#hopefully the meds work but while waiting for them to kick in I get so damn nervous

[heartshattering]

5 AM

Just me and my overactive mind facing the nighttime again 🙃

[masochistkatsuki]

Team Player - Sticky Situation

Pt 2 ← Pt 3 → Masterlist

Without a doubt, Sero was your second best friend. It used to be Katsuki, but after a stunt surrounding him in your second year, you ironically ended up becoming closer to Hanta instead.

This also happened to be the first night you and Sero started your ongoing 'game.' Sero wasn't going to be an issue in this challenge, the tension has been waiting to be released anyway.

Throughout the night, you heard a lot of, in the lightest way possible, obscene noises. In the morning, no one but you, Mina, and Kirishima knew what they were, or that theyd even happened. It turns out, when you're crazy fucking drunk, you usually end up passing out as soon as you reach a mattress.

While everyone was asleep, Eijirou learnt hands on how to fuck, then immediately went on to deploy those skills. He really didn't waste time. But to be fair, that is what you were betting on.

Jirou and Katsuki had morning shifts, and were thankfully stable enough to leave the house after some care from you. Youd originally brought all the pain meds for yourself, but of course you'll help friends in need no matter what.

Katsuki had a scraped knuckle, when he got up to leave, he was hoping you wouldn't notice. Of course, unfortunately for him, it was the first thing you noticed and quickly stopped him. "Hey !! Thats totally going to get infected if it's not taken care of, are you crazy ?"

He stopped and scowled. Even if you weren't as close in your first year and part of the second, you two were still very perceptive and understanding of what the other had going on. "Piss off, I'm going back to my place and I'll figure it out." He went to leave, but -

"Oh no you don't, Katsuki." You knew hed just shower, pick any extra skin or scabs off, then go to work. "Shower here real quick, then im going to fix that for you." He groaned. You acted like such a mom sometimes.

After a bunch of bickering, light punches and explosions to each other, Katsuki left just 20 minutes before Kirishima and Mina left on their own. What they were probably off and doing doesn't really need to be fully described.. You can definitely guess. As for Kaminari, he was trying to crash and play xbox on Sero's couch, but he ended up getting kicked out immediately.

By 8 am, everyone was out of the house but you and Sero. "Oh um.." You awkwardly looked around. "Should I go too ?" Maybe you shouldve reconsidered how easy Sero would be, this was way more nerve wracking than you'd thought.

Was it ? Or we're you just preparing for the inevitable interrogation.. one youve been slacking off on, you still knew barely nothing about your .. more difficult friends.

"So.. Wanna explain what you and Mina are doing this time ?" He grinned down at you, head resting on his palm. He sat at the kitchen table, clearly intending for you to sit down.

You looked around, as if checking no one was there even though everyone had definitely left. A sigh escaped your lips, and you eventually sat down. Hopefully Mina would understand, but there was just no keeping anything from Sero.

You two had been some of the closest friends since October of your second year. Since the Bakusquad threw that Halloween get-together with them and a few select other friends. From then on out, if you weren't with Mina, you were with Sero.

It started when, stupidly, enough, you fell for Katsuki. It was pitiful, really. You only told Sero, not even Mina. Truthfully, you'd liked him since your first year. Kirishima was hot, but really just a coverup so you wouldn't have to be embarrassed about liking someone who obviously didn't like you. Mina had a special place in your heart, but she had a habit of playing cupid when not needed. You knew the only way she wouldn't intervene was if you mentioned someone she secretly liked.

But, as we all know, Bakugou wasn't easy to like. It was a difficult task feeling so strongly about him in private. Throughout your whole first year, he was snappy and rude, often trying to turn your positivity into pessimism. Though he grew a lot, and protected you many times, and helped you train and gave you honest points and dare you say compliments ? You knew he cared, he just didn't show it that well at first. But any deeper emotional stuff just wasn't an option, and you understood that.

In your second year, he was much softer around the edges. He was still the same smart ass, and egotistical explosive teen, but there was a sense of self awareness and restraint to it. He started learning how to dial it back when possible, but his temper remained when pushed or with people he didnt know. Even so, you continued to admire his effort.

And still, your feelings so stupidly remained. Even when he pushed you away, or acted like he didn't know you, you just couldn't dial it back. So, in a cliche highschool move, you plotted to make him jealous.

In hindsight, its just a funny story to laugh about with Sero, an inside joke if anything. But in the moment, it felt like a whole secret operation. As if this was what all your training was meant for !

At the get together, you wore the cutest but most tempting, tight black dress. It hugged you perfectly, and was accompanied by soft squeezing thigh highs, striped orange and black, like a classic witch. Anyone with eyes was looking at you atleast twice.

You and Sero agreed to hang out the night, and after a few drinks, when you were sure Katsuki was looking, get up all close and flirty. It seemed simple enough, up until then, you hadn't felt that much attraction to him. You only had to fake it for a few hours.

But in a twisted turn of luck, the very same night you specifically were meant to feign attraction, you suddenly, and genuinely felt it. Who knew Sero Hanta could look this fucking good ? Obviously he was hot, lanky, muscular, a damn future Pro ! But youd always just seen him as your fortnite duo or the guy who always arrived everywhere in baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.

So why the fuck was he suddenly showing off now ? His hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, spare strands framing his face angelically. He had a black compression shirt on, purposely displaying how hard his chest and abs were. To top it off, he had the iconic grey sweats, hanging off his hips slightly, showing off his v line and happy trail. Holy shit. Hanta Sero is so fucking hot.

Maybe it was apart of the plan, maybe it wasnt, but you and Sero stayed together the whole night. According to Mina, you looked 'real good together'. Coincidentally, you two happened to be getting real close and flirty anyway.

It started with you feeding each other shots. It was easier for Sero, as he was a good amount taller than you. His hands, bigger and stronger, though it made sense with his quirk, traced over your jaw, before he tilted your chin up and poured a shot of vodka down your throat. Fuck, this was way more intimate than you expected it to be. The burn in your inner thighs only felt lighter when you drank down the hard liquid.

Mistakenly, you thought that it couldn't get more sensual than that, right ? Of course, you were wrong. In the process of figuring out how you'd get your shot down Sero's mouth, he got onto his knees in front of you. Holy fuck.

Your hand subconsciously held his cheek, holding his face up to yours. His head was resting against your midriff, while his arms wrapped around your waist. He looked way too pathetic like this for his own good. "I have a better idea, Hanta." Little did you know, Katsuki did notice the encounter, and you leaving with Sero right after. His knuckle was white with his grip against the telltale red solo cup, but no one seemed to notice as he said nothing.

In your dorm, meticulously decorated to your interests and hobbies, you laid yourself down on your bed. Hanta stood above you, arm covering his mouth as a blush crept through. Whatever you had in mind, it was instantly going to his lower regions, the outline of his dick heavy in his sweats. "Im on board."

You laughed, taking in how usually calm and cool Sero was frantically looking around in intervals after staring at your laid out body. "I havent even told you what I was thinki-"

He rested his head against your stomach again, hands comfortably grabbing at your thighs and hips. "I want to do it." He hummed against your tummy, slightly blowing into it, forcing a laugh out of you. Well, it wasnt like you didnt want to do it, for fucks sake, it was your idea. You figured, Katsuki was never looking at you anyway, you might as well have fun with someone who did.

That's how you ended up letting Sero strip your tiny black dress off you, leaving yourself exposed on your bed, dressed only in a matching black lingerie set, (a cute outfit always needs cuter underwear !) and your Halloween thigh highs. Hanta couldnt have looked happier.

You took out your handle of Vodka, and poured a stripe down from in-between your boobs, to your pantyline. You looked up at Sero, who was watching from above, his palm flat against his bulge. "Heres your shot, Hanta."

So yea, you were supposed to make Katsuki jealous, but the way Sero slid his tongue underneath your panties slightly before going back up, dragging it slowly across your abdomen, tracing the muscle against your underboob, before finishing the shot at your sternum, sucking right as he released his mouth from your body felt like too much. But it was apart the plan ! For the greater purpose ! .. Huh, where have I heard that before ?

So, how, were you supposed to not tell Sero the truth ? The tension never ended between you two, and he was looking at you like he was about to eat you whole. You finally had a reason to fuck Sero without seeming weak for dick. It was time to use it.

After explaining the whole situation to Sero, he just seemed to smirk wider. "Well that explains a lot. Like all the heinous sounds. You guys always forget how thin my walls are."

You choked on the off brand fruity pebbles he served you a moment ago-- he heard ?! "Excuse you ?" You looked at him suspiciously. He should've been passed out.

"Im a heavy weight but a light sleeper. Besides, I stayed somewhat sober because I was trying to figure out why Bakugou and Kirishima were Fighting" He crossed his arms, bulky elbows shamelessly knocking against the table.

"Okay, okay. I got it- Hold on, Fighting ?" You looked at him confused. When the fuck did Kirishima and Bakugou get into a fight ? While you were genuinely concerned, he just laughed.

"Sorry, I mean I know now they weren't, but cmon, last night everyone thought they were fighting with each other." His eyes closed cheekily while his grin remained.

You just picked your jaw back off the floor and kept searching for answers. "What ?? Why ??" You were wracking your brain for everything Katsuki did this week, and if hed mentioned anything about Ei. Nothing.

"Well, for starters, Kirishima's girl was hanging out with Katsuki the whole time. But for the first time ever, you and Bakubro weren't hip to hip. Hes always seeking you out, especially when hes drunk. The fact he was with someone else and letting Kirishima be all buddy with you was definitely something." He continued to mindlessly eat his cereal like he just said nothing.

You looked around awkwardly, choosing to freak out over that later. As much as you wanted to gush and talk about Katsuki, it wasn't really easy to just talk about other guys after telling one you essentially needed to have sex with him. Fuck. You two were clearly both thinking the same thing, but who was going to break first ? Just as you began to mentally complain about his stubbornness..

"Hey, so.." He began mimicking you, eyes looking at your spoon, the ceiling, out the window, but never at you.. "I um..." The tips of his ears began fading into a strawberry red. It was really odd to see him so nervous.

"What is it, Hanta ?" You rested a hand on his forearm, hoping to remind him you wouldn't bite. As much as you loved whiney and whimper-y guys, you needed him to communicate.

"I have an idea this time."

So, for the greater good, (of getting Kirishima and Mina to fuck) for everyone's sake, (hold on I thought they just fucked ?) you ended up in nothing but your panties, and taped over Sero's couch. (i dont think this one was necessary ..?) Oh. So that's why he kicked Denki out so quick. "Just how long have you been wanting to do this ?"

He grinned wide, like he'd been asking himself that too. "Since you kicked my ass in the Sports Festival." You audibly gasped. It clicked for you just in that second-, in your first year, you ended up winning by capturing Sero, his legs tight together between your thighs, and one wrist caught in each hand. With the way his arms were still spread out, some of the guys still made fun of him for getting 'crucified."

Your own position, now three years later, was mirroring just that. Your thighs were taped together, and your ankles were adorned with additional tape securing you midair. Your arms were spread out slightly above your head, wrists bound and held up in the air. Underneath your lower back, hips, head, and neck, he provided soft pillows to keep you from hurting. It was surprisingly comfy.

He stood before you, hands on his hips, admiring his work. His eyes carefully scanned over you, and down your body. You noticed he especially was paying attention to the way your thighs squished together due to the bondage. "This looks way better than I could've ever imagined."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the slight mustache he'd been growing out. "Yea im sure." Your eyes bore into his, trying not to let the real pathetic position you were in get to his ego. "Look, I let you tie me up, so I want a favor."

He smirked at you, and leaned over. His face was close to yours, he smelt like light cologne and sugar. His lips were just a breath away from yours, and as he spoke, "Anything for you." They trembled against you, just barely touching.

You hummed happily, carding your digits through his inky black strands. It was often something he let you do when you were in need of calming down. "So you know the whole operation, but I barely know anything about the last three people." Truly unfair, you needed to make things even and quick.

His eyes trailed to the top right corner of his vision. He thought for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. "I understand now," His eyes looked back into yours before his concentrated face grinned again, "I think I know exactly what you're looking for." Before continuing, he gave you a quick wink.

His hand now gripped your hip, his usual basketball shorts slid down. He rubbed his length through the thin fabric of his boxers with his other hand, growing greatly to its full size. The hand on your hips traveled to your now exposed clit, tracing random letters and shapes against it.

You whined out his name, thighs struggling against the binds, squeezing together in the process. He moved his hands so his middle and ring were fucking lightly into your cunt.

With how close everything was, you felt distinctly how your natural wet excretion covered and slid over your inner thighs. "Perfect.." He breathed, tongue teasing the side of your neck.

He readjusted his hips over yours, and pulled his boxers down before inserting himself between your wet thighs. The tape and his hand held you together, making the perfect slight gap right against your pussy and firm thighs for him.

He began pistoning himself through and out the gap, breath heavy against your chest. He began slow, but it was clear he was trying to hold back.

You smiled softly, wishing you were rubbing your hands up the wide expanse of his back how you would during make out sessions. "You wanna go faster, Sero?" He sighed, slowing his shaky pace again from where it began to gradually speed up unconsciously. He totally forgot to ask.

"Yes.. Please." He rubbed a hand up your midriff, relishing in how soft your bare body was. His hand stopped at your breasts before he began his part of the deal. "Jirou likes it when her hair is tugged or messed with. If you.." His pace quickened, letting himself enjoy the feeling while helping you, "If you keep making eye contact and playing with her hair, she'll be on you by the end of the night."

You tensed the muscles in your thighs, catching his tip. "And how do you know that, Sero ?" You wanted to touch his hair as he mentioned, but your suspended arms weren't moving anytime soon. Fuck, this was getting annoying.

"Because every time Momo does it." As if reading your mind, the hand just under your boobs palmed at your nipples briefly before resting in your hair, scratching at your scalp, "She runs back to her dorm to touch herself."

You held back a gulp-- How did sero know that ?? The girls group chat was the only place Jirou ever mentioned it, he shouldn't have known. "Oh wow, does she really do that ?" You batted your eyelashes at him, trying to get more information and distract him from the fact you actually already knew that secret. He knew a lot more than youd originally thought.

He smirked, hand going back to pinch at your side boob. Even though his actions seemed steady, his breath was rapid and his hips were starting to shake. "Im.. Im getting close.."

You forced your face to remain soft. In reality, you felt smug and slowly accomplished. Though Sero proved to have his own difficulties, you were getting closer and closer yourself, to the goal. "That's okay, just keep telling me about them. Only two more people left, Hanta."

"Kaminari is.." He tried thinking, but only sighed. "Sorry mentioning him turns me off." You just laughed, and waved your hand as much as you could from its tied place in the air.

"It's him, don't worry, it won't be a challenge.." You looked around quickly. He wasnt softening, but you didnt want the mood to be ruined. At the same time, you desperately needed information on Katsuki. "How about this.."

It took a minute to convince him that undoing the tape around your thighs was a good idea, but as soon as you reminded him that you two would actually end up fucking, he gave in.

