A pirate’s favorite letter is C! Get it? ‘Cause they sail the seas!”

“Thahat fuckin’ suhuhucks! No no wahahait, I’m sohohorry!” Ted apologized the moment he began vibrating his clawed hands against his ribcage.

“Language! You’re lucky I don’t wash your mouth out with soap instead,” Karen teased, kneading into his soft tummy. He snorted and bucked his hips, unable to dislodge the hands attacking his torso.

“Ihihi’m aha grown ass mahahan, I-I cahan say whatehehever I wahahant!”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me with that laugh of yours,” Mark taunted, enjoying the blush spreading across Ted’s cheeks.

“Hehehey!” he whined exaggeratedly.

“Oh Mark, be nice,” she mock scolded her husband, shooting him a contradictory wink. He smirked back.

“I am being nice. He’s not even screaming yet.”

“Mark!” Ted yelped at the playful threat.

“What? I’m just kidding!” he chuckled, crawling his fingers higher to scratch inside his exposed pits. He leaned in close to growl directly in Ted’s ear, ensuring he could be heard over his hysterics. “Or am I?”

Ted didn’t know what he did to deserve this. He didn’t know what he did to deserve them. They were kind, and cruel, and everything Ted could ever ask for, and he was grateful they chose him.

[thevoidstaredback]

The day was finally there. It was finally happening. Phase two of the best prank the Wayne Family and friends had ever pulled off was finally coming to its peak! If all went well, then they'd only have one more thing to do.

As long as the heroes approached them about it. They'd all placed bets on whether they'd actually get away with trying to pull one over on the Justice League or not. It was pretty evenly split.

It's the morning of and there are exactly ten hours before Wayne Manor is consumed with fast paced staff and last minute everythings. Eleven hours before the guests begin to arrive.

06:00

It was an early day for everyone, but Gala Days are always like that. Patrol had been cut short for Damian, Tim, Steph, and Cass, so they, along with Duke, were the only ones who were working on longer than four hours of sleep.

It wasn't all that bad, though. They're vigilantes. If they were thrown off kilter for getting less than a few hours of sleep, then they'd've been exposed before Jason stole the wheels off the Batmobile.

Either way, Alfred had everyone up for a nice, but simple, breakfast before they got on with their days.

He'd made eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, toast, fried tomatoes, and mushrooms, though Damian and Steph were given coconut bacon, eggplant, and applesauce instead of bacon, sausage, and egg. Everyone got their preferred drink of coffee, orange juice, or milk.

Out of everyone, aside from Alfred, Duke was the most awake, but that was because he had to go on patrol soon. Damian would join him about midday, just after lunch.

Duke was relieved to be out all day. He didn't want anything to do with all the last minute preparations that would be going on, no thank you, sir. It would all be worth it in the end, but he'd rather not be stressed to the heavens while trying to prank some of the best heroes in the world.

Why did Bruce think this was a good idea?

Why did they all go along with it?

Oh, that's right, it's because they're all crazy.

It's gonna be so much fun, though, so he's not complaining too much. Everyone can be stressed out here in the Manor, but he's going to be stressed about other things on patrol.

07:00

After breakfast was cleaned up and Duke had left for patrol, the rest of the Wayne Family set about reviewing everything they'd done to prepare, including going over exactly what their hired security had been doing since they were asked to work the event.

This fell to Barbra. Which is total bullshit because she has a dayjob and she doesn't live in Wayne Manor. And, no matter how much Bruce insists, she's not his child, so she shouldn't have to be stressed over this like they are!

She hadn't spent the night at the Manor, but Dick was keeping her updated on what was going on at the Manor. She kinda wishes she'd gotten some of Alfred's food before going to work, but a bowl of cereal and some toast was better than nothing.

She hated early morning shifts, but she'd had to take this one because of the gala that night.

The things she does for her boys. (Yes, she's including the girls in that statement. It's a term of endearment.)

