#Lab tested bars

[srjsteel]

7 Signs You’re Buying the Best TMT Bar for Construction

When building a home or structure meant to last generations, quality isn’t optional—it’s the foundation. Choosing the best TMT bar can make all the difference between a structure that endures and one that weakens with time. Right from the start, smart buyers should pay close attention to what goes into the making of these bars. That includes elements like HR coils and Super Rings, which directly affect strength, flexibility, and durability.

Low-grade TMT bars often compromise structural integrity. Cracks in walls, rusting frames, or poor resistance during quakes are all too common when corners are cut during purchase. So how do you spot the right choice in a sea of options?

Here are seven telltale signs you’re picking the best TMT bar for your construction project.

1. Raw Material Quality is Non-Negotiable

The first clue lies in the raw materials. High-grade HR coils are the backbone of premium TMT bars. These coils offer uniformity in composition, ensuring that the bar performs consistently under pressure. If your supplier can’t confirm the source and grade of HR coils used, it’s time to walk away.

2. Excellent Ductility with Super Rings Integration

TMT bars that incorporate Super Rings during processing offer better grip with concrete. This ensures higher bonding strength—an essential during earthquakes or heavy stress. The unique rib design these rings create enhances friction and structural cohesion.

3. Corrosion Resistance That Lasts

Structures often face harsh conditions—humidity, rain, and coastal winds. The best TMT bar includes anti-corrosive properties that come from a refined manufacturing process. If a bar rusts quickly or feels flaky at the surface, it won’t hold up in the long run.

4. Uniform Rib Pattern Across Length

Consistent ribbing—especially those shaped using Super Rings—makes a bar more dependable. It ensures equal bonding throughout, leaving no weak spots when embedded in concrete. Uniformity also signals that advanced rolling technology was used in manufacturing.

5. Certified Quality Control and Lab Testing

Top-tier manufacturers subject their bars to stringent quality tests—tensile strength, bend tests, elongation, and more. Ask for certifications. Brands that produce the best TMT bar don’t hesitate to share lab results. They know trust is built on proof, not promises.

6. Earthquake-Resistant Flexibility

Construction in seismic zones demands bars with excellent elongation properties. This flexibility often stems from how well the HR coils were processed and whether thermal treatment was uniformly applied. Without this, a bar may snap under stress instead of bending.

7. Transparent Branding and Reputation

Reputable brands make it easy to trace where their bars came from, how they were made, and what makes them reliable. They don’t hide the fact that HR coils and Super Rings play a pivotal role in delivering high-performance steel. If a supplier dodges questions or offers vague claims, they’re likely not offering the best TMT bar.

Conlusion

When all these signs align, it’s more than just a product—it’s peace of mind. Investing in a construction project is a long-term commitment, and quality should never be compromised for a quick bargain.

Recognizing these seven signs means moving beyond guesswork. It empowers buyers to make informed, confident decisions that keep people safe and properties strong. After all, the true strength of a building starts long before the first brick is laid—it starts with choosing the right steel.

FAQs

1. How can I test the quality of a TMT bar on-site? Check for uniform rib patterns, perform a bend test, and ask for mill test certificates from the supplier.

2. What role do HR coils play in TMT bars? HR coils determine the core strength and consistency of the bar—high-quality coils result in better durability and load-bearing capacity.

3. Are Super Rings necessary in TMT bars? Yes. Super Rings improve concrete bonding, reducing the chances of structural failure during stress or seismic activity.

[optimus-rhyme]

Rats rats rats

[communistkenobi]

(taken from a post about AI)

speaking as someone who has had to grade virtually every kind of undergraduate assignment you can think of for the past six years (essays, labs, multiple choice tests, oral presentations, class participation, quizzes, field work assignments, etc), it is wild how out-of-touch-with-reality people’s perceptions of university grading schemes are. they are a mass standardised measurement used to prove the legitimacy of your degree, not how much you’ve learned. Those things aren’t completely unrelated to one another of course, but they are very different targets to meet. It is standard practice for professors to have a very clear idea of what the grade distribution for their classes are before each semester begins, and tenure-track assessments (at least some of the ones I’ve seen) are partially judged on a professors classes’ grade distributions - handing out too many A’s is considered a bad thing because it inflates student GPAs relative to other departments, faculties, and universities, and makes classes “too easy,” ie, reduces the legitimate of the degree they earn. I have been instructed many times by professors to grade easier or harder throughout the term to meet those target averages, because those targets are the expected distribution of grades in a standardised educational setting. It is standard practice for teaching assistants to report their grade averages to one another to make sure grade distributions are consistent. there’s a reason profs sometimes curve grades if the class tanks an assignment or test, and it’s generally not because they’re being nice!

this is why AI and chatgpt so quickly expanded into academia - it’s not because this new generation is the laziest, stupidest, most illiterate batch of teenagers the world has ever seen (what an original observation you’ve made there!), it’s because education has a mass standard data format that is very easily replicable by programs trained on, yanno, large volumes of data. And sure the essays generated by chatgpt are vacuous, uncompelling, and full of factual errors, but again, speaking as someone who has graded thousands of essays written by undergrads, that’s not exactly a new phenomenon lol

I think if you want to be productively angry at ChatGPT/AI usage in academia (I saw a recent post complaining that people were using it to write emails of all things, as if emails are some sacred form of communication), your anger needs to be directed at how easily automated many undergraduate assignments are. Or maybe your professors calculating in advance that the class average will be 72% is the single best way to run a university! Who knows. But part of the emotional stakes in this that I think are hard for people to admit to, much less let go of, is that AI reveals how rote, meaningless, and silly a lot of university education is - you are not a special little genius who is better than everyone else for having a Bachelor’s degree, you have succeeded in moving through standardised post-secondary education. This is part of the reason why disabled people are systematically barred from education, because disability accommodations require a break from this standardised format, and that means disabled people are framed as lazy cheaters who “get more time and help than everyone else.” If an AI can spit out a C+ undergraduate essay, that of course threatens your sense of superiority, and we can’t have that, can we?