He was now caged between your hips and still bound ankles, his tip pressed against your inner lips. "Hanta, do you have a condom ?"

His eyes widened. "Oh ! Yea, I found one in one of my guest rooms. I think Mina was sleeping in there." He winked knowingly. Damn, as thankful as you were, you were a little embarrassed about her premonition and his good observation skills.

"Good.. Then.. Ill let come inside, you just need to fuck me good and tell me how I can do the same to Katsuki." Your eyes locked on his, and you used the freedom now granted with your legs to move your thighs around his waist, lower legs still stuck together in the air.

He groaned, quickly ripping the packaging with his teeth and pulling it on. The entirety of your round wasn't really that long, but the years of teasing had built up so much, just the slightest touches felt like too much to Hanta. "So hes really private.. not even Kaminari knows all that much, but.."

His rubbery tip slipped through your soft entrance, the wetness hed been keeping going only helping you suck his whole size in relatively quick. Not to mention, he was noticeably smaller than Kirishima, making what would usually be a harsh fit much less painful. "Cmon, Sero, you can tell me." You made your voice more sultry, making up for the lack of touch you could provide with your hands.

"We know hes definitely a virgin." You gasped, half from the way his tip got caught on your gspot for a moment before pushing further, half because that made him the last virgin in your friend group.

During your second year, class 2-A and 2-B went through a virginity loss craze, a lot of people doing it with friends just to say they lost it. Most of it was just awkward quick stuff, and it ended up with almost everyone staying inexperienced and shy, like Kirishima. "Really ?" You pushed your hips up into his, trying to keep some composure. It was still interesting Katsuki never did anything, by that point he was an in-school celebrity.

A deeper groan reverberated in his chest, steadily getting a good pace to fuck in and out at. "Hes a lot more sensitive and emotional than people think." He kept gradually getting faster, pressing against your gspot faster and faster every time. "He usually responds with anger as a default feeling, but if he trusts you already and you come onto him strong and clearly enough again and again no matter how much he snaps, you'll have him."

By the time he was done explaining, you were both close and whining into each other's neck. He was practically laying on top of you, his messy black hair covering your vision. He was moaning now, "Can I finally cum, please ? I told you everything I know.." His hands were scratching slightly at your thighs, composure slipping away faster than he could catch it.

You rarely felt this weak, but for some odd reason, you hoped to god for any reason but the fact you finally knew more about Katsuki, and the honestly hot fact he was a Virgin. Before you knew it, you were crying out, "Yes, now, Hanta" while your thighs and walls closed in on him. Your previously sore hips were shaking, getting more action in two days then they had since this school year started.

He bit into your neck, muffling a girlish moan from him as a warm release spilt into his (Minas) condom. His hips kept lightly thrusting before completely stopping. He was still dumbly panting and whining a little, sounds gradually getting quieter as he calmed down.

"That.." He took a deep breath in before it stuttered out. "That was so fucking good." His eyes locked into yours, face still dangerously close. "Remind me to thank Mina later."

a/n : i think this one flowed a lot more naturally than kirishimas, but it took me a bit longer. hope its good !! tried adding more katsuki implications but i didn't want it to escalate too fast yet

taglist : @hyunjinshairband7 @icarusthefoolish @adv3rs1ty @waterfal-ling @hon3y-13mOn05 @sugerglidder @scr4luv @hauntedstudentobservationus @pinkpantheris @yogupink @cupkiki @fwskullz @katsukiswife @flavouredair @wOnd3rxoxo @slytherinpenguin12 (crossed out names are not working !)

[in1-nutshell]

Speaking of memories, I do think it would be cool if Mo and Robby did have to go into Buddy's mindscape for some reason. For awhile its just her memories as buddy but somehow they slip into her memories as Silver Aid. The memories are scattered and Fuzzy but Robby and Mo do learn that Buddy had a life on cybertron, that she was closed to Optimus, Elita and Megatron before the war.

And when they come out, maybe Buddy still dosent have her memories. they were able to slip through the mental block but the block is still there. Cue the existential crisis and confusion that comes from this.

Defiantly planning in the future to make a longer version of this... hopefully.

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Silver Aid gets her memories back

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Hinted romance, Cybertronian (techno organic) reader

TFE

The Terrans had noticed Silver’s increase in migraines.

Somehow, they were getting worse with every new one wave.

It was getting to the point that the bots had started to get worried.

Silver hissing in pain while holding the side of her helm. Megatron gets to her side and gently removes her bunched-up servo from her helm. Megatron: “A bad one?” Silver squeezes her optics shut and puts her helm on his chassis, gently pushing. Megatron freezes as she grabs his servo and places it on her helm. Silver: “Just hold me…” Megatron presses his servo on her helm and pulls her closer. He smiles a bit as she snuggles closer. He looks up and sees Optimus and Mo giving him a knowing look. Megatron tries to ignore them and looks the other way… only to see Elita and Dot giving the same look.

One day, the Maltos and bots were called in by Wheeljack and Nightshade to meet at the abandoned groundbridge.

It turns out Wheeljack and Nightshade had a secret project they had been working on for Silver Aid.

A helmet to help with her migraines until another way to fix them was found.

Silver was a bit hesitant, like the others, but thought it be worth a shot.

She lays down on the med slab while Wheeljack gently placed the helmet on her helm.

The others go into another secure room overseeing Silver Aid’s room.

It is filled with all the screens and monitors for Silver.

At first, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Wheeljack checking his screen: “The waves seem to be stable.” Night is on their screen: “And all levels seem to be at optimal speed. As soon as the next wave hits, the helmet should be able to block all pain!” Dot looks at Megatron, who was watching over the bots body for any sign of discomfort. Dot: “She’s fine Meg’s.” Megatron just hums.

Optimus and Elita aren’t any better off.

The Prime’s servo is laced in Elita’s almost trying to ground them both.

Elita’s other servo clenches and unclenches with every minute passing.

Bumblebee, Arcee and Grimlock were doing their best to try and reassure the senior bots with some of the Terrans.

They were so preoccupied that they didn’t see one of the reformed G.H.O.S.T. Robots slip on a banana peel, kicking a rock into the console screen.

Nor did they realize that Robbie and Mo had gone into the room where Silver Aid was in.

CRASH! One of the monitors gets broken and the screens start glitching. Wheeljack, Nightshade and Hashtag are scrambling to fix the problem. Optimus: “What happened?” Hashtag: “That rock hit one of the main panels! That means that—” Silver Aid: “AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Silver sits bolted up screaming in pain trying to take the helmet off but can’t get it off. Megatron goes to the door, but it went into lockdown. Elita tries kicking the door down, but it doesn’t even make a dent. Alex and Dot try calming the Terrans. Alex: “Wait! Where’s Robbie and Mo?!”

Bumblebee was the one who spotted the pair inside the room with Silver Aid.

Cursing the soundproof and reinforced glass, everyone tries to get the kids’ attention to move away from the bot.

But Mo and Robbie had other plans.

Figuring that maybe their cybersleeves could help calm her down, all they needed to do was get in contact and send in as many calming thoughts as possible.

They were not expecting to touch her pede to start seeing random flashes of images.

With the calm thoughts some of the images stared staying around longer.

The first image they processed was a image of a smiling bot with three bots by their side.

The bots looked strangely like Optimus, Megatron and Elita.

More flashes of images of the same three bots in some sort of metal city.

Thinking more calmer thoughts, one of the images started to slow down even more.

The bot was inside some sort of space pod looking at a monitor with a white mech. Skyfire: “How are you holding E-2?” E-2 shrugs a bit down: “As good as I can be Sky… I just wish the others would really understand you know?” Skyfire laughs a bit: “You’re forgetting who my lab partner is.” E-2: “Yeah, Starscream does make life and adventure, doesn’t he?” Skyfire smiles warmly: “Yeah he does.” E-2: “We’re over the coordinates Sky. Huh? Its pretty windy Skyfire, maybe we should stay out of the planet’s atmosphere.” Skyfire: “A little wind never harmed no bot E. These pods were made to last and if something does happen, I’ll hop out and get you.” E-2 smiles: “All right Skyfire, let’s see what Earth has in store for us.”

The next images flew by so fast the kids suddenly felt like they were flying back.

In a way, they had, literally.

Silver Aid had managed to rip the helmet off her helm causing some of the energy pushed the kids back.

By now, Silver was shaking, throat raw from the screaming and tears still running down her face.

Silver noticed Robbie and Mo groaning in slight pain and motioned to go help them but stopped mid-way looking at her servos.

Servos that originally came from someone else, from another life.

Servos that had caused harm to her family.

She knew that the system would soon shut down letting the other bots inside.

Letting Optimus, Megatron and Elita in.

Oh��

Oh Primus…

Megatron finally kicks down the door as the others spill into the room. Dot, Alex and the Terrans are by Robbie and Mo’s side. Megatron makes his way to her, but she takes a step back. Megatron: “Silver we are going to take you to the medical bay…” Silver Aid’s optics start to fill with tears pulling herself farther from the bots in the room. Elita taking a careful step forward: “Silver? Is everything…” All words start to fall deaf to her audials. Faster than anyone could anticipate, Silver Aid let out a web overhead and swung over everyone and began to run out of the facility. How did she manage to do it? She doesn’t know. Next thing she knows, she is face to face with the former Second in Command of the Decepticon army. Starscream: “Oh. It’s you. What are you—” Silver Aid: “I know where Skyfire is.”

[aluria-sevhex]

HELL FUCKING YESSSSSSSS

hey if you wanna read all of my posts as i play through ISAT, they are all tagged as #Aluria plays ISAT for the first time (please don't spoil)

notes:

-aight i'm back yippee

-title theme my beloved

-i always find it so funny when an enemy tries to freeze Mira

-gonna try this boss again

-ok i think i'll just replay Floor 3 on this loop instead of looping forward after i find out another one of Bonnie's favorite foods so i can build up everybody's stats

-OH. BONNIE OVERHEARD THE DEATH CONVERSATION.

-heh Bonnie slapped Siffrin

-uh... the audio is REALLY ominous...

-oh, Bonnie...

-WAIT WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT DID I JUST LOOP SLIGHTLY BACK IN THE PAST?

-Siffrin you ok i don't think that was helping ur mental health issues your eye is covered in shadow in your dialogue portrait

-i will once again NOT kill Siffrin via anaphylaxis. i will take the fish head

-...i didn't. get info on Bonnie's favorite foods this time.

-ok according to the save screen that didn't count as a loop

-anyway time to try looping to get the Bonnie snack info

-hey... the Tear dialogue isn't as silly anymore (it just says yes or no without the 'looping time' or 'living time')

-hey i didn't skip any loops this time!

-time to kill this pair of assholes again

-"carry my ashes with you" aw that's a sweet dialogue option

-i am so tempted to kill Siffrin. but i won't.

-awwww... i talked to Bonnie and now Sif is comforting them

-ok how the fuck do i get the info. BONNIE PLS.

-hold up. does Siffrin no longer nod when zoning out? :((((

-WAIT FUCK DID I FORGET TO GET THE KEY ON FLOOR 2.

-...Mira's roommate. was learning to make bombs. why???

-lol Isa knows how to make a bomb

-Mira has anti-anxiety meds. this makes a lot of sense tbh

-...what are these papers for???

-so i decided to try using the silver coin since a person said that you can do something with it related to the croissant lore. and it said "you think about the Incident" or smth like that lol

-lol Sif forgot the term 'stuffed animal'

-idk why but it feels like a lot of Craft skills are like. slower. or have bigger cooldowns in Act 3. even tho i KNOW they don't and my brain is fucking with me

-ok the game accounted for the key thing

-in the bathroom again

-Sif is calming themself again and figuring out what to do

-Siffrin, self-loathing and calling yourself stupid won't help :(

-i zoned out at some minor dialogue but i don't remember what the dialogue was the first time so i am fucking clueless about what was going on with a choice i made. sorry Mira idk why i 'saved you' by smacking your mouth ;_;

-i love getting to obliterate weaker Rock enemies with Paper α V

-i have now gotten Sif to level 60

-sometimes it's nice to take a break and talk to Loop

-wait a sec. doesn't one of the lower floors have a sharpening stone?

-ok it's been a while and now i have everybody back to level 52. time to kick the asses of the 3rd floor boss

-ooo Odile got a new skill

-time for the last snack break!

-Bonnie's upset now because i didn't try the fritters D:

-time to face the King again... and hopefully talk to him

-welp. *that* didn't work

-oh nvm now i can ask him questions via the Craft menu!

-you. you can give the King the flower.

-yeah the characters have a point! why Vaugarde specifically?

-the King is NOT responsible but he says Siffrin has an odd smell. huh... the only other things where an odd smell has been noted is Bonnie saying the star crest Sadnesses smell odd... but if Sif had that smell then it would've been noticed sooner...

-dude. how rude to say that if Siffrin doesn't understand Time Craft they can't understand the King's methods. maybe i should read more on Time Craft in one of the libraries? or that one book on craftonomy...

-the "you have heard this before" for zoning out got more and more annoyed

-once again. what does the King need to say?

-hm i was talking to Odile and Bonnie piped in really excitedly that they have more pineapple in their pocket

-GOD FUCKING DAMMIT MIRABELLE I LOVE YOU BUT YOU STOPPED ISA'S CONFESSION ToT

-time to talk to Euphrasie and loop again ig

-hey what's that in her hair?

-"you inhale sharply, almost choking on the smell of burnt sugar around you" BURNT SUGAR BURNT SUGAR THAT'S THE SMELL OF TIME SHENANIGANS AS SEEN WITH THOSE SADNESSES

-SAY SOMETHING ELSE EUPHRASIE

-how do i get the familytale?

-ok i talked to Odile and i'm gonna help her!

-am i gonna have to go all over town for this?

lmao yeah i think i will

-oh hey the wizard-loving kid is named Manon

-oh my god. i have to go back to the boulanger

-FINALLY

-:O THERE IS NO RESEARCH???

-oh THAT'S why Odile is in Vaugarde

-oh... her mom left... all of her travels here have been to try to reconnect with that part of her...

-HEY SIFFRIN I AM ONCE AGAIN ASKING WHERE THE *FUCK* ARE YOU FROM?

-damn. bro has amnesia

-LMAO I ASKED MIRA ABOUT THE PAPERS AND THE BATTLE THEME STARTED

-...bonding proposals???

-oh my god Mira joined a dating website group

-"we have one of those at home"

-"oh, i don't have a type! i like all kinds of people equally!" is this in a bi way or an aro way

-YEAH AROMANTIC REPRESENTATION

-DIVERSITY WIN! THE KICKASS HANDMAIDEN WHO'S IMMUNE TO BEING FROZEN IN TIME AND THE SORT-OF CHOSEN ONE IS ARO!!! I FUCKING CALLED IT YEAHHHHHHHH :D

-oh, Mira :( you're not the problem you don't have to do anything like that you're not comfortable with

-hm this game is dealing with personal identity a lot

-:( :( :( oh, Mira...

-DIVERSITY WIN!!! THE SKETCHY WANDERER STUCK IN A TIME LOOP WITH MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS IS ACE!!!