It was a slow morning, like every morning at the library, so Barbra was doing the painstaking task of going over every single move thirty people had made in the last two weeks.

Was it necessary? No. Was she doing it anyway? Yes, but only because Bruce is a paranoid bastard. And, in Gotham, that's normally justified. Especially since they were hosting high-profile guests who aren't allowed to spend any amount of time in Gotham at all.

This was fun as hell, but this particular precaution was so redundant.

Babs wants a pay raise.

She doesn't get paid for this.

would you look at that, the first two people are still clean. Twenty-eight more to go.

"Dad's probably having much more fun at the station." She snorts softly. "Yeah, right."

08:00

Kate, Selina, and Luke were on Arkham duty. No one ever goes out of their way like this, but knowingly having so many powered individuals in Gotham at the same time was a risk that they were putting extra precautions in place to account for.

Arkham Asylum is a revolving door on the best days and they were due for another breakout soon. Everyone could feel it.

Batman doesn't like metahumans operating in Gotham because of the sheer amount of chemical warfare and child endangerment. A normal civilian that's been hit with Fear Gas or Joker Toxin is a pain to subdue and cure. A Bat is even worse, and most of them don't have superpowers. A meta getting doused with either of those would be disastrous.

The Justice League may not know the reasoning, but they respect it. This means, however, that none of them know how to deal with anything that happens in Gotham.

They're not patrolling the city. They'll leave that up to Signal and Robin, whenever he joins him. Batwoman, Bat Wing, and Catwoman are stationed around Arkham Island itself. Batwoman is watching Arkham East, Bat Wing at Arkham West, and Catwoman at Arkham North. Under strict instructions to not engage in the event of a breakout, they're there purely to watch. If there is a breakout, then they're to down the bridge and call the rest of the family to help deal with it. From there, it's just normal procedure.

Why Bruce doesn't have surveillance on the island already is anyone guess.

"We've only just gotten here," Batwoman said into her comm, "But I'm already over this."

"Don't jinx it, man," Bat Wing sighed, "I'd rather have a boring day today."

Catwoman tsked at them. "It'd be exciting, though, having to deal with a breakout and a gala at the same time."

"I guess," Batwoman agreed, "But with so many heroes coming to the city? That sounds like a horrible time."

"Where's your sense of whimsy, Katey-cat?" there was a teasing smile in her voice.

"Dead with my aunt and uncle."

Bat Wing couldn't stop his laugh. "Ha! Don't let B hear you talk like that."

"I can talk however I want to. B cope by putting on a bat suit and fighting crime, I cope by making jokes."

"Batwoman?"

"Yeah, Cat?"

"You're wearing a bat suit and fighting crime."

A moment of silence passed between the three.

"Shut up."

10:00

Tim's job was monitor duty. He was charged with watching every entrance to the city, making sure he knew the exact moment the heroes and their families arrived.

Monitor duty's always boring. How does Barbra do it? She deserves a pay raise.

She doesn't get paid. None of them do...

Hm.

Tim knows why it's important to know exactly when their superpowered guests arrive. He also knows why it's important to know exactly where they all are while they're in the city. But, c'mon. Why does he have to be here all day? If they timed it right, then no one should be entering the city until-

Oliver. And Dinah and Roy and Lian.

What the hell are they doing here so early? Even on a private jet, it's a seven hour flight! They shouldn't be there until two at the earliest!

Unless they boarded at two in the morning.

Who in their right mind would put a toddler on a plane for a redeye flight?

Rephrasing: Why would someone as rich as Oliver think it would be a good idea to take a red eye to the Crime Capital of the country?

Did they- were they here so early to sight see?

He shakes his head as he picks up his phone and calls Jason. "Head's up, man, The Queens just landed at the airport."

"Got it." Jason hung up. Asshole.

Tim sent the same message to the group chat they'd made for this purpose. Oliver, Dinah, Roy, and Lian were now in Gotham City. If Jason does his job right, then they'll have a tracker placed on them soon. If not, then Tim'll have to follow them the hard way.

He switched to a different monitor, keeping one on the Queen Family. If he's right, then the only groups not arriving by plane will be the Supers and the Wonders, so he'll have to watch the train stations and bridges, too.

12:00

Alfred called everyone to lunch the moment the clock turned over the hour. Nothing had gone wrong so far and it was putting everyone on edge.

A pessimistic view, but that's how they were all raised. Well, most of them were raised that way.

Despite waiting anxiously for the other shoe to drop, everyone was having a grand time. Phase Two of their prank wasn't nearly as fun as Phase One, but they were still excited to go through with it. After all, if they pull this off, they'll have more leverage over the heroes, and that's just too good too pass up.

Bruce called attention by clearing his throat. "Our original plan was to see if the Justice League would be able to sniff us out tonight without us having to say anything. I'd like to alter that course a little bit."

Now he had everyone's undivided attention.

"As you know, I've asked Oliver to give a speech tonight. Afterwards, as everyone's clearing out, I want to tell him directly."

"But what about Clark and Diana?" Steph asked, "You've known them the longest, so shouldn't they be the first to know?"

Bruce nodded. "Yes, but I don't have an excuse to pull either of them aside without it looking suspicious."

"Why tell anyone at all?" Jason said, "If they can't figure it out on their own, why should they get to know at all?"

"I was going to tell them anyway," Bruce admitted, "I just thought that you all would like to have some fun with it before then. After all, it wouldn't be just my name they're learning, but all of yours."

"So, everyone would know?" Dick wondered. It'd be a relief on his end, especially because he'd spent weeks convincing the others to let him tell his best friend.

Bruce nodded. "All of the Justice League would. All of the other teams will probably find out through word-of-mouth, so once the JL knows, then every hero will know."

"That's a huge risk, B-man," Tim stated, "Are you sure it's the right decision?"

Jason scoffed. "We're asking questions now? We knew the risks when we started this whole thing. I say we see it through to the end, but you all tell your teams at the same time."

"You only say that because you'd be completely safe from the risk." Steph jabbed lightly.

He smirked at her. "Exactly."

"So, you'll tell Queen tonight before he leaves. At the next meeting, you tell your team while we tell ours?" Damian surmised.

"Exactly, chum."

"Yeah, but why Oliver? Why now?" Dick asked again.

Bruce looked sheepish. "Because I trust them." It was hard for him to admit, but this was probably long overdue. "I trust them with my safety, and I trust them with yours." Then, he smirked, "Plus, no one will believe Oliver if he tries to tell anyone."

The table started laughing together, the mood brightened.

Cass tapped the table after a few minutes. "Good idea," she said, signing as she spoke, "They'll hurt, but be glad you told."

Tim sighed. "I guess I gotta set up a meeting with the Titans, huh?" He pulled out the phone he uses exclusively for Red Robin. Then, he paused. "I don't think I want to tell them all. I'll obviously tell my team, but that's already going to be a huge amount of people who know."

"I'm inclined to agree." Damian added, "Though I'm not worried about so many heroes knowing, it is concerning to have that many variables holding our secret."

Steph agreed, "I don't work much with the other heroes, so I'll be pretty safe, but that is a lot of potential betrayals."

"Don't say it like that!" Dick gasped, "He's opening up!"

"No, no," Bruce waved, "She's right. It's a risk I'm willing to take by telling my closest friends, but I won't if you al don't feel comfortable with it."

"Well, then that makes this whole thing a moot point, doesn't it?" Tim said. He had yet to put is RR phone away, but he hadn't even turned it on either.

"I think we should tell them," Dick said, "Just our closest friends."

"Easy for you to say, Richard, West already knows who we all are."

"All the more reason to tell the Justice League! Even if we only tell the people who we invited tonight, then that's fine. It's still a huge show of trust on our end."