-MY BLORBOS ARE ACE AND AROACE FUCK YEAH I AM SO HAPPY

-FUCK IT I'M POSTING NOW

SERIOUSLY THO I DON'T THINK I CAN ACCURATELY CONVEY HOW FUCKING HAPPY THIS PART IS MAKING ME. TWO OF MY FAVORITES ARE ACE AND AROACE HELL FUCKING YES

[sutherkins]

peter sutherland x neurodivergent!reader 💌

this is very self indulgent lmao. i tried to keep the mental stuff vague so you can hopefully imagine any mental illness in place of stuff besides the reader clearly having adhd because i have adhd. i hope anyone who reads this is able to relate and feel understood and comforted <3

warnings: mention of recreational drug use, reader is in between ages of 21-25 (i’m 23, so)

it’s not like you were opposed to telling peter about your medication. if he asked, you wouldn’t lie. you just didn’t want to be the first to bring it up. you knew you shouldn’t be ashamed of having to be on medication, and you knew he would never judge you, but you couldn’t help it.

that lasted for a couple months. your meds wore off around four or five in the afternoon and because of this, a lot of the time you got to spend with peter before he had to go to work was spent holding yourself back and trying to keep your symptoms closed off in an area he couldn’t see.

but now there was a problem. peter was somehow able to manage a couple weeks of vacation time in order to spend more time with you, real time he had always called it. he hated only getting to spend a couple hours with you each day just as much as you did, which was why he asked you to stay with him at a cabin he owned during his time away from work.

you said yes, of course. you figured he’d eventually find out during the trip, so you tried to relax at the thought of the conversation at the very least happening in a comforting environment. you’d just finished packing your bags when peter walked down the hallway of his apartment complex to your door and knocked. you smiled, you’d given him a key already so he didn’t need to knock, he came over all the time anyway. you liked that he did it anyways, always respectful of your privacy and space.

“you ready?” peter asked while grabbing your bags and walking them down to his car.

you nodded excitedly and hopped into the passenger seat, the car already full with snacks for the drive and your favorite music playing on the radio.

the two of you sat in comfortable silence until your meds started to kick in, kicking your energy into high gear and making it practically impossible for you to keep your mouth shut. you were worried he would start to get annoyed by so much chitchat but he didn’t seem to mind, intently listening to everything you had to say and responding when needed. he even laughed a couple times which was a victory in your book.

you arrived at the cabin soon after, beaming at the cabin and then at peter. “sorry for talking so much. i didn’t annoy you, did i?”

“of course not, pretty girl. it’s just your meds kicking in. nothing wrong with that. besides, i love listening to you.” he quickly grabbed the bags from his trunk and started leading you to the front door.

once you got inside you tilted your head, peter setting the bags down on the floor. “wait, how did you know i take medication?”

“i’ve seen it in your bathroom cabinet. ‘take one every morning’.” he quotes the label that’s printed on the bottle. “it’s for adhd, right?”

your face scrunched, “well, yes. i never outright told you so i just assumed you didn’t know. you don’t mind?”

peter grabbed your hand and led you to the couch in the living room, silently telling you to get comfortable while he got a fire started. “why would i mind? there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“no, i know. i mean, i know you know that too. my brain just…likes to lie to me sometimes. im guessing this also means you saw the other meds i take, then?” sighing, you squeezed his hand in need of reassurance.

“yeah. and just to repeat myself, there’s still nothing wrong with you or taking medication. whether it’s for adhd, anxiety, depression, insomnia… anything really. it doesn’t change the way i see you and it never has.” peter squeezed your hand in response, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

cheeks quickly turning red, you groaned and leaned your head onto his shoulder, hiding your face behind your hands.

he was having none of it, moving your hands and replacing them with his own, cupping your cheeks. “hey, hey, hey…none of that. you don’t need to hide with me.”

“i know, i know. i just need reminding sometimes.” smiling softly, you gazed at his loving expression, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth on your skin.

“i’m happy to do it.” moments pass before you hear peters voice again, now wavering from trying not to laugh. “im happy to try some of those edibles you have too. i saw you packed ‘em in your bag. did you really think i wouldn’t notice you getting high?”

“peter!” you poked his side until he fell backwards laying on the couch, your legs straddling his hips. “it’s for my anxiety. and for fun.” his hands immediately shift to rest on your waist, grinning up at you. “i think i’m a bad influence on you.”

he snorts. “oh, definitely. i kinda like it though.”

[goldenwolf0821]

Vi had been feeling off all week. It had started with morning sickness, starting her day with her head in the toilet, throwing up last nights dinner into the bowl, with Caitlyn gently rubbing her back. After the first time, both of them thought it was a cold, so Caitlyn kept a close eye on Vi's condition throughout the day, though nothing changed. After the thrid and fourth time, Caitlyn decided to not cook the dishes anymore, thinking that it was something in the food causing her Wife to be sick. But even with other dishes, Vi still woke up the next morning running to the bathroom, and holding in a gag.

Then it was the random bouts of vertigo causing Vi to lean against the desks head down trying to ward it off, or agaisnt the wall while on missions. Caitlyn helped the best she can, worried on what was happening to her partner. Finally Caitlyn had Vi get checked by a doctor after almost falling off the roof when a random bout of vertigo hit. Vi was luckily quick on her feet and caught the edge of the roof before she fell, but Caitlyn called enough. Though the doctor didn't seem to be much help, and instead just prescribed her some meds.

A week later and Vi had enough. She was annoyed at the morning sickness and vertigo, and a recent symptom of sensitive to certain smells. She had an inkling on what it could be, though she didn't think much of it as she headed to the store. Caitlyn was at work, letting Vi take the day off to hopefully recuperate and relax, so she didn't have to worry about her wife being worried. After she bought what she needed, embarrassed but needed, she headed home.

She stood in the bathroom in a tank top and shorts, deciding to change into comfortable clothes and stared down at her purchase. If she was truly what she thought then how would Caitlyn react. Would she think the brawler had cheated on her? Would she yell and kick her out to the curb and divorce her? It took Vi a painfully long time to notice she was shaking, and it was only until warm water hit her hand did she realize she was crying to. Hastily wipping away the tears she tore open the package, unable to wait any longer.

It was around dinner time when Caitlyn finally got off. Her mind was on a certain brawler back home, the worry never fully leaving. She knew Vi could take care of herself, she never doubted that after finding her in Prison, but she still couldn't help but worry. In the way home she stopped by the couple's favorite soup stand and ordered their usuals. The guy behind the counter greeted her and started working humming softly. Before long Caitlyn was heading to the apartment again, this time geared with food. She had to put down the bag to dig the keys from her pocket and stood confused when all the lights but one were out.

A sliver a light reached from behind the bedrooms door, faint but bright amoung the dark apartment. Putting the bags on the counter, after closing the door, Caitlyn made her way to the bedroom. Upon pushing it open, she saw the bedroom was dark, the light from the bathroom lighting up some of the room. Standing over the counter, eyes on something, stood the brawler in question. As Caitlyn approached Vi made no movement or noise that she heard her, so she wa ready for the punch launched at her face from the brawler, when she hugged Vi from behind.

"Ca-Cait?" The uncertainty in the brawlers voice had Caitlyn frowning lightly, though she hid it as she tried to peak over the brawler to see the counter. "Hey babe.. why are you in here..?" Caitlyn said softly, frowning again when Vi hastily moved the object on the counter. "J-just thinking.. how was work love?" Vi spoke alittle too quickly, as she turned in chairs arms to kiss her softly. Caitlyn chuckled and kissed her back. "It was fine.. Ekko and Powder stopped by to tell me to tell you that they got an apartment together. They said they called you but you never picked up." Vi frowned at that and walked out of the bathroom to grab her phone.

"I didn't have my phone on me all day.. I'll have to call them later and apol-" Vi froze in the doorway of the bathroom, when she saw Caitlyn holding what she had been trying to hide. Caitlyn turned her gaze to Vi curiosity clear in her gaze. "Vi? Is this?" Vi swallowed loudly and looked away, giving a slight nod. "Wh-what..? How did? When?" Caitlyn started mumbling, putting the test on the counter and fully facing the brawler. "Your pregnant?" Vi just nodded again, her eyes trained on the ground. She flinched as Caitlyn moved closer then looked up confused as Caitlyn hugged her. "Wh-what..? You're not mad..." vi stuttered hugging her wife back, though hesitantly. "Of course not! I mean I'm confused sure, but this is amazing news Vi!" Caitlyn said smiling happily. "It actually makes so much more sense with the symptoms you've been having.. but one question on my mind is how...?"

"Before you say anything no I didn't cheat on you!" Vi said frantically, eyes widening as she tried to defend herself. "Vi, I never thought that love, your fine I promise." Caitlyn grabbed Vi's hand softly and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "We-well.. remeber a couple months ago I had left early for something..." At Caitlyn's nod she continued. "We-we'll.. I went to Jayce and Viktor, they had came up with some sort of thing that takes both parents dna and combined to make a kid? I can't remeber the full thing.. but I asked if they could for us.. and they agreed so..." Caitlyn stood shocked before she hugged Vi again tightly. "Oh my god this is amazing love! If it has both of us in him/her.. oh Vi!" Vi stood shocked, but thankful that Caitlyn hadn't dumped her. Hugging Caitlyn back tightly she felt a smile grow on her face.

Both couldn't wait to meet their little bundle. 

[againstme]

today was kind of mainly just nothing. our “case management” group was really nothing but a patient bitching, there was too much talking for me to get anything done. the next group was just us vaguely talking about self care goals for the week? that staff member talks for sooooo long but at least it makes the group go by kind of fast? super overstimulating though.

then i had trauma therapy, which was rough. i did good, like i was able to dig through what we were talking about and i was able to recount and remember more things about the situation, things that i thought that i had forgotten.

and i also was told by her that it’s very common for me to feel like there’s no point in doing the therapy, and that it’s just something i can get over by myself, and that’s just the brain’s way of trying to run away from doing the hard work because that means that i wouldn’t have to bring things up and hurt doing uncomfortable work. and that it’ll find any excuse it can to stop the work. and also, that if i could’ve just worked on this by myself without therapy, i would’ve done it by now.

after that i had lunch, where i didn’t eat anything but chips, again. and then the patient that hates me was being mean to me and talking shit about me.

oh yeah, in the group in the morning, while a staff member had stepped out of the room, he said “can you stop breathing the same air as me, chase?” just completely unprompted. there’s more things he said and did but i’m too tired to try to go into it now. i think i took a screenshot of things i said though, i’ll post them in a reblog.

so that made me very sad and too uncomfortable to want to go to group. i think i kind of have exhausted all the sources i had in my body for crying because cried so much last week. and now i’m just kind of feeling numb, or i’ll feel tears welling up in my eyes, but they aren’t able to come out. which is annoying, honestly.

and also, staff just kind of told me that gabe (the guy who hates me) is just gonna be gabe, and basically that i should just keep my distance and not engage. i’m literally only going downstairs when i have to eat, take my meds, or do my chore, and he’s still finding ways to be so mean to me during those times. especially when staff aren’t around. i’ve started recording things when he starts on his bullshit.

the groups after lunch were also kind of nothing, i barely remember them. i didn’t go to the next group because i didn’t want to be around gabe after he was so upset with me, so i stayed in the other group room. and then the next group was the loud staff member again, where we went around Again about the self care thing and only got handed out a piece of paper talking about commitments like 6 minutes before the group was over. and then in the next group, also with him, we did this thing where we all wrote a word on the whiteboard to make a sentence that sounded stupid. at least it wasn’t about israel this time, that happened last time.

and then in the last group we just watched pirates of the caribbean.

so yeah. today was kind of just nothing. i guess it’s better than it being super intense? idk. got home, watched youtube for a second, ate dinner, laid back down, went on a wikipedia rabbit hole about linguistics (very fun tbh), did my chore of cleaning the bathroom, took my meds maybe 2 hours ago, and i’m waiting on them to kick in.

hopefully tomorrow is okay

[tea-and-spoons]

Today’s Tips: Nausea

Trigger warning for emetophobia here, and mentions of disordered eating.  Nothing graphic, but proceed with caution.

Feeling nauseous is another one of those symptoms that I think a lot of us spoonies deal with, a lot of the time.  Myself included, so I’ve gathered quite a collection of coping mechanisms over the years.  Not everything works for everyone, but hopefully you find something that gives you some relief.

-Ginger!  The classic is ginger ale, but that doesn’t have much actual ginger in it, and the carbonation can bother your stomach too.  My favorite is candied ginger- it works really well, but can be a little spicy.  Ginger candy, ginger mints, and ginger tea are all good choices too.  You can also add ground ginger to your food, I like to hide it in my breakfast.

-Mint.  Like ginger, peppermint can help calm your stomach down.  Tea and mints (with real peppermint) are easy ways to get this.

-Placebo.  I know I said earlier that real ginger and peppermint work better, but if you associate a flavor with feeling better, the fake version might work too!  Sipping tea or sucking on a hard candy can be very calming, so that can help in and of itself too.

-Don’t wait for it to get bad.  I find this is true for many symptoms- if you wait to treat it until it’s awful, the treatment isn’t going to work as well.

-Medications.  I feel like I know every trick in the book for dealing with nausea, and sometimes it’s just not enough.  When I explained to my doctor that it was happening every day and I was missing school, I got a prescription for anti nausea meds, and they are magical.  There are some over the counter meds for nausea too, although I haven’t personally tried them.  The thing I do know, is that nausea from motion sickness is different from other nausea!  Meds for one won’t really work for the other, because they’re affecting different pathways in your body.  Although, interesting fact, benadryl works for motion sickness.  It’s super similar to over the counter motion sickness meds.  (mast cell disease friends, your mast cells might be causing motion sickness even when you’re still, FYI.  Same goes for vertigo).  (Okay, tangent over).

-Ice and cool washcloths.  Feeling too hot can definitely add to nausea, so staying comfortably cool can help.  An ice pack or cool, damp washcloth on your forehead, stomach, the inside of your wrists, or the back of your neck should be most effective at cooling you off, but you can put it wherever feels good.

-Deep breaths.  I don’t know exactly why, but this often helps.  At the very least, it takes some of the anxiety out of the equation.

-Distraction.  This is a great one for while you’re waiting for meds to kick in, or for when you know anxiety is a major cause.  A distraction that won’t set off any motion sickness is best (aka not a video game, or reading in the car).

-Small sips of cool water.  I find this one works particularly well for acid reflux related nausea.

-Eating foods that are more bland and gentle.  Generally, things that are fried, spicy, strongly flavored, or very acidic (lemonade, tomato soup, etc). are harder on your stomach.  So eating things like rice, applesauce, juice, bananas, toast, chicken broth might help.  Everyone’s so different though, so it’s more about what works for you and your body, this is just a starting point.

-Have a little snack.  Sometimes, ironically, nausea is caused by going too long without eating, or from taking meds on an empty stomach.  This feels like a major design flaw with the human body to me, but apparently we’re stuck with it, so- now you know.

-Having more smaller meals, instead of only 2 or 3 big ones.  Less for your digestive system to handle at once, you know?

-Apparently, sniffing rubbing alcohol?  I haven’t personally had any luck with this, but I see so many other people rave about it that I figured I had to list it here.

-Look at pregnancy products.  There are all kinds of candies and supplements and tools made to help with morning sickness, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use them to help other nausea!

-Get some fresh air.  Turn on a fan or open a window, especially if you know you’re feeling gross from motion sickness or dizziness.

-Rest.  Sometimes you just need to lie still and relax for a while.

-Make note of what makes you feel worse, so you can avoid it in the future.  Fellow neurodivergent spoonies, I find that any form of overstimulation will always make me feel gross, so the calmer (and quieter and stiller and unscented-er and so on) I can make my world, the better.

-Keep a food diary.  Keeping track of what you eat, and when you feel sick, can help you figure out if there’s a pattern.  This is also a common thing doctors ask you to do, so you’ll be one step ahead if you decide to see a specialist about nausea.  HOWEVER.  However.  If you have an eating disorder, are in recovery from an eating disorder, or are at all at risk for disordered eating- this is a really risky thing to do.  I’m generally very good about having a healthy attitude towards food and weight, but keeping a food log was still tough for me.  This can be REALLY triggering, so please skip this, or at least proceed with caution, if you’re at risk.  Another option is only keeping a food diary when you feel like you can handle it.  If you only make it three days and have to quit, that three days is still helpful information.  Please take care of yourself <3

Oh, and one more note- maybe don’t cut out gluten without asking your doctor about testing for celiac disease first.  You have to be eating gluten for the test to be accurate.  I learned that one the hard way.  Non-celiac gluten issues are totally real, but if you want to rule celiac disease out, keep this in mind.

-Chronic nausea, especially to the point where it’s causing problems with your diet or quality of life, is worth asking a doctor about.  I assumed it was just something I have to live with, but when I saw a new doctor, she said, “That’s not okay, I think we can do better”.  So she ran some tests, adjusted my meds, and what do you know, I’ve been feeling better!  I know it can be really hard to get doctors to listen, but if it won’t hurt to ask, I think it’s worth trying.  They might be able to address the root cause or provide different medications, which are things you can’t handle on your own.  Playing the card about quality of life might be convincing- tell them specifics about how much it’s interfering with your life, and ask what your options are.  Good luck! 

If I missed any good tips, you’re welcome to add on, just leave out any graphic details, please!

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Migraines

Word count: 1679

Genre: Hurt/comfort 

Pairings: Natasha x fem!reader, platonic avengers x fem!reader

Warnings: Some swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: hi~ was wondering if you’d do a natasha x reader with a dash of platonic avengers when reader has chronic migraines but hasn’t told nat so ends up in random places to try and sleep them away and the others keep finding her and then nat figures out she’s hiding something and feels hurt but ends fluffy wanting to take care of reader next time? you can choose who and change any part you want!

Summary: Reader gets really bad migraines and is constantly being found by the team when she wants to be alone, however her girlfriend Natasha doesn’t know what’s going on. 

A/n: This request was for @casperlikej​ so I hope you like it! Also I would like to mention that I know next to nothing about migraines so this probably won’t be super accurate but hopefully it’s ok to read anyways. I’m queuing this to come out on Sunday so that over the weekend I can work on the friends to enemies to lovers three part series and get that out soon (no I have not forgotten about that request). I am only like a sixth into that series but so far I’m super proud of it so I can’t wait to get it done! Also if anyone has ideas, feel free to request anything because I like having multiple fic ideas to think of at all times. Anyways I’m rambling now but I hope you enjoy this fic!

You hated being away from Natasha because although you had only been together for a few months and only known her for half a year you were sure you loved her but sometimes you just couldn’t stand pretending to be okay in front of her so you would hide yourself away. Currently your favourite place to hide was a nice rocking chair near the medbay area that was tucked away in the corner of a room. Barely anyone ever went by and the few that did never seemed to notice, giving you the anonymously you needed in order to curl up with your head in your knees and try to calm your head down. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” You hear Tony’s voice ask and you startle. 

“Oh, um, I’m just spending time with myself.” You respond lamely as Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“You never spend time by yourself,” he points out, “whenever you want to get away from us you always spend time with Natasha.” 

“I am alone sometimes.” You say starting to get annoyed. 

He scoffs. “No you aren’t, is everything ok between you two?”

“Everything is fine, just leave!” You snap at him. He hesitates in leaving the room but ultimately goes without saying another word after seeing how intensely you started glaring at him. It takes longer than usual for your migraine to go away because usually staying level headed helped but at least you yelling got Tony out of the room and to stop asking questions.

---

It was only a few days later that you got another migraine. You excuse yourself from the room you were sitting in with Bruce, Tony and Nat, mumbling some bullshit about needing to go to the store and ignoring Tony’s worried look on your way out. You knew that Tony would come looking for you in your old place so you decide to hole up in the room near the pad Thor uses whenever he visits earth. Today wasn’t a very bad migraine because you were able to catch the signs early but it still takes slightly over an hour for your head to stop pounding. You’re about to leave the room and go back to find the others but just to your luck Thor happens to arrive today unscheduled, something that only happens every few weeks. 

“Lady Y/l/n!” his voice booms happily as he steps inside, “it’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here, I wasn’t aware I had informed anyone of my arrival.”

You laugh slightly at his formal way of speaking and confused expression. “You didn’t, I just happened to be here because I was trying to be alone for awhile.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” He asks, looking concerned. 

“Not at all,” you reassure him, “in fact I was just about to go back to the others when you arrived, shall we find them together?” He nods eagerly, holding out his arm for you to hook onto like a true gentleman.

---

The next time you try to hide away you’re talking to Steve and he isn’t getting your subtle cues that you want to leave so he just keeps talking. You think he is talking about some sort of mission but honestly you don’t know because it physically hurts your brain to pay attention. You want to yell at him so badly but you can’t bring yourself to because he isn't trying to hurt you at all and he’s too nice to be angry at. 

“You agree Y/n?” You manage to make out. 

“Yes.” You say, not knowing what you’re even agreeing to.

“Great, I’ll go talk to the others, see you tomorrow for the morning training!” He says before walking off. You groan out loud as soon as you can no longer see him, partly because of how much your head hurts and partly because you accidentally told Steve that morning training was a good idea. This time you just plop yourself on the nearest couch and hope nobody finds you. 

---

You stumble into Bruce’s lab calling out for him. It had been over a week since your last migraine and encounter with Steve, one of the longest breaks you’ve had within recent memory but that came back to bite you in the ass when today’s was worse than ever before, even blurring your vision a little because of the pain. 

Bruce stands up from behind a pile of boxes. “Y/n, what brings you here.” 

“Pain meds now.” You order in a weak voice. He looks curious but doesn’t question you, heading towards a back cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pills. You immediately take two and swallow, ignoring him scolding you that you should only take one. Luckily since Bruce invented them himself it only took about five minutes for them to kick in. 

“Sorry, I had a really bad headache.” You tell him which is a half truth. 

He looks at you in concern. “Are you sure that was only a headache? It looked bad.” 

You wave him off, heading towards the door because you didn’t want him to ask anymore questions. “I’m fine Brucie, thanks again!” He sighs and shakes his head as he watches you leave, worried but deciding it’s not his place to badger you about it. 

---

Since every time you got a migraine you always ended up around one of the others you made a plan so that you could avoid everyone because you knew that one day your luck was going to end and Natasha would be the one to find you. You knew that she wouldn’t be mad at you or anything since you can’t control them but the relationship is still new and you don’t want to badger her with any of your problems. 

That’s why as soon as you start to feel a migraine coming on you hoist yourself up into the vents above your (sort of) shared room with Natasha where you had left a blanket and some pillows to relax with… only to find Clint waiting for you there. 

“I was wondering who had left these up there.” He says, seeming like it was a perfectly natural thing for him to be in the vents above your room. You decide not to question it, only sighing because you know that conversation would take up too many thoughts that you don’t have space for right now. You’re just so fucking done with your migraines and want them to go away. 

Clint notices your sadden expression and is serious for once. “Y/n, what’s going on?”

“I get these stupid fucking migraines and it only seems to be getting worse and I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak and I want Natasha but I don’t want to bother her with my problems.” You unload, holding back tears.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t know how to make you feel better,” he confesses, “however why don’t you try to take a nap in your own bed and if you really don’t want Tasha to find you I can keep her distracted.” You nod and he helps you back out of the vents, climbing down after you. 

“Clint?” you say as he’s leaving the room and he turns around, “thanks.”

---

Clint makes his way to the common room where he sees Steve talking to Natasha. 

“Hey guys, what’s up?” He asks with a smile, faltering when he sees Natasha looks upset. “Nat, what’s wrong?”

“I think Y/n is going to break up with me.” She says, her voice thick with emotion. 

Steve frowns. “I told you not to jump to conclusions, maybe you should just talk to her.” Natasha just shakes her head, looking down and taking a deep breath, trying to regulate her emotions. 

“Y/n’s going to hate me for this,” Clint says as two pairs of eyes turn to him, “but you should go to your room, I promise that she’s not planning on breaking up with you.” 

Natasha noticeably brightens. “Are you sure?”

Clint nods. “I’m sure, she said not even five minutes ago that she wanted you. She’s going through some shit right now that you should talk to her about but she wouldn’t break up with you.” 

“Thanks.” Natasha replies, before hurrying to your shared room, worried about you after what Clint said. 

---

You curl up on the bed and let a few tears fall out and before long you are full on sobbing. You always try to stay strong and not cry but you just can’t deal with the migraines anymore. The bed shifts behind you and you sit up straight looking behind you. Natasha is climbing on to it and looking at you with a worried expression on her face. 

“I thought Clint was going to keep you busy.” You say, sniffling to try to stop your tears.

“He must have lied because he told me to come here.” She responds. 

“He’s an asshole.” 

She gives a small laugh. “Normally yes, but he did the right thing, I want to help you with whatever is upsetting you.” 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this,” you tell her, “my migraines are my problem that I have to deal with.” 

She moves across the bed and puts her arms around you. “No sweetheart, I’m here with you.” You start to cry again, this time while it’s slightly from the pain it’s mostly because you feel so overwhelmed with how much she supports you. She pulls you in tightly to her chest, and plants a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I will always be here for you if you need something ok?” she says. “But now you need to rest.” 

“But-” you start to protest before she cuts you off. 

“No buts, you need sleep.” She says while shushing you. You wiggle back, trying to be as far into arms as possible before you slowly drift off, the pain of the migraine going away and all you can feel is warmth.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @stop-drop-and-drumroll @acertainredhead​ (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 1

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 2,300ish

Summary: You begin your intern year at Avengers Medical Center

You let out a little groan as you turned around. You immediately knew you were naked as the cold wood floor sent chills down your bare body. Slowly opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were home, in the house you had just inherited, boxes still pilled high around the living room you were laying in. Suddenly, someone else groaned beside you. You teased, clenching your eyes shut. The headache you had been ignoring since you woke finally broke free and you realized that your late night drunkenness must have caused you to bring a guy home.

You let out a long breath as you reopened your eyes and looked over at the hopefully-still-asleep man beside you. He wasn’t bad looking at all. You had really done well. He was blonde with a chiseled body. He had to have been at least six foot, which didn’t hurt. He was naked though, all out in the open on your living room floor. Cringing, you sat up, pulling one blanket from the couch to quickly cover yourself before standing and pulling one over him. You stood up silently, and began making your way out of the room. It was your first day of your intern year as a doctor, you couldn’t afford to be late.

You successfully made it to the doorway of the living room without a sound before the floorboard beneath you creaked. You should there, frozen, closing your eyes in hopes that the man sleeping behind you wouldn’t wake. You could hear him turn over, letting a small moan out of his mouth. Waiting a few more seconds, you started going again.

“You know…” the man started, clearly in his morning voice, “it’s usually rude to disappear on someone after spending a night with them.”

You quickly spun around to see him, still laying on his stomach, looking up at you with a sly grin.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “it’s my house, so it’s not that rude.”

He stood up, not grabbing the blanket as quick as he should have, letting you have another look at him. When you met his eyes again, it was clear that you had been caught staring and that he was enjoying it.

“Why the rush to silently get out of here?” He asked, tucking the blanket around his waist. “Have a husband or a boyfriend you have to hurry and get ready for?”

“Neither,” you responded, tightening your hold on the blanket covering you. “I’m running late for my first day of work. So, if we’re done here, you should go.”

“We don’t have to be done here.”

“I think we do.” You kicked up his shirt, grabbing it, and throwing him at it. “You need to go.” He caught his shirt, slipping it on slowly over his clear cut abs. “So, um, goodbye… um…”

“Steve,” he reached his hand out.

“Steve. Right,” you shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He smiled. It almost took your breath away, but you couldn’t let it show.

“Yeah.”

“Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah. Bye, Steve.”