"He's right," Cass said, "They trust us, we trust them. Time to show them."

"Am I telling my team, or not?" Tim groaned.

"I will be telling Jon." Damian decided.

Bruce nodded. "I'll tell my team."

"I'll tell mine." Tim agreed.

Dick rubbed the back of is head, "Well, Wally already knows, but I think Raven isn't mad at me anymore."

Right, because this was actually a huge point of contention between Dick and his team.

"Anyone I'd tell already know, so, I'm good."

Bruce sighed. "I'm not even going to ask."

"Good, 'cause I won't answer."'

"Wonderful that you've all come to a decision," Alfred said as he finished clearing the dishes and food, "But I believe Master Duke is waiting on you, Master Damian."

"Right." He pushed himself away from the table, tucking the chair behind him. "I will see you all tonight."

13:00

Unlike everyone else, Jason wasn't in costume or stuck at the manor. Or at work. He was on ground duty.

Before lunch, he'd managed to slip a tracker onto Lian and Roy, not without Roy texting him to ask what the fuck was up. He said that he needed to get one onto Oliver or Dinah so that Batman knew where they were while in the city.

"That's fucked, man." Roy had sent back, though Lian's tracker was moved to Oliver.

"Not my decision," Jason had sent back, "But it's a safety precaution, so stay together."

After the discussion at lunch, the topic of which they should've hashed out at the very beginning of all of this, he'd been set back to follow unsuspecting heroes.

Which is a lot harder than you'd think, but still pretty easy for him.

It helps that Roy knows he's following them for safety reasons.

Though, another message came from Tim stating that both the Speedsters and the Wonders had entered Gotham. Sure, easy. Except the Speedsters had taken a plane while the Wonders had taken a car.

Fun.

While Tim's tracking Diana's car, Jason gets to put trackers on Iris and Bart. Dick, supposedly, has told Wally to look for Jason but not acknowledge him, as well as the fact that the trackers are a safety measure.

Apparently, Wally's on board wo help where he can. Good. That means that Jason can quietly hand off the trackers and Wally can deal with the rest.

At least, that's how it was supposed to go.

Jason was not warned that Wally holds the same energy as Dick.

"Jason!" Wally's smile was huge when he called out to him, running over to greet him, leaving his confused family a few yards behind. "Dick said you'd meet us here! It's been a while; How's it going?"

First off, Jason has never met Wally, though he supposes it's a good cover story. Second, why the hell does Wally know his name and face? He's going to kill Dick.

He popped a smirk. "Nice to see you, too, Wally. Dick's sorry he couldn't be here to meet you guys, but he's held up with some work at the moment."

Wally waved him off while Barry, Iris, and Bart joined them. "Meh, I'll harass him about it later. In the meantime, can you show us where our hotel is? We would take a taxi, but Dickie warned me about driving in Gotham when he heard we were coming."

Hotel? Makes sense, though it's inconvenient. "Dick's mixing up Bludhaven drivers with Gotham drivers." He shook his head. "Though, be healthily cautious of everything in Gotham while you're here. You're staying long?"

The group fell into step, though Wally was still the only one talking to him. "Only the night, then we gotta go back to Central City tomorrow."

He whistled. "Central? You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, but it's gonna be totally worth it. You know the Wayne Gala going on tonight?"

"There's a Wayne Gala tonight?"

Bart took this moment to chime in. "You mean you don't know about it? It's gonna be so cool! We got a special invite!"

"Is that so? I can't say I knew about any Galas going on tonight, though that shouldn't surprise ya. I don't really have time to worry about the upper class."

"Oh?" Iris asked, "Why's that?"

"I work in Crime Alley," The name made Barry shift slightly. "so my focus is on the lower classes and how to get kids off the street."

"Crime Alley?" Barry confirmed, "Isn't that where Red Hood is set up."

"You've done your research."

"Gotham's got a reputation."