You fled up the stairs, hoping that by the time you were done getting ready, Steve would be gone.

~~~

You made it to the Avengers Medical Center just in time to meet up with the other interns in your year. The Chief of Surgery, Dr. Nicholas J. Fury, was leading a small tour to the ORs. He started talking as the interns took in the OR.

“Each of you comes here hopeful. Wanting in on the game. A month ago you were in med school being taught by doctors. Today, you are the doctors,” Fury stated. “The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life. You will be pushed to the breaking point. Look around you. Say hello to your competition. Eight of you will switch to an easier specialty. Five of you will crack under the pressure. Two of you will be asked to leave. This is your starting line. This is your arena. How well you play? That's up to you.”

He then told each of the interns which resident they were assigned to. You got Dr. Gamora. All of the interns were then taken to the locker room, where each of you were assigned a locker and given scrubs to change into and start your long day.

“Only ten women out of thirty,” you muttered as you slipped your scrubs on.

“Yeah,” the woman with fiery red hair next to you responded. “I heard that one of them was a model. Seriously, like that’s going to help with the respect thing?”

“You’re Natasha, right?”

She nodded. “You’re Y/N?”

“Mhm,” you hummed.

“Which resident did you get assigned to? I got Gamora.”

“Me too.”

“You got Gamora?” A male intern repeated beside you. “So did I. At least we’ll all be tortured together, right? I’m Clint Barton, uh, we met at the mixer. You had a dress with a slit up the side, those shiny heels…” You and Natasha exchanged looks. “Now you think I’m gay.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha hummed, heading out the door.

“No, I’m not gay! It’s, ah, it’s just that, you know, you were, I mean… You were very unforgettable,” Clint rambled as you both followed after Natasha. You shot him a sympathetic smile before hurrying to catch up with Natasha. “And I’m totally forgettable.”

“Barton, L/N, Romanoff, Valkyrie, Lang,” a doctor called at the door way.

“Gamora?” Natasha questioned that doctor that called you.

“End of the hall.”

The five of you that were called began walking. At the end of the hall, you saw a pretty woman working on paperwork. She didn’t look as threatening as you had heard she was.

“That’s Dr. Gamora?” Natasha wondered.

“From what I heard, I thought she’d look scarier,” the other male in your group of five said. You guessed it was Scott Lang.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “I thought she’d be… well, bigger.”

“Same,” you added.

“Maybe it’s professional jealousy,” a woman in your group suggested, Valkyrie, you presumed. “Maybe she’s brilliant, and they say things about her because they’re jealous. Maybe she’s really nice.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re the model,” Natasha said.

“Wait…” Clint said, looking at Nat. “I thought you were the model.”

Valkyrie shot Natasha a look before turning to Dr. Gamora with an extended hand. “Hi, I’m Valkyrie, but everyone calls me Val.”

Gamora looked her up and down, not even moving to shake Val’s hand. “I have five rules,” Gamora stated, clearly unimpressed already. “Rule number one, don’t bother sucking up, I already hate all of you, that’s not gonna change.” She turned and pointed to things on the counter. “Trauma protocol, phone lists, pagers. Nurses will page you, you answer every page at a run. A run, that's rule number two. Your first shift starts now and lasts forty-eight hours.” 

Gamora began walking away with you and the others quickly following, after each of you have grabbed the things off the counter. 

“You’re interns, grunts, nobodies, bottom of the surgical food chain, you run labs, write orders, work every second night till you drop and don’t complain!” She continued. Gamora led you to a door, opening it to reveal a room with bunk beds. “On call rooms. Attendings hog them, sleep when you can, where you can, which brings me to rule number three, if I'm sleeping, don't wake me, unless your patient is actually dying. Rule number four, the dying patient better not be dead when I get there, not only would you have killed someone, you would have also woke me for no good reason, we clear?” There was a brief pause before you nervously raised your hand. “Yes.”

“You said five rules,” you tried to hold back a cringe as you spoke up. “That was only four.”

Suddenly, Gamora’s pager beeped. “Rule number five. When I move, you move.” She ran down the corridor, followed by you and the other interns. “Get out of my way!” She yelled at a few doctor’s blocking the hallway.

You had the others followed Gamora to the ER. There was a bustling trauma room that the six of you entered. There was a young female on the stretcher, already being hooked to the machines.

“What’ve we got?” Gamora asked.

“Savannah Chase, fifteen year old female,” the paramedic still in the room stated. “New onset seizures, intermittent for the past week. ID lost en route. Started gran mal seizing when the ambulance pulled up.”

“Alright, get her on her side, Val, ten milligrams Diazepam.” Val started to do as she was directed while the rest of you watched. “No, no, the white lead is on the right, righty whitey, smoke over fire, a large bore IV. Don’t let the blood haemolyse, let’s go!”

Val injected the young woman with the diazepam and she stopped seizing. A new Doctor entered the room.

“So I heard we got a wet fish on dry land?” The man asked.

“Absolutely Dr. Banner,” Gamora responded.

“Dr. Gamora, I’m gonna shotgun her.”

“That means every test in the book, CT, CBC, chem seven, a tox screen,” Gamora clarified for the interns. “Natasha, you’re on labs, Clint, patient workups, Y/N, get Savannah for a CT, she’s your responsibility now.” Gamora began to walk away.

“Wait,” both Val and Lang called out. Gamora turned back around.

“What about us?” Val asked.

“You two—honey, you get to do rectal exams.”

~~~

You were currently in an elevator with Savannah, the patient, trying to find your way to CT. Since it was your first day at the medical center, you didn’t know where anything was and you were too stubborn to ask.

“You’re lost,” Savannah stated.

“I’m not lost,” you defended. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m missing my pageant.”

“You’re missing your pageant.” You wheeled her out of the elevator and around a corner, still not knowing where you were headed.

“The Manhattan Teen Miss? I was in the top ten after the first two rounds. This is my year. I could’ve won.” Savannah sat up as she was wheeled back around the same way. “Hello? You’re so lost. What are you, like, new?”

“I’m— just tell me what happened.”

“I twisted my ankle. I do rhythmic gymnastics, which is like, really cool. Nobody else does it. And I tripped over my ribbon, and I didn't get stuck with someone this clueless. And that was like, a nurse.”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to be over-the-line rude to a patient on your first day. It took you almost another forty five minutes to find CT. You helped her with the scan before taking her back to a room. Before you knew it, it was lunch time. You grabbed some food from the cafeteria, finding your group of interns alone at a table.

“Savannah Chase is a pain in the ass,” you grumbled as you sat down with your tray. “If I hadn't taken the Hippocratic oath, I'd Kevorkian her with my bare hands.” The others around her just stared. “What?”

“Good afternoon interns,” a new doctor came up. “I’m Dr. Maria Hill. It’s posted, but I thought I’d share the good news personally. As you know, the honor of performing the first surgery is reserved for the intern that shows the most promise. As I’m running the OR today, I get to make that choice. I’ve been watching you all and I have to say, you’re all something. The intern I’ve chosen is, Scott Lang.”

Scott coughed up the drink he had been taking. “M-me?” He questioned.

“You’ll scrub in for an appendectomy this afternoon. Congratulations.” Then she left.

“Did she say me?”

“I can’t believe you were chosen over me,” Natasha grumbled. “It’s already clear that I’m a better surgeon that you.”

“Did she say… I’m sorry. What?”

~~~

After lunch, you went back to Savannah’s room to take care of her. As you did, a man and a woman, not doctors, came in.

“Savannah, honey, mom and dad are here,” the woman said, coming over to Savannah’s bedside.

“They gave her a sedative for the CT scan, so she’s a little groggy,” you informed them.

“Will she be alright?” The mother asked.

“Our doctor at home said she might need an operation, is that true?” The father wondered.

“What kind of operation?”

“She’s, um, well, you know what,” you tried your best to sound professional through your nervous stuttering, “I’m not, I’m not the doctor, uh. I am a doctor, but I’m not Savannah’s doctor, so I’ll go get him for you.”

You quickly left the room to go find Gamora. Thankfully, she was at the nurses desk just outside of the room. You hurried over but were too nervous to start speaking.

“What?” Gamora questioned, not looking up from the paperwork she was doing.

“Savannah’s parent’s have questions,” you responded. “Do you talk to them, or do I ask Banner?”

“No, Banner’s off of the case. Savannah belongs to the new attending now, Dr. Rogers, he’s over there.”

You follow in the direction that Gamora gestured to. You only made it a few steps before freezing. The man Gamora gestured to was talking to another doctor. But that wasn’t the reason you froze. Dr. Rogers was none other than your one night stand, Steve. Your eyes widened and you turned to go, but it was too late. Steve glanced your way, having to do a double take. You quickly left, feeling his eyes on the back of you.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

next chapter >

NOTES: Yes, this has been posted before, but I deleted it. I’m trying again. From now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[prismatica-the-strange]

Prisma… I’ve been fighting a migraine all day and I think I’m gonna lose the battle. What would your F/O’s do when their friend or partner was having a bad migraine?

Ok, so first, darling, get some water, maybe some pain meds if you haven't already, and try to rest your eyes a bit. I know first hand how much migraines suck and I hope it starts to alleviate soon 💜💜

♡♡♡♡

Dr. Daniel Jackson: This Man will immediately dim the lights. He'll get her water, tylenol, and tuck her in with the fluffiest blankets he can find. Lots of forehead kisses too.

♡♡♡♡

Bruno Madrigal: He would cover her in his ruana, keeping the hood up over her eyes to hopefully help dull the pain as he goes and asks Julieta to possibly whip something up for her. Then he'd sit beside her while Julieta cooks, letting Violetta rest her head on his shoulder.

♡♡♡♡

Willy Wonka: I'm sure he's come up with some kind of candy to help with migraines because Curli is always forgetting to sleep and working herself til exhaustion and her head hates her for it.

♡♡♡♡

Bellamy Blake: Cuddles Cuddles Cuddles! Tea, pain meds (if available) and having Flo snuggled into his chest. He'd massage her scalp and she'd probably fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

♡♡♡♡

Derek Hale: Would have Bradey rest her head on his lap, and stroke her hair while intermittently taking her pain while they wait for the meds to kick in. Will literally growl at anyone who walks in or is too loud.

♡♡♡♡

Allanon: I'm sure that, as a druid, he knows plenty of remedies to help with migraines. But the Ancient Human Coalition is more than stocked enough to have any pain medication she would need, especially as not only part of the council, but as ambassador to both the Human Kingdom of Leah and the Elven Kingdom of Arborlon.

He'd give her a lucture about over working herself while she glares at him in pain (if it's not a super bad one) but he'd also let her lay her head on him and sleep it off.

♡♡♡♡

Elsa: Knowing Marigold, she'd try to work through it, even if she can barely keep her eyes open. So Elsa would have to pull on the queen pants and actually order her to lay down, and take some time herself to lay with Mari, her cold hands on her lover's forehead helping with the pain.

♡♡♡♡

Felix: Has no idea what to do. Would ask Blue to help and maybe make her some tea. He might run to Granny's to get her something to eat after.

♡♡♡♡

Eleven (11th Doctor): Probably has some alien slug slime from 4285 or something that can alleviate migraines in an instant. But if he can't get Canary that immediately, or she can't find it in herself to to stomach it, he'll find a pretty spot in deep space and sit with her in the doorway to the T.A.R.D.I.S. watching all the twinkling stars until she falls asleep.

♡♡♡♡

Beck Oliver: He'd rub her back and tell her she's not going to any classes in that state, walking her to her dorm and even skipping his own lectures to keep her company.

♡♡♡♡

Harry Hook: On the isle there isn't much he could do, besides try to find her a quiet place to rest. But in Auradon he'll hunt down some pain medication or a healer to help.

He likes to hold Zy close when she's under the weather.

♡♡♡♡

Jane: Normally a migraine means Fae's too warm, she does better in the cold since she's half winter fairy. So Evie will try to find a way to cool her down. Their freezer is full of ice packs for this very reason.

Since cuddling is off the table due to temperature reasons, Jane will give her lots of forehead kisses.

♡♡♡♡

Loki: After training with his mother for most his life, he would know some kind of potion or spell to help Celeste with her pain, his cold hands on her forehead helps too.

♡♡♡♡

Dr. Stephen Strange: As a Doctor, the first thing he'd do is give her some tylenol, and make them some of her favorite tea.If that doesn't help, his time as Sorcerer Supreme and working with the Ancient One has taught him a few things about healing magic. So he uses that to help soothe her too.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Daniel Jackson taglist: @mysg1spacemonkey @sgcprometheus @i-am-morrigans-apprentice @malcolm-reeds-pineapple @witching-things @reeseykins @abnormalvampire64 @girl-obsessed-with-things @gatez @just-a-si-fi-nerd @ghostlyfanparadise @mysweetlittledesire @pleasantfankingdom @sun-ni-day @lilyevans1 @struggling-goddess777 @destinylunar-blog @residentdemonhunter

Faera taglist: @justarandomhumanhere

Loki taglist: @lilyevans1

[bluegarners]

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse. 

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family. 

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.” 

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair. 

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan. 

Money. Old money at that. 

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick. 

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance. 

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor. 

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food. 

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes. 

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand. 

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up. 

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind. 

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely. 

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim. 

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation. 

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more. 

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop. 

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at. 

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him. 

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone. 

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it. 

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry. 

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it. 

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation. 

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known. 

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company. 

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties. 

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects. 

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow. 

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest. 

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods. 

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches. 

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers. 

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking. 

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready. 

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports. 

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice. 

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology. 

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance. 

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again. 

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful. 

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened. 

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has. 

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles. 

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line. 

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be. 

[palbabor-writes]

So, uh, I got excited with this ask

Anonymous said:

so what if, and I’m just spitballin’ here, you wrote a little something for Tomura, a jealous!reader x Tomura, perhaps? Ik there probably wouldn’t be an actual situation where somebody would try to steal him away or anything but just a little something on the reader seeing something that wasn’t what it looked like and Shiggy kind of reassuring her in his own special way? 😌 pls &thank you sm in advance, but you of course absolutely don’t have to write it if you don’t want to (: love your work!

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Gen!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, jealous feelings, mentions of past relationship and heavy petting, mm, imma say it’s rated T, for the teens and upper betweens

Word Count: 4387

Notes: Lol. I’m pretty sure this was meant to be like, a drabble or head cannon in your mind nonnie. Me, being me, I stretched it out into a freaking fic. I can’t shut uppppp sometimes. First time trying for a Gen!Reader, so hopefully it’s a thumbs up. Not beta edited, so any mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.” ― William Shakespeare, Othello

It’s been two months, two freaking months and you’ve hardly gotten two texts strung together, let alone a call, from Tomura. 

While he’s never been what anyone would call a frequent texter, your last message has sat, unread, on his phone for the last 3 days. You know he’s busy, you know he said he’s got shit to take care of, but you can’t help the angry pit of worry that simmers in your gut. He could at least tell you something. Like, hey, I’ll be out of touch for a few days, talk soon. Is that too much to ask? 

Apparently it is.

The two of you have always been a quiet item. Most of the League knows, or at least, heavily, heavily suspects. It’s not like you tried to keep it a secret, it’s just the way you both are. Besides, you usually liked how the arrangement worked.

You’d met him through your job. You worked with Giran as a courier of sorts. Sometimes you’d lug shipments back and forth, sometimes you’d make deliveries. It was one of these deliveries that introduced you to Tomura. He was quiet, sulking toward the back of the bar, but you’d managed to strike up a conversation with him as Compress double checked his requested items. 

He was waspish, sharp. At first, you worried that your questions had only managed to pissed him off. But then, just as you started to chat with another guy in the bar, a snarky fellow, who was covered in some serious, serious burns, Tomura tugs your attention back to him with a pointed question. 

“Can you tell Giran that you’re only one who’s permitted to transport the deliveries to the bar?”

That one query had started a landslide. 

You were summoned to the hideout frequently, practically on the daily after that. Giran just shook his head and asked you not to fall too deep. You didn’t know what he meant then. Two months later you understood his meaning perfectly. 

How could you not fall head over heels for this guy? Fuck, he was so desperate, so wanting, so fucking needy for you. God, you missed it now that you didn’t have it. After the Kamino incident, he’d called on you even more and you loved that you could help him. He honestly seemed, in his own, gruff way, appreciative. 

But, then he’d said he needed to leave the city. 

At first, your contact with each other had maintained some semblance of normalcy. You would text and he would reply. You could call and he would answer. Often, he sounded tired, strained, but every once in a while you could pull a laugh from him and all would feel right with the world. 

Now? 

Now nothing feels right and the only link you have to him is Dabi. He’s the only person in the League that’s responding to your emails or texts. Even Giran isn’t answering anything. That’s not normal either because Giran always, always answers. What the fuck is going on?

It’s starting to feel like you’ll never know. This is mainly due to the fact that Dabi is a shitty, shitty font of information. At first, you’d eagerly taken his calls and texts. In lieu of a tip, you asked him about this mission Tomura was on. He fed you vague, flippant, answers. 

“Tch, this again? I already told you, they’re all fighting this giant. It’s some pet of the doctors.”

“And like I said the last, oh, I don’t know, twelve times, giant makes no sense to me. Can you expand on that a little bit? Like, what the hell does that mean? They’re fighting a fucking giant. Is that supposed to be some kinda bizarro hint? Cuz’ it sounds like you’re giving me shoddy information to get me off your back,” you snap, placing your foot on his box of requested medical kit supplies. 

Dabi practically keeps you on standby now. The guy has gotten more aggressive in the last month, and the heavy price his fire quirk extorts on his body meant he needs a steady flow of burn cream, meds, stitches and pain relievers.

“Fuck, look, I don’t know how else to explain that fucker. I didn’t give a shit about boss man’s little mission to tame him, so the doctor and I worked out something else for me to do. I’m not around those guys right now, I’ve got other things I’m working on. Now give me my shit and get out of my face. Ask Toga about your little fuck buddy, I could give two shits about his well being.” 

“Why follow him if you hate him so much?” God, this asshole is such a prick.

Dabi considers you for a long moment, his vibrant blue eyes lingering on your scowling face. “He’s a means to an end. I’m just here to see this society fall to its knees. Boss wants the same thing, so, for now, this arrangement works for both of us. Now, if I have to ask you to give me my fucking shit one more time, I’m gonna’ singe you where you stand.” 

Sucking your teeth, you kick the box toward him and turn on your heel, slamming his door behind you. If he’s not going to be useful to you, why be useful to him? We’ll see how he likes it when you accidentally miss some of his shipment deadlines. 

You pace out into the night, shrugging your jacket up on your shoulders. If they’re so far out, if they’re fighting something that sounds like an impossibility, why not ask you to bring them some supplies? Why haven’t they reached out to you? 

As you wait for your train, you pull your phone from your pocket, your cold fingers resting against the glass. There’s a missed call from another contact, but no other notifications. You swipe over to your messages from Tomura. Your last text sits, still unopened, unread, uncared for, in his box. It’s not fair, you think, sliding your phone back and pressing your hands into the meager warmth of your pockets.

Tomura used to confide in you and you felt close to him. And not just in a physical sense. At first, the relationship between the two of you was just that, something that eased an itch. But you kept asking him things, liking the soft tone his voice could take on when he lost some of that anger. 

Then, he started to wordlessly ask you to stay a little longer, his arms wrapping around your bare form, holding you against his warmth. It was nice. It was so, so satisfying and now it’s gone. Is this his way of moving on from you? You would have thought that he would have said something. He’s never struck you as someone who hides from a confrontation. So why the radio silence? 

Another week passes and Dabi keeps calling. He’s practically got your entire schedule blacked out now with deliveries, upcoming shipments and transports. What. The. Fuck. It’s gotten so frustrating that you’ve started to waffle on picking up his calls, sending him straight to voicemail. 

“What kinda courier leaves their fucking name on their voicemail? Stop ignoring my calls, (Y/N).”

Yeah, he’s a real charmer. At least he answers your messages though. It’s better than nothing, you keep telling yourself, trying to ignore the gnawing, munching feeling of bitterness that keeps rising. Yeah, Dabi’s gotten to be such a constant in your life that your phone keeps recommending him as a new favorite. 

Would you like to add the contact: Dabi, to your favorites list? No, no you would not.

Then, suddenly, out of the blue, Dabi’s not answering you either. Your first, gut instinct, tells you that he’s likely annoyed with your spotty replies or he’s busy with...”Dabi things”. He’s always reminding you about the oh, so important “Dabi things”. ‘Don’t pester me with your shit, (Y/N). I’ve got something big I’m working on.’ 

But now? Fuck, now you’d kill to hear from him. 

There’s absolutely nothing. No response from Toga, Compress, Spinner, Dabi and most important of all, Tomura. 

He’d finally read your text. After two whole days had passed from the sent time stamp, he’d read it, and then opted to not respond. It stung. You can still feel that tightening emotion of dread, of abject hurt, that had radiated from your chest when you saw that he’d finally looked at your message and then just decided you weren’t worth his time. 

Yeah, after seeing that, the last few days have been nothing but a full tilt boogie of emotions for you. 

This must be a planned thing. Why else would they all coordinate their ghosting. He must have wanted to leave you behind and now, this distance has made it possible. 

He’s been changing a lot lately. 

Even before he left for this, whatever it was, he’d grown in confidence and skill. Fuck, he’d taken on a Yakuza boss and won. He’s becoming a leader, a competent force to be reckoned with. He doesn’t need you to bounce ideas off of anymore. A courier picked up at the start of his career isn’t a necessary piece to add to his collection. 

Yeah, chances are, he’s moved on. He’s out of your reach now and you can’t help the thoughts that rise in the back of your mind. What if he’s found someone else? What if he just got bored with you? Did you put too much thought into this relationship? Well, that question has kinda answered itself. You put way too much into this. You had planned for things, hoped for…

Your phone rings and the noise startles you out of your head. You fumble for your vibrating device and lift the screen up before swiping to answer the call. Oh, it’s Toga. Fingers shaking, you lift the phone to your ear and are so happy to hear her babbling voice. 

She tells you that she’s been meaning to call you, but, gosh, everything has gotten in the way. Plus, she took a bad hit in a fight. Oh, she’s ok, but it’s been a crazy week for her. 

As she chatters about some random series of events that you can’t string together, you let out a long sigh. That coiling that’s been building in your stomach loosens and you’ve never been so relieved in your life. There’s still a chance. Maybe he hasn’t decided to leave you in the dust. Maybe...whoops, Toga asked you something. 

“Deka City? No, I’ve never been there.”

“Oh good, well, I wouldn’t try and go now. Tomura sorta, mmm, crumbled it to bits.”

“What?”

“Oooh, and we’re part of a bigger group now…”

She tells you about something called Gigamantia and their new connections. Apparently, Tomura’s made another step up in the world. Now he’s leading something called Meta Liberation? What is that? It sounds kinda familiar, but where have you heard it?

Toga is winding down her conversation, her voice smoothing out. She promises she’ll answer your other texts soon and emails you a set of coordinates, saying they’ll see you there and clicks off. 

You lower your phone to your lap, biting back the grin that won’t stop spreading across your face. Ok, so, maybe you’re not as abandoned as you thought. Maybe they, no, maybe he still needs you.

******

You found the building alright. It was impossible to miss. This place is massive, fit for an army. The security is tight, so tight that you’d even been screened by a guard at the door. Once they confirm that you are who you say you are, and you know who you say you know, you’re permitted entrance.

Who are all these people?

As you enter the “meeting room,” which is really a space that looks like a concert area, complete with a well lit stage, you’re pressed into the mass of bodies. There must be hundreds of people here and there’s some hulking creature, dozing in the corner. 

Is this that giant Dabi mentioned? You totally thought he was making that shit up. And, wait, wait, is that a pro hero a few spaces away? What is this? Where is the League?

The overhead lights dim and your attention is drawn back to the sage. People are bustling around the elevated area and a plush chair is placed in the center. Looks like the show is about to start. 

A loud, booming voice announces the arrival of a man called Redestro. He must be that long faced guy in the motorized chair and, oh, there he is. 

He walks up slowly, it looks like he’s leaning on something, but you can’t see clearly. The crowd shifts around you and an inordinately tall man is blocking your view. Huffing out a sigh, you try to maneuver yourself to a better vantage place.

He’s seated now, his long legs spread out in front of him. Fuck, he looks both wonderful and terrible, at the same time. Wonderful because it’s Tomura, terrible because he’s covered in bandages and he’s got a brace on his leg. What happened to him? 