Iris smacked his arm, but Jason just chuckled. "That she does."

Bart lasted no longer than five minutes of quiet walking before asking, "What can you tell us about Batman?"

"Not much," he answered, "He's basically a ghost. The only people that ever seen him are criminals and Commissioner Gordon."

"What about the other heroes?"

"'Heroes'? Gotham ain't got no heroes. She had knights, sure, but no heroes."

"But, what about Batman and Robin and Nightwing?"

"'Vigilante' would be a better word to describe them. Besides, Nightwing doesn't work in Gotham, he's out in Bludhaven."

"Oh."

The group stopped in front of a hotel, one of the cheaper ones near the airport. Jason held his hand out to the group. "It was nice meeting you guys. I guess I'll be seeing ya tonight?"

Barry shook his hand, then Iris, Bart, and Wally.

"I thought you didn't know about the Gala." Wally gasped dramatically, "Were you lying? To a child?"

Jason scoffed and shoved Wally's shoulder. "You're older than me. And, yes, I did. Not many people know about it outside of rumors, but I'll be there with the security team."

"I thought you were too busy to worry about the one percent?"

"I gotta have money to help out the kids in the Alley." A lie, but they don't need to know that. "Anyway, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you guys."

Bart waved enthusiastically at him. "By, mister!"

He called Tim as soon as he had turned the corner, getting Diana's location. He had a tracker for Cassie and one for Donna.

14:00

Patrol during the daytime was boring, but it presented its own challenges. However, none were so inconvenient as to drop him right in front of not only all four Earth-based Green Lanterns, but also the Atlantean Royal Family.

Honestly, them being in the same place at the same time felt like a joke of some sort. If it is, it's not very funny.

There was a robbery happening in the Narrows at a bodega that Signal likes to go to while on long patrols. It was pure chance that they were stopping by mere moments the robbers entered the building.

Scott, Stewart, Gardener, and Jordan all looked ready to step in from one side of store. The Curry family and Hyde also looked ready to jump in from the opposite side of the store. Their reactions were amusing compared to native Gothamites.

The bell on top of the door chimed again as the door closed behind Signal and Robin.

"You gonna put that gun down, or am I gonna have to take it from ya?" Signal asked, a hand on his hip. Robin said nothing, though he did place his own hand on the sword at his side.

The two robbers both hesitated before putting their weapons down.

Signal smiled. "Good." He turned to Robin. "I'll take these two to the station. Will you pick up our food?" Robin nodded. "Great. My usual, old man?" The older gentleman behind the counter smiled and started to make the food.

With their wrists zip-tied behind their backs, the two robbers were escorted outside and into an alleyway down the street. Signal would place a call to the cops and meet Robin across the street.

Robin waited silently for his and Signals food to be done, very aware of the eight visiting heroes watching him.

The old man finished Signal's sandwich, moving on to make Robins. The Green Lanterns and the Atlanteans were still watching his every move.

"There's been no moves from Arkham," the old man said as he handed Robin the food, "Anything to worry about?"

Robin shook his head. "No. As always, there will be a notice sent out if anything happens on the island."

"I don't know why they don't just destroy the bridge and call it a done deal."

"Resources still need to reach Arkham Island."

"Bah! Let 'em die on that island. If Batman ain't gonna take care of 'em, let 'em take care of themselves."

Robin bristled as he took the food. "I shall inform Batman of your opinions on the matter. However, he is working on a way to rehabilitate the inhabitants of Arkham Asylum."

"There ain't no saving most of 'em."

"Then let us work to save the ones that can be saved." He left after that, having no intentions of continuing a pointless conversation.

He could still feel eight pairs of eyes on him as he left, though they couldn't follow him to the rooftops.

Tt.

16:00

Dick, Steph, and Cass were in the Manor, helping Alfred by keeping Bruce out of the kitchen. The waitstaff, chefs, and security that they'd hired for the night were due to arrive very soon and having Bruce out of the way was best for everyone.

Saying that all three were keeping him occupied was a stretch. Cass and Steph were keeping Bruce confined to the Family Wing of the Manor while Dick handled everything else with Alfred.

When the hired help arrived, Alfred had been confined to the Manor to keep an eye on them while they cooked and got set up. That left Dick to pick up the suits from the tailors and pick up the three bloggers that had been hired to cover the press.

The suits were in the Diamond District at their usual tailor, so there was no hassle in picking them up outside of the stares he got when going in and leaving the store. Nothing he wasn't used to, though.

He was meeting the three press at the train station and taking them to Wayne Manor. Alfred was going to do it, but Jason was wandering Gotham and no one else is allowed in the kitchen.

However, there's a small problem with meeting three members of the press at the train station.

"The Kent Family just got off their train." Tim had sent to the group chat, "They're with the bloggers Buce hired."

Damn it. Is this payback for siccing Wally on Jason?

Dick threw on his Press Smile and walked into the train station. He spotted Clark first, Connor second, then the three press, and Lois and Jon.

The page four reporter from the Daily Planet was locked in conversation with Clark and Lois, though the other two were looking around nervously. He walked right up to the group.

"Mister Kent," he greeted, the group's attention falling to him, "Misses Lane. It's good to see you again."

"Mister Grayson," Lois smiled at him, "I don't suppose you're here to take us to Wayne Manor?"

He sighed exaggeratedly. "No, not this time I'm afraid. However," he turned his attention to the three who weren't family, "I am here to take you three to the Manor."

The Tumblr blogger Bruce had picked out held out their hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Mister Grayson, sir."

The one from Reddit also shook his hand, a smile taking over her face. The reporter from the Daily Planet looked like he was itching to take a picture or a statement.

"Please, call me Dick," he smiled, "That goes for you, too, Mister Kent, Misses Lane."

"Call me Clark, then," he said. "This is Connor, my little brother, and Jon, my son."

"Nice to meet you two. However, we must get back to the Manor. I'll see you all tonight?"

"Of course." Lois said pleasantly.

17:00

Everything was set just in time for the Manor gates to open and guests to arrive. Commissioner Gordon was over security, though he'd be inside the ballroom itself.

Everyone had returned to the Manor thirty minutes ago, all getting themselves ready before going to greet their guests at the entrance they'd be using.

Tim was still tracking all of the heroes and their families, relaying their locations until they crossed the property lines.

Jason, Kate, Luke, Steph, Selina, and Barbra were arriving separately and in the middle of everyone else. Selina, Jason, and Barbra would come together; so would Kate, Luke, and Steph.

Slowly and steadily, the ballroom filled with the invited guests.

18:00

The waitstaff moved quickly and professionally, making sure every single person had the meal that had been prepared for them. They were all labeled meticulously with the name of the person and table they were going to, a picture accompanying. No cross contamination in the food, and every dietary restriction - that the Waynes will not be explaining their knowledge of - was placed with the correct person.

As soon as every plate had been settled, dinner officially began.

Part 14 Part 16

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

They drive me insaaaaaaane !!!!!!!!!!!!

[juliareed]

You still cling to naive ideals. I learned, at a very young age, the only currency worth anything in this world is power.

[zaritarazi]

hanne (trying to recall a fun childhood story): did you tell them about the zipline

matthias: i did tell them about the zipline

jesper: he told us about the zipline

hanne: then why do you all look so upset

wylan: sorry, to clarify, are you referencing the zipline designed to kill children?

hanne and matthias at the same time, still not sure why people don't think that the zipline story is funny: yes

nina, walking back into the room after getting a glass of water: why does everyone suddenly look so concerned did matthias bring up his childhood summer camp's illegal fucking zipline again