Your eyes can’t stop roving over him, trying to drink in everything. He looks like he’s on edge, his fingers clutching at a small slip of paper, as his good leg jiggles against the chair. Why...ah, he’s being introduced. Wait. He’s being introduced as the leader of the Paranormal Liberation Front? So...so all these people...this entire organization...is his to command? 

He clears his throat and you hear his voice for the first time in months. He’s halting at first, but as he continues his speech his tone deepens, strengthens, losing that early hesitation. He sounds good, powerful and confident. 

You tear your eyes away from him and give the crowd a quick glance. They’re enraptured. A few paces away you can hear people whispering to each other, their voices low, awed. 

“He took down Redestro…”

“He’s so young.”

“He’s kinda...I don’t know...handsome.”

“You’re right, he looks regal.”

That coiling, trembling feeling is making a strong comeback. It’s an ugly return and it makes your flesh prickle and cool. He’s left you in the lurch for months and now he’s become some sort of leader, of an entire, what is this...a cult? An organization? An army? How the fuck, would you know? No one, least of all Tomura, has told you anything, about any of this. 

When the address and introductions (the League had made a, uh, flashy entrance) are over, someone comes up and taps you on your shoulder. It’s another one of those security guards. She says you’ve been requested, the League wants to see you. 

She takes you past the stage and down a long hallway. It’s quiet back here and the silence doesn’t soothe your frayed nerves. You’re pointed to a large set of doors and you bite your lip before pushing them open.

Another large room greets you. This one is filled with plush couches, elegantly carved tables and multiple chairs. There’s so much to look at, you don’t even see them at first. No, you hear him before you see him. He’s talking with a tall woman, who is writing down what he dictates, her pen moving rapidly across her paper.

Fuck, you’ve missed his voice. 

It’s quiet now, a little hoarse from his speech and you want to step closer. He’s standing next to some large windows, his back turned to you. He hasn’t even noticed you. What were you thinking? He’s this...God, leader now. What are you? Just a nobody he met when he was still pounding the pavement, looking for anyone who could help their cause, their mission. There’s nothing for you here, he’s…

“(Y/N).” 

Your eyes snap up to his. Tomura has turned, one arm braced heavily on his crutch, and is looking right at you. His eyes are hooded, dark, you can’t get a read on him from here. You want to step closer, but that sickening feeling is falling, like a stone, into your gut. Despite your turbulent emotions, you can’t stop staring at him.

The thick bandages are off and his hair is longer, the white strands hang close to his collarbone now, gleaming and pearlescent. He looks, damn, he looks tired and...what’s that? There’s something dark on his hand, it’s black and it covers three of his fingers. Why is he wearing that half glove, oh, oh no. It’s not a glove you realize, horrified, it's a prosthetic. He’s lost some of his fingers. 

“It took you long enough, come here, (Y/N).” 

His voice has dropped an octave, lingering in that distant tone that he would use when he dragged his lips across your neck, rumbling and murmuring against your skin. He knew that you liked that, he knew that it would make you so desperate for him, your hands pawing at his shoulders, pulling... 

No. He’s ignored you for weeks, no, months. You’re not about to just fall to pieces at his feet, crawling and begging for him to want you. Your eyes latch onto his and you minutely shake your head at his request, fingers squeezing into your palms. 

The woman, noting the tension that’s suddenly entered the room, looks between the two of you, and abruptly makes herself scarce, her heels tapping against the floor as she walks to the door. Once you hear it close behind her you unstick your mouth, your tongue heavy against your teeth.

“Who was that?” you ask, your voice croaking, thick with disuse. You can’t help the question. It tumbles from your mouth before you can stop it. You’d meant to ask him something else, but the query just, pops out, angry and trembling. 

“I don’t know. One of Redestro’s cronies. Why-” His face scrunches abruptly and a wince of pain passes of his features. “Why does it matter?” He finishes, his hand gripping a little tighter against his cane.

“You didn’t have to send for me, you know. It looks like you’ve upgraded everything else, why not me too?”

A scowl echoes across his lips. “What-”

You won’t let him finish his question, you can’t stand it anymore. You also can’t seem to stop. All of the emotions, the anger, the betrayal, the fucking, God, jealous thoughts that you’d slip into, alone in your cold bed. No, you’re not going to back down.

“You didn’t call, you didn’t text, and when you did, finally, manage to remember that I exist, the texts were so far and few between...fuck, sending a letter would have been faster. The only link I had to you was Dabi-”

“What?” He snaps, repeating his question, his red eyes, flashing, gleaming, glaring. “What does he have to do with anything?” His face is set in a deep snarl, his scar lifting along his white teeth. His fingers coil into his crutch, one digit arched away, and he begins the long journey to where you’re stubbornly standing. 

You watch him on bated breath. The sheer excitement of his renewed presence is making you shake. The warring feelings that are rising inside you are too much. It’s too much, it’s, oh...he’s right in front of you now.

“Answer me, (Y/N). What the fuck does Dabi have to do with anything?” 

You gulp. Tomura has never, ever liked you interacting with Dabi. It was that first subtle flirtation between you and the flame user that had set Tomura off in the first place. He had barely given you a second glance that first time you met him, but once your attention wandered over to Dabi, suddenly he was all ears. That animosity grew as time wore on. 

If anything, Dabi took advantage of it. He liked to press you, corner you, it was one of the many things you disliked about him. He was a selfish ass, only manipulating things for his own, twisted amusement. 

It’s a low blow for you to land on Tomura, to play up his own jealousies, but turnabout is fair play, right? 

“He’s the only person I could reach. You want to know who my phone keeps asking me to favorite now? Fucking Dabi. I kept asking him about you, about what was going on, but he never knew.

So, then I tried reaching out to you, directly. But then you decided to conveniently lose my fucking number, or something. You didn’t answer a single thing after that last text I sent you, what, two weeks ago? You didn't call. You didn’t even act like I exist, it-”

“I told you it would be a while.”

“Yeah, a while doesn’t typically mean two months. And how do you come back to me? With a broken leg and, fuck, three missing fingers? What is going on Tomura? You’re a different person now. Do you even want me anymore? You don’t have to ghost me. You could have just told me that you were moving onto bigger and better things. 

Congratulations, by the way. You’re the leader of a cult. Now, you can cut off all those lousy loose ends, like me-”

“You’re jealous.”

His voice has dipped into that low octave again, rasping, deep, and oh, fuck. You sputter at his assessment, your hands clenching into your pants. You need something to tether you, to keep you from reaching for him. You’re angry, remember? He’s left you, all alone, so alone and... 

He’s shifted to lean into you, the warmth of him rolling over you in waves. You can hear his breathing, if you move a little bit closer you could feel it, too. He knows what he’s doing. He’s used this tactic on you before. It’s very effective. His crutch taps him nearer. He’s practically flush against your heaving chest and your eyes flick up to his. 

The red is dark, tempered, and that swirling agitation has left him. He looks…

No, no, he left you for months, he can’t look at you like that. You shake your head, your eyes wincing shut, blocking him from view.

“I’m not...I-I’m not jealous, I was just-”

“Come here, (Y/N). Don’t make me ask you again.”

His new, half prosthetic hand reaches for your neck and traces over your trembling throat, ghosting over you, forcing you to press toward him. Once he’s satisfied you’re not going to reject his touch, he lets the digits tap onto you, gently, slowly, like he’s coaxing you out of your temper. The contrast of cool metal and warm skin makes you gasp, your eyes fluttering open. 

He’s curved over your lips, his white hair drifting softly around your face. Unthinkingly, unquestioningly, you reach for him. Your fingers lace into the silken tendrils and he lets a slow exhale wash over your face. His verdant eyes are so close. They’re fixated on yours, refusing to let you slip from his gaze again. 

You can’t breathe. There’s something else you want to scold him for, but...but his lips are so close. His nose bumps against yours and you bite your lower lip. He’s so warm. He smells nice too. It’s a rich smell, earthy, thick with some enticing aroma that’s all him. It floods your senses and you’re downing, distracted and lost. 

Tomura’s won this little stand-off because you reach for him first. Your fingertips urge him to you, one thumb dragging a familiar trail across the mole on his chin. His lips are chapped, rough, but oh, oh you’ve missed this. 

He lets you lead him, your lips pressing and lifting, planting feather light caresses against him. Your tongue swipes across his lower lip and he groans. It’s a husky, broken sound and it makes you yank at his clothes. His new suit crumples under your hands. You’d almost feel bad, if he hadn’t been such a neglectful ass to you. You’re nipping at him now, your kisses losing that sweet vulnerability.

Tomura approves of this frantic pace and one arm cages against your back, lifting you closer and dragging you against his front. His crutch clatters to the floor, but neither of you have the wherewithal to care. 

Besides, you think happily, you can be his crutch now.

He’s biting and sucking, his teeth drifting from your trembling lips and pressing into your pulse. One particularly hard nip has you arching into him, a gasping whimper on your lips. His tongue laves over the hurt, lulling the nip. 

Your hips instinctually lean into the his and you moan when you feel the hardness that is waiting for you there. Tomura presses back, dipping his nose into the juncture of your shoulder, his lips distractedly kissing against your skin. Your fingers trace down his front again and one hand goes lower still, running along his pants until you find what you’re searching for. 

He growls when you apply just the right amount of pressure and he’s pulling your lips back to his, demanding more. You’re skirting your other hand to the clasp of his belt when someone barges in the door.

Gasping, you start to pull away, trying to turn, but Tomura holds you to him, lifting his chin until it’s resting against your shoulder. He’s glaring out at whomever the fuck is standing in the doorway, but his fingertips are moving against you, pressing and soothing down your fevered skin.

“Hey boss- ah…” Dabi is brought up short by the sight that greets him and you can hear the sneer that he must have thrown Tomura’s way. 

Tomura, for his part, is quiet, content to silently stare down the man who stupidly interrupted him. He turns his head a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough room for him to drag his rough lips against your neck. You quake at the stimulation and hear Dabi let out a barking laugh.

“Ew, well this is fucking disgusting. Looks like the two of you can go back to fucking normal, eh (Y/N)? You and boss man can bone and get all that pent up insecurity out of your-”

“Get the fuck out,” you and Tomura say in unison.

You hear another scoffing chuckle and then the door slams shut.

Notes: The Dabi bits miiiight be in there because I finally got my belated birthday present of his Banpresto figure in today ԅ(≖◡≖ԅ)  

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @evesmores​

*I think that’s everyone for now. If you wanna be added to a list just drop me a line & I’ll get you on the Google Doc: Shigaraki works, Dabi works, Hawks works, BNHA works, All works...works, works. There’s likely more to come, but that’s what I got for now. k byeeee.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Home Sweet Home: Catch ‘Em

Summary- 3.9k Andy Barber x You. You and Andy almost have it all, married and with a jointed family consisting of Andy’s teenage son Jacob, as well as your two younger children John and Cassidy. Looking to add another member, your family is in need of a bigger house, a forever home. You find just the place, 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville Long Island.    Home Sweet Home

Written for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ Spooky Scary Stories challenge. Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Child Endangerment, Hints of Smut (nothing graphic) Swears.

A/N- I chose Amityville Horror for the challenge because its one of my favorite Spook Stories growing up. When reading you will find a lot of similarities to the 2005 Movie, some of the scenarios and dialogue are specifically from that film. Other parts of it are from the book itself. The family name was changed for my own personal reasons. Happy Haunting!  🎃

A/N 2- We’re halfway through! 

Chapter 2 / Masterlist

The family settled and a few weeks later, morning started out normal for the rest of the household , but didn't start that way for Andy. His coughing never seemed to break and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. You were already up to make breakfast for everyone, and Andy came down the stairs, rubbing at his chest. 

“Coffee Andy?” You ask while holding the coffee pot over his mug but he shook his head. 

“No, I actually came down hoping to find some cough syrup? Or pain medicine? Anything really. We don't have any upstairs.” 

“Oh I tossed out the old stuff. But I will pick some up when I go out today. I told Jacob that I would drop him off at the high school today after I got John on the bus.” 

Just as you were saying this, a stampede of footsteps came down the stairs making Andy wince a bit and all three kids came around the corner into the kitchen. Andy barked out a bit sharply, which even surprised you. “Y’all don’t need to be running on the stairs.” He coughed again and shivered. “Fuck its cold… I'm going down to check on the heater. If you could get that stuff, that would be great.” 

He snapped the door open and disappeared from sight while you were staring after him in surprise. Even all three of the kids seem to be in shock. Jacob just shrugged at his father's weird behavior and went to sit on a stool at the kitchen bar, the other two following him while you set plates with some scrambled eggs on them in front of them. Jacob just took toast nibbling on the edge of it a bit. 

“My phone cant keep any kind of charge whatsoever! I just got this thing to.” Jacob flipped it around to show you, and you saw it was already at 50 percent. You frowned at that, because of course he had one of the better styles of phones. Much better than anything you've ever had. 

“Your charging cord is working and everything?” You question and he nods, slipping it in his pocket. 

“Works just fine. It charges it to one hundred percent, twenty minutes later it is back down to fifty.” 

You shrug at Jacob at a loss and happen to glance at a small clock on the kitchen windowsill. “Shit.” you hiss out and down the last of your coffee. “Come on, time for the bus before we're late. Jake, meet you in the car.” You grab your car keys and open the door to call down to Andy. “I'm taking the kids to school.” 

You heard nothing more than a resounding deep cough and frowned reminding yourself to pick up that cough medicine for Andy on your way home. “Got your backpack John? Alright, lets go.” The whole pack of kids ushered out the door, leaving Andy all alone. 

Andy is pacing downstairs, waiting for the heater to kick on, cursing it out. 

“Spent all this money and the damn thing wont work.” he mutters while pulling the chair from his desk to it to sit in front of it, messing with the buttons on the front till a groaning protest came from the heater, and it clicked on to blast a bit of cool air, and quickly switched to warm. Rolling his chair back to his desk, he pulled out files from the bottom drawer to contact his clients and inform them that he was back in business at his new location. 

He was so tired though, having felt like he was up half the night feeling ill, and within a few moments he simply closed his eyes to rest them, he would use as an excuse to himself. Within moments he nodded off, and the creeping shadow came out of hiding, solidifying in front of his desk. Sharp clicking steps echoed against the cement floor and claws seared when they touched the wood of Andy's desk. It leaned forward to loom over the desk, over Andy whose chin rested against his chest. Forked tongue slithered along Andy's face, making him twitch in his sleep, whispering “Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em” Red eyes watched his victim for a moment, seemingly at peace in this state. It flexed its hands, claws scratching into the wood before giving a hard shake, sending  papers and pens flying, Andy’s laptop skidding across the surface and a picture that you had set on there yesterday crashing loudly to the floor. Cracking the glass into shattering pieces across the floor to glint wickedly. Andy’s eyes sprang open and he tipped forward to grab his shaking desk in surprise to see glowing red eyes and the scream of “Catch ‘em!” 

Then it all stopped, and he shoved back from his desk, pressing his heels to his eyes thinking he was seeing things. “What the fuck, what the fuck.” when he lifted his head, his breathing shaky to look at his desk, it was all normal. His papers were still exactly where he had set them before, his laptop in sleep mode ready to be used, pens all neatly lined up how he liked, and his family looking at him with wide happy smiles and laughs at the beach, the glass shining slightly in the light. 

“Jesus Christ Andy, get it together.” he shivered, cold once more and started coughing again. The door at the top of the stairs opened and your soft footsteps brought you down, Andy glanced up to see you carrying a steaming mug with the string of a tea bag wrapped around the handle and a paper bag that he assumed must have been the med’s he asked for. You reached the bottom and started approaching him, seeing his flushed face, the way he was heavy breathing with the rise of his chest, and you frowned while sitting the mug in front of him. 

“Baby, you don't look so good.” Your hand brushed against the side of his face, and it felt ice cold to him. Jerking out of your touch a bit, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped from it, scowling at the taste. 

“Don't talk to me like one of the kids Y/N.” he bit out of nowhere and he could see your face flash in a bit of hurt. “Sorry- sorry… I don't know what's wrong. Just a head cold is all. Are those the med’s?” 

“I got you a bit of everything.” your voice was colder towards him now, turned off from his offhand comment, and you set those down to, Andy knew he had to make it up to you, that was twice in the same morning he had been short, completely out of character for him. His hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I have been an ass this morning.” He said, hoping you would ease up a bit. Which you did, he felt you relax on his thigh and your hand lifted to brush through his hair, tilting your head. 

“I know you're not feeling good. Come up soon and lay back down though? I am worried about you.” you confess, and he nods. “I gotta go back up and check on Cassidy.” 

You leave him at his work, and going up the stairs, you leave the door open to let the kitchen's sunshine at least shine down the dark stairs. Maybe it will remind Andy to come back up you think to yourself as you leave the kitchen. 

As soon as you do, the door eases shut, closing him back down in the dark belly of the house. Up the stairs, you walk the long hallway towards Cassidy’s room, gazing along the walls, imagining the photos you wanted to hang along the way when you heard Cassidy’s soft voice seemingly talking to someone. 

“No Jody, I cant. Mommy wouldn't like that, and neither would Andy.” You tilt your head curiously hearing this now, recalling her mentioning someone by that name a few times now since moving in. 

“Well, okay Jody, that doesn't sound too bad. And it is really cool. He took me out on it a few times. Even let me drive it once.” 

You eased her door open to see her standing in the middle of her room, and she jumped when she saw you. 

“Oh mommy! You scared me.” She giggled, and you poked your head around the door to see what she was talking to. Nothing, there was nothing there. 

“Who are you talking to, Babygirl?” You ask, and Cassidy looks once more where she had been talking before answering. 

“Jody, but they are gone now.” she hummed and turned towards her box of toys to dig through it. You come into the room and go to sit on the edge of her bed, watching as she pulled out a few of her dolls and brought out her tea set. 

You wiggle your nose a bit, knowing imaginary friends were not uncommon. You pull up to a stand as she is setting up her dolls around a small table. “Do you want me to have tea with you?” 

“No Mommy, I wanna just play by myself.” She said happily and you lean down to kiss the top of her head. Walking out, Cassidy followed behind you, peeking out to see you heading off to go back down the stairs. 

“Okay Jody, she's gone. You still wanna go down to see the boat?” Cassidy looked over her shoulder to see the closet door easing open on its own. Cassidy giggled, and raced out of her bedroom, one goal in mind. Going to the boathouse. 