[blujayonthewing]

fighting for my life to Be Cool About It playing felix as a dnd character who has only known the party for one(1) egregiously shitty week rather than get carried away with romance subplots I'm inventing in my own head, as if simon getting Enthusiastic and visibly excited while talking a lot doesn't instinctively trigger, in felix, the exact same profound heart eyes reflex that justin doing so does for me in real life

[xceanlynx]

y'all I went on twitter for the first time in three days and people are trying to cancel First? bffr

[ostwitchsheart]

Sorry to start complaining but its my tumblr

[robotsprinkles]

think I'm going to try to remake this game from the ground up after we submit it just to see how much of the crap/issues/difficulty we're running into is because these systems are actually hard to use/create/implement and how much is because no one bothered to research or plan or think what they'd need to do and know and learn when they had the time

I swear to god if I end up being able to remake this game to my standards (and not the standards of our project manager who has completely borked priorities) in under two months I'm going to lose it

[selvepnea]

Been playing Vampyr lately (not a recommendation)

[cntloup]

Gojo Satoru x pregnant!reader

protective!Satoru, fluff, a lil angst, mention of feeling guilty, implied heavy symptoms experienced by the reader

"it's ok, baby. i've got it." Satoru says as he approaches your slouched form over the sink, washing the dishes as you try to get something done and make yourself useful.

you've been feeling guilty during the past month or so, feeling like you were a burden to him, thinking that you would never live up to his expectations. now he has to take care of you. and as time goes by, it will get even worse as your pregnancy progresses. but he's a busy man with heavy responsibilities. you'd be only holding him back. you torture yourself with these thoughts every day.

"oh, thanks. i'll go clean up the living room and do the laundry then." you respond with a forced smile, trying to mask the guilt that's been gnawing at you for a while as you try to keep yourself from falling over out of dizziness.

"what? no, wait! i'll do it after i wash the dishes. you go get some rest. you've done enough." he retorts while gently grabbing your arm, voice slightly raised to stop you immediately.

he is in utter disbelief at your behavior. you should be resting right now, tucked in beneath the soft sheets peacefully. you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about anything, he thinks.

"i haven't done anything all day." you utter in a faintly frustrated tone, mostly at yourself.

"and that's exactly how it should be." he replies with a nod, "now go to bed before i drag you there myself." he adds, maintaining a playful tone, a soft smile adorning his features as he drinks in your beauty. you're already glowing. but considering how observant he is, he senses your discomfort immediately like he can actually feel the gloom and sorrow you're feeling right now like a mother hen.

"what is it, baby? tell me." he murmurs as he walks up to you and pulls you into him by your hips, shining blue eyes staring at you as he awaits a response.

his hand rests on your side as the other cups your jaw, his thumb swiping over your cheek that could be dampened any moment now as you feel tears threatening to spill.

"i'm so sorry." you whisper breathily, voice slightly quivering with the lump in your throat as you look up into his glowing eyes.

"for what?" he asks, confusion evident on his features.

"for being weak. i'm so sorry to disappoint you." you finally spill out the words that have been weighing heavily on your chest as the tears cascade down your glossy eyes.

"disappoint me? i don't understand... why are you crying, love?" he mutters with a shake of his head, his confusion growing even more by your words as his fingers swipe over your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears.

"you're literally the strongest and you're stuck with me. i'm barely even showing yet and i'm feeling extreme fatigue. i've been sleeping all day for the past month cause i can't do anything. and because of the symptoms, i'll probably have to quit my job." you ramble about the thoughts that have been pulling you down all this time.

"wait, wait, wait! how long have you been feeling like this?" he questions with widened eyes baring into your soul.

"eversince we found out i was pregnant. i can't stop feeling guilty about disappointing you." you reply quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it. of course you know you're being irrational. it's all natural to be tired during this time and need help, but you just can't help it.