You're in the kitchen, unpacking the last few boxes when you hear Cassidy’s feet thumping down the stairs. Luckily Andy is still down in the basement and hopefully can't hear the thumps that seemed to bother him. You were surprised in finding the door, but figured he must have had to shut it if he was talking to a client. Opening it back up to hear Andy was still downstairs, typing away on his laptop now with the clicking noise that worked its way up the stairs. Humming you lift another box on the table and start to unpack the contents. Turning your back from the fridge, you hop up to sit on the edge of the counter so you could fit the dishes together and put them on the upper shelf you couldn't reach. Unnoticed by you, the alphabet letters on the fridge start shifting around, letters coming together to fit together in a couple words. 

When you finish, you hop off the counter and turn back to catch sight of the refrigerator door, your eyes widening at the horrible words spelled on the door. 

Katch ‘em Kill ‘em 

You gasp in shock at them, wondering who would have possibly written that. Thumps on the stairs distracted you half a second and Andy appeared with his mug for a refill. “Andy, did you write that on the fridge?” you say in a slightly accusing voice, and he frowns while glancing at you as he heads to put the kettle on the stove. 

“What are you talking about Y/N?” 

“The magnets on the fridge.” You answer and you both turn to the fridge door to see the letters scattered all over the place, not spelling anything. You scowl in frustration, because you know what you saw and Andy gives you a strange look. 

“What words?” he asks while he's at the sink, filling up the kettle with water and you just shake your head. 

“Nothing, I thought I saw something, but I didn't.” you brush it off, now unsure of what you saw. While you're unwrapping more dishes, you suddenly hear Andy utter. “Oh shit, Cassidy!” and the tin sound of the kettle crashing in the sink while Andy is sprinting to the back door and outside. You drop what you're doing and follow him out, right on his heels as he's running down the wooden deck steps and headed straight for the boat house. “ANDY?” You shout from behind him as he's running full out across the deck. “What's wrong?!” your panicked, unsure what is going on while Andy is trying to wrench the door open. 

“Cassidy, I saw her go in here.” He rushed out as he wrenched on the handle, trying to get it to unclasp. You start pounding on the door now in a frantic way, Cassidy couldn't swim, and the boat house was stretched over the lake, should she slip in, there was a good chance she would drown. Your fear builds as Andy continues trying to get the door open. “What the fuck. CASS! OPEN THE DOOR.” he yells while trying to push it open.

“Oh god Andy, get it open, get it open.” tears start to well up in your eyes as you picture your daughter slipping under the water out of sight. 

Andy growls out and pushes you aside to slam against the door, hoping to wrench it open. “I'm trying Y/N, get out of the way.” 

Your just about to jump in to swim around to the other side of the boat house when the door sprang open and you both race in, looking around the dim interior to see Cassidy standing on the nose of the motor boat just staring out over the lake, you gasp in surprise seeing her like that as Andy made his way carefully along the edge of the deck not to startle her. 

“Cass, Babygirl, look at me.” Andy says softly as he makes his way towards her. Your right behind him. 

“Cassidy, look at Andy.” you whimper out, watching as she gets closer to the edge of the boat, and her gaze was so far away out over the lake, like she never noticed you or Andy trying to get to her.

“Cass!” He says more urgently, and she jumps to look at him, slipping a bit as the boat rocks from her movements. “Take my hand baby.” He stretches his hand out and she shakes her head a bit. 

“I can’t, I gotta go.” Cass say’s with certainty, tilting her head like she was listening to someone else. “Jody want’s to take me to play.” 

“Take his hand Cass!” your panic rushing your voice and Andy stretches out further over the water, his voice turning hard and authoritative. 

“Cassidy I’m not asking again. Take my hand.” When Cassidy heard him this time, she snapped her head to look at him and her eyes grew wide with surprise. She stretched for his hand, her fingers trying to reach for his. Andy is quick to snatch her and pull her off the boat to safety, falling back against the wall from the momentum. You gather your daughter in your arms, giving a sob. 

“Cassidy what were you doing, you could have drowned.” 

Now the girl is caught up in Andy's and yours fear, giving her own sob as tears burst from her eyes while you and Andy rush out of the boat house with her strongly clutched in your arms, stopping just outside as she wails out. “Jody wanted to see the boat Mommy! Jody wanted me to go with them.” 

“Cass, there is no Jody!” your nerves shook so you shout at her in anger and fear, and Andy reaches to take Cassidy from your arms. 

“She's scared Y/N and didn't know any better, yelling isn't going to help.” He turns the little girl in his arms as she sobs into his shoulder, his hand smoothing along her back to calm her down. “Hey Kiddo, it's going to be okay.” He tried calming Cassidy who’s sobs wracked her body in Andy’s arms, and you walked away a bit to take a shuddering inhale. You know he's right, you're just upsetting her more, but your fear outweighed that right now. 

“Just lock that damn door Andy, so this doesn't happen again.” you look back at the door and he nods. 

“I will go pick up a lock at the hardware store, I promise.” He assured you and you nodded, wiping away your tears. Now your daughters crying in Andy’s shoulder upset you, made you feel guilty for yelling at her. You move to press your hand against her back and say her name. She tilts her head to look at you through teary eyes and you try giving her a shaky smile. 

“I’m sorry baby, I didn't mean to yell. You just really scared me and Andy.” 

She gave a sniffle and Andy eased her back so she could wipe her face dry and look at both of them. 

“I’m-i’m sorry. Next time I will ask.” She said, and you nodded. Andy shifted her once more to rest on his hip. 

“Cassidy, the boathouse is dangerous and you know off limits to you and John. If Jody tells you to do something you're not supposed to, what do you tell Jody?” he asked and the little girl lifted her arm to wipe her face again, hiccuping as she tried to catch her breath. 

“I tell Jody no Andy.” she said, his hand still rubbing against her back. 

“That's right, if you're not sure if you're allowed, you come ask Mommy, Me, or Jacob if it's okay.” he smiled at her to reassure her that it was all okay.

She gave a nod and he held up a pinkie finger, which she hooked her finger around and Andy kissed her forehead. “Pinky promise I swear Andy.” 

“Can't break a pinky promise. You know… I think I have some cookies up at the house.” He said, his hand coming up to brush the last tears away with his thumb on her cheeks. “You wanna get a snack before I have to go back to work?” 

Cassidy seemed to consider it. “Oreos?” 

“Of course they are oreos!” Andy winked as you all headed back up to the house. “Best cookie there is, right?” 

Cassidy gave a firm nod, and you let out a relieved breath. Crisis averted. 

Later that afternoon, Andy came back out of the basement just as you were finishing the kitchen, Cassidy coloring at the table while he grabbed his keys. 

“I will go pick up Jacob and stop at the hardware store.” He pecked a kiss on your cheek, and you looked at him. 

“You sure you're feeling up for it?” 

Andy nodded and flashed a smile. “I feel much better Love, those meds kicked in and some fresh air will do me good.” 

You happen to agree since he's been in that basement most of the day, and you wave a goodbye, deciding you should probably figure out what's gonna be for dinner later in the day. “How about tacos tonight Cass?” 

She cheers and  you double check to make sure there was enough ingredients, which there was. No need to send Andy a text to pick up anything. “Come on kiddo, lets go pick John up from the bus stop.” you snap the door shut, bluntly ignoring the letters scattered over the fridge. 

Heading down the driveway, the house groaned, all alone once again. There was a shattering through the kitchen, your finest dishes being flung from the cupboard and against the wall, fine china dust settling in the air as the scattered pieces spread across the linoleum for you to find later. The basement door wrenched open and the yawning darkness going down the stairs turned darker, more ominous. 

When you came back, you stared in shock, stopping both John and Cassidy from going in to save them from stepping on shattered broken shards. “How about you two go on up to your rooms to play while I clean this up?” 

Both children went upstairs, and you grabbed a broom to start sweeping, as you passed the basement door, you slammed it shut in frustration and anger. 

Night fell and you got the kids settled in. Settling in bed yourself to lean against the headboard, massaging your temples while Andy was in the bathroom getting ready for bed.

You were beat after having to help John with his homework and Cassidy suddenly changed her mind and just hated tacos. Andy seemed to be feeling better, helping where he could. Offering to take over the dishes when John called you back to the kitchen table, and afterwards he hugged you from behind, kissing your neck while whispering in your ear that he couldn't wait to put a baby in you before he went back down to the basement to finish up with a few things.  

Thinking back on his idea made you warm up and when Andy came back in the bedroom and stretched out next to you, you looked at him, biting your lip while looking at him.

“You really wanna tonight?” you asked hopeful, since moving your and Andy’s sexual escapades had diminished a bit and you put it all to the stress of moving a whole family to a new house.

“Make you a baby momma? Of course, come on over Pretty Girl.” He reached up to click off the lights and bathe the room in the moonlight when you gently eased into his lap, the two of you starting with gentle affectionate kisses before they turned deeper and needier. Andy's hands slid up and down your back through your tank top, and you would sigh against his lips at how good it felt. Andy chained kisses from your mouth to your jaw and you tilted your head back to let him chain those kisses of his down your neck. He pulled you in closer to feel more of you when his glance lifted to look in the mirror just behind you at the end of the bed. 

At first Andy had no idea what he was actually looking at, a grotesque face appeared above him in the mirror, like it was balancing on the headboard behind him. Crouching in place, its clawed hands dug into the wood, its muscled body flexing as it swayed slightly on the head board. Up to its face, a forked tongue slithered out and red eyes glared at him in the mirror. How could something from a nightmare be here right now? He wasn't asleep, he was just about to make love to his wife. His head jerked back in shock, banging against the headboard with a loud crack as he looked up to see nothing above him. “Fuck!” 

You yanked up in surprise, running your hands down his chest. “Handsome, what's wrong?” your head tilted and you looked where he was staring, feeling his heart starting to race under your hands. 

“You didn't see that?” He grasped your hips, making you go still as you frowned. 

“See what Andy?” his gaze fell back to ours and then back up. 

“There was something there, fuck I saw it in the mirror. I don’t even know what it was. It looked like a- ” He grasped your hips and sat up to look around, your hands grabbing onto the front of his tee shirt in surprise. Looking back to the mirror and then to Andy who was still trying to figure it out. 

“Like what Andy?” You are studying him trying to figure out what he was talking about. 

“Fuck it I know Y/N.” His hold tightened on you a moment, like whatever was going to rip you away while he still looked around the room. 

“Hey hey, Andy.” you cup his face and make him look at you, kissing his forehead and down till you leaned your forehead against his. “It's okay, there is nothing there, I promise.” Your lips brushed against his. His breathing slowly started to settle back down, and your hands rubbed against his shoulders and the back of his neck as he started to sink back against the pillows, rubbing at his face. 

“It was so real though Y/N. These past few weeks, I feel like I'm losing my mind.” 

You tilt your head and brace your hands against his chest. “Stress Andy, we’ve had a lot going on. It will get better, I promise.” 

His blue eyes shined up at yours and softened seeing you looking down at him, his hands going back to tracing your thighs clasped at his sides. “You know I love you right Pretty Girl?” 

You nodded and he twisted you two around till you were underneath him, and tilted your head up to kiss you deeply. “I think I was just about to put a baby in you.” 

You giggled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering. “Yes you were Andy.”

[rk1kheadcanons]

smol hc: Being the only RK models, CyberLife used some of Markus's base code in Connor's program. Emotions & empathy for social integration, and also some caretaking protocols in case emergency repairs/first aid are needed on the job (IE reactivating the Traci at the Eden Club, or diagnosing & "treating" Hank's ethylic coma LOL). I love the idea of Con getting to take care of Markus for once if he gets injured doing Rebel Leader Things™

🥺 Anon. I love this HC so much. Connor having some caretaker protocols is...yes. Absolutely. The jury is out and they find the defendant correct.

___

When Markus limped into his office, practically hopping on one foot every other step, all he wanted to do was bulldoze through his paperwork so he could go home and forget today ever happened. He’d taken a pretty hard hit earlier when a counter protester at their rally thought it was just a capital idea to hurl a brick into the crowd. Much more surprising than the sudden brick to the knee, though, was the (almost terrifying in it’s rapidness) reaction from the crowd. The guy was immediately apprehended and cursed out by human supporters and androids alike. It was wild. His bodyguards barely had to do any work. Markus swore he heard a human yell that thirium shots were on them after this, amidst a chorus of responding cheers. Nothing brings people together like a communal ass whoopin’? Apparently??

God he really hoped that human didn’t drink any thirium. Markus still had nightmares about Leo accidentally mixing up his blue raspberry jello shot with his drink, nevermind the fact that thirium consumables smelled like laundry detergent and poison as purposeful deterrents.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to go see the technician?” said Simon who, as his designated babysitter while North and Josh handled the fallout of the rally, followed into his office after him. 

“Naaahh,” Markus drawled, waving the hand that was grasping a pen as if he could wave away the problem altogether. Not for the first time he wished the government would catch up with the rest of the world and just go paperless. Reading over and signing these tedious documents would be a lot less painful to do if they would just let him download it into his mind like a sensible person would. “I barely feel it, plus my Regenerative Program has already kicked in. By the time I get to the med bay it’ll probably be all fixed.”

“Uh huh,” Simon unconvinced at him. “How long till you’re repaired.”

Markus pulled up the damage report in his HUD. “About six…”  he stared at the readings for a moment longer and, much to Simon’s chagrin, went back to doing his paperwork.

“...six what?”

“Bahhh,” Markus waved his hand again unhelpfully. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to make this sound better. Hopefully, his innate charm would cover for his trash convincing. “Ya know…”

“No. I do not know. What is it? Six minutes?”

Markus grunted.

“Hours!?”

Markus slumped lower in his chair. “Mmmhumph.”

“....Markus,” Simon started in a low warning voice. “If it’s days so help me I’m going to take out your other knee - ”

The door slammed open, startling Simon out of his threat, which was definitely about to escalate to more than Markus’ other knee once he found out it was six weeks. 

“Connor!”

“Good morning Simon,” Connor greeted briskly, expression stormy as he made a beeline for Markus like the man possesses on a mission that he usually was. He was swinging a rather large, rather ominous looking tool box with a red medical cross painted on it. Markus didn’t even stop doing his paperwork. He knew the drill by now. “I heard about what happened and came as fast as I could.”

“Wow, the news has only been out for an hou - wait. Weren’t you in Ohio?”

“Yes. I would have been here sooner but traffic was heavier than usual and the family driving the Escalade was surprisingly insistent on going the speed limit. A majority of police officers won't cite drivers for going between 1-5 miles per hour over,” Connor rolled his eyes and scoffed, like he didn’t follow some laws down to the letter while blatantly disregarding others at any given time. 

“Wha - did you hitchhike all the way here!?”

“Oh no of course not! There is a 46% chance of violent or criminal conduct committed against people who hitchhike.”

“Then how - ”

“I was sitting on top of the aforementioned Escalade.”

Markus gave him his best ‘why are you like this’ stare while Simon gaped in perplexion. “You didn’t need to car surf just to come all the way down here, hon.”

“After hearing about the state you were in, with all my love in the world I violently disagree.”

Markus sighed like a man whose knee wasn’t sparking and twitching at this very moment. And...hm. Maybe it did ache. A teeny bit. Whatever. He was still of the opinion that rubbing some dirt on it and a little stretching was enough to get him through the rest of the day.

“Well, maybe you can help me convince him to go to the technician,” said Simon.

“No need.” Without preamble, Connor plopped the heavy med(?) box on the floor and gently lifted Markus’ leg, hiking up his pants up to the thigh. As he examined it, intense as any jeweler examining a rare diamond, he hooked the back of a nearby stool with his foot and pulled it over, resting the leg on it. Markus neither struggled nor visually reacted; just kept stringently doing his paperwork like nothing was going on.

When Connor pulled out a collapsible creeper seat and rolled under Markus’ leg as if he were a mechanic working on a car, Simon went from passive observer to concernedly going around the desk to see what all the RK800 was doing.

“H-hey wait a second! Connor - it’s a pretty serious wound, maybe we should let the professionals handle it!”

Connor rolled slightly from under Markus with a large drill in his hand and an unimpressed look on his face. Surprisingly, Simon was not reassured by this in the slightest. “I assure you Simon that I am fully equipped with the latest caretaking protocols now could you please pass me that monkey wrench.”

“What seriously- UHH! I mean...” Realizing how insulting that sounded, Simon hurried to hand Connor the tool, clearing his throat. “I didn’t realize you had such uh...versatile programing.”

“It’s the same base code used in mine, actually,” Markus added, using his free hand to pat Connor’s soothingly when he heard him grumbling things like “I can do more than kill things” and “No one has been irreparably maimed in my Knitting Circle”. Damn right honey, Markus thought, Greta and Patrica have had nothing but nice things to say about you’re wool socks.

“Oh riiiiiight. You two are from the same model line, I…” Markus could practically Jedi Sense Simon about to say ‘I forget that sometimes’, so he looked up at the PL600 and shook his head firmly with glaring eyes. Simon, sheepish, held up his hands placatingly and held his tongue.

“The code...has been streamlined to cater more towards field and emergency repairs,” Connor admitted reluctantly, but then quickly added, “but combined with my own personal research outside of my programming, it is no less effective.”

Eager to keep his foot out of his mouth, Simon merely nodded in agreement. He couldn’t, however, keep the growing alarm showing from his face as Connor pulled more and more absurd tools out of his box (the electric saw was particularly disconcerting), and started contorting around Markus so that he wasn’t interfering with his work in ways that at first, seemed normal, but were steadily becoming more on par with a cirque du soleil act. That alarm changed into bewilderment when he tilted Markus’ chair back, put a car jack under his desk so that it tilted forward at the perfect writing level, put a pillow behind his head and a fizzy thirium drink (complete with a fun crazy straw) in his mouth. His standard office setup now suddenly a mini spa. 

When Connor started working a polisher to his knee Markus practically melted back into the chair. Oh that sneaky bastard. He knew Markus wouldn’t be able to get anything done by administering the android equivalent of a deep tissue massage. 

Bewilderment now firmly settled on amusement, and thoroughly reassured that his friend/boss was in good hands, Simon started to take his leave. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it Connor. If you need back up to make sure this guy takes it easy we’re all on stand by.”

Connor nodded. “I will escort him home for further recuperation as soon as I have finalized his repairs.”

Markus, eyes closed as he happily sipped at his Particle-Colada, grunted in response to Simon’s farewell. He was a little annoyed that everyone was treating him like a toddler over his small injury, and a little more annoyed that Simon had felt the need to hover around Connor, as if he were bracing for the RK800 to do something violent, before trusting his good intentions. Granted, Markus (begrudgingly) could admit that Connor’s methods certainly weren’t...standard caretaker protocols, and that his bedside manner was well...much like the android himself; aggressive, confusing, and, most importantly, well-meaning.

“‘Can’t go home,” Markus murmured around his straw, very convincingly and not at all like he was about to ascend to a higher plane. “Still got work to do.”

“Hmm. Do you now?” With a fond, humoring, smile, Connor cranked up the power on the polisher. Markus swore his soul was straight vibin’.

Yea, actually. Maybe work could wait till tomorrow.