"you've been feeling like this all this time and you didn't tell me anything?" he blurts out almost too aggressively to his liking, "sorry. didn't mean it to come out that way." he quickly apologizes after witnessing the slight flinch on your part.

how could he not see it? you've been trying to do the chores like regular, pushing yourself to your limit both in the house and on your job until he swoops in and takes the weight off your shoulders. now he starts to blame himself for not finding out sooner and letting you wallow in your own sadness and guilt all alone.

"you're not weak, baby. you're doing the one thing that i can't possibly ever do. the one thing that the strongest can't do. and what does that make you? huh? you're literally the strongest of all, babe. i can't even fathom what you're going through and you're doing amazing-", "i'm barely functioning." you cut him off.

"i'm not done yet, babe." he says playfully before continuing, "you're doing amazing, honey. you sleep not because you can't do anything else but because you need it. you're carrying our child for fuck's sake. a literal human's life is growing inside you and of course it takes its toll on you. and i'm right here beside you every step of the way." he finishes his loving speech with a tender kiss on your forehead as his strong arms wrap around your now slightly shaking form as you sob, utterly moved by his words and also the hormones.

"thank you, Satoru. i really appreciate it. you always know what to say when i'm feeling down." your words are cut off by loud sobs but he patiently waits for you to finish as he rubs your back soothingly while nuzzling his face in your neck.

"any time, baby. i love you." he whispers in your ear, "i love you too, toru." you say back, continuing to sob in his arms for a while before you eventually calm down and he guides you to bed, encouraging you to take some much-needed rest.

"and don't worry about your job. you can take some time off or quit altogether. i have more than enough to pay for our family and the next generations to come-", "ok, stop bragging!" you chuckle, "i'm just saying, baby. i've been dying to spoil you. now's my chance. let me take care of you. you don't have to go through this alone. in fact, i won't even let you." he chuckles lightly and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling away with a loud smack as you both lay in bed, limbs tangled together, "you already spoil me." you mention with a slight pout, "and i'm gonna do it even more. you deserve it, baby. don't worry about anything. i've got it." he says while softly caressing your cheek, admiring your glowing beauty illuminated by the faint bedside light.

you slowly start to feel the sleep creeping in and drift away into a slumber as you mumble a quiet 'thank you', curling into Satoru's side as he holds you so lovingly while you think to yourself how you've been blessed with the best, most loving and supportive partner anyone could ever ask for.

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[homunculus-argument]

I don't know if you're ever done being struck by random Adult Hindsight on things about your parents, but pouring my tea this morning it suddenly just struck me just how weird boomers are about things like keeping up appearances and being presentable. I mean don't get me wrong, there definitely are times and places where you need to dress and act appropriately for the occasion, but being appropriate shouldn't take priority over the occasion itself.

My grandfather died in the heart of a remarkably cold winter, in peace with himself and after a long life and a brief illness. It sounds like a bizarre cliché to say, but it was agreed that very few get to pass as well as he did. His funeral was held on the coldest damn day of that winter. I needed to buy new clothes for it, a white scarf and a more simple, understated cap, since my mother thought that my usual winter hat - a big, black, fuzzy ushanka - was too frivolous for the occasion.

The cap didn't cover my ears and didn't offer much protection, but it was better than not having it on. The funeral was held on a freezing cold sunny day that my grandfather would probably have liked very much, but being outdoors at all - not to mention standing in the cold, with no hat on - gave me a headache within minutes, and I would rather have kept my hat on for as much of the ceremony as possible, while my mother kept hissingly whispering me to take it off, not put it back on yet, and when I was allowed to wear it again. My ears were freezing and my head was aching and I was just as annoyed by this tug-of-war as she clearly was.

If you asked her, I'm sure she would say something about how it's unfortunate that I didn't know how to behave appropriately at a funeral - worded in some way of how it's Surely Not My Fault that I wouldn't know any better, but with a strong undercurrent of making it clear that her children not knowing proper manners is not her fault, either. But ma'am what the fuck?

Your father has died and you spent the whole time fussing about my fucking hat??