[thinkinonsense]

Sweet Temptations.

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: fingering, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, inexperienced reader, darkish!logan

a/n: hi! sorry i've been gone so long! i have plenty of stuff in the works but for now here's this. i'm working on making a mini-series of dark!logan x inexperienced!reader so i hope everyone enjoys! <3

to think, logan almost went out to the bar tonight. almost left to find a one night stand or come home and fuck his hand. tonight could've had so many different outcomes but luckily, he ended up with the best one.

there's a light knock on his bedroom door. he knew it had to have been you since everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away for the night. logan obviously wasn't interested in going and you were busy working on an experiment in the laboratory.

in all reality, logan just wanted an excuse to stay here alone with you overnight. ever since he joined the x-men and met you down in the lab in that cute white coat and pretty smile, he's had a crush on you.

"hi, logan." you smile softly when he opens his door.

"hey, dollface. you need something?" he asks, leaning against his door frame and eyeing that short little nightgown of yours.

"can we talk?"

"sure."

the two of you walk into logan's room and sit on the end of his bed. you sit up on your knees, facing him. he can tell that something is on your mind but you're unsure on if you should confide in him or not.

"is everything alright?" he asks, growing concerned.

you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

"whatcha wanna talk about then, sweets?"

logan's large hand rubs your knee softly, almost coaxing the words out of you.

"would you do me a big favor?" you ask, avoiding his hazel gaze.

"of course."

there's slight hesitation. you were afraid of logan's reaction to your request. after a deep breath, you remind yourself that it's just logan. the same logan who trains with you every morning, the same logan who plays with your hair when he's bord, the same logan who praises you for all your hard work in the laboratory. there was nothing to be afraid of.

"c-can you take my virginity?"

the question almost killed logan. he thought he had died and gone to heaven. you finally look at him with a twinkle in your eyes and he feels the need to adjust the tent growing in his pants.

"where'd this idea come from, sweetheart?"

"well, i was seeing a guy a while ago who acted really weird when i told him i was still a virgin then when i told storm and jean, they told me that if i'm ready to do it, than it should be with someone i trust." you explain so innocently to him. "i just figured since you've always been so gentle with me and i trust you, i was kinda hoping you wouldn't mind."

never in his wildest dreams could logan have imagined this happening. you sitting pretty on his bed, practically begging him to take your virginity. god, logan couldn't even remember the last time he was with a virgin. must've been decades ago.

"that's real sweet, dollface. 'f course i'll do it." he says, watching your smile grow with excitement. "first i need to know what you've already done."

"i've kissed while sitting in someone's lap, given a hickey twice... maybe three times? some nights i'll rub myself against one of my pillows."

even though he knew the answer, he had to ask, "ever fingered yourself?"

"no." you shake your head, almost making logan moan at just the thought of being the first person to do that to you.

"want to try it?"

"s-sure but i thought we were gonna–"

"we will." logan assures. "need to get you loosened up first if you want me to fit inside of you."

a small gasp exists your lips, making him chuckle. logan leans in, testing the waters to see how you kiss. he's a bit shocked by how you pull him closer to deepen it. you moan into his mouth while your hands roam his hair. he sits you in his lap and lets you grind yourself on top of him, showing him what you know.

"let's see if you're nice and wet for me." logan hums, lifting up your nightgown and feeling the wet spot over your underwear. "very good, dollface."

without thinking, you let out a tiny moan next to his ear because of his praise. he can't help but pull your head from its hiding spot in his neck to look at you.

"you like when i tell you how good you're being for me?" he ask, watching your face contort as your hips keep moving. one of his hands rests on your waist, stopping you from moving. "c'mon, you can tell me."

"mhm..." you nod. "love when you praise me."

suddenly, your back is pressed flat against his sheets as he kisses all down your body. leaving little marks here and there until he reaches the waist band of your pretty pink underwear.

"did you wear these just for me, princess?" he asks, placing a kiss right over the cotton covering your button.

"y-you said i looked p-pretty in pink."

as the words stumble out of your mouth, logan feels a warmth spread across his heart. a couple months ago, you were wearing a new pink dress and as logan passed you by, he mentioned how pretty you looked in the color. it meant a lot to you.

"you still do." he says. "can i take these off of you, baby?"

you nod, lifting your hips a little to help him. logan tosses the pink cotton somewhere behind him. lifting up the nightgown to your tummy, eyes glued to the spot in between your legs.

"didn't think you could get any prettier." logan mumbles to himself.

his intense gaze made you feel a bit vulnerable, trying to close your legs but his large hands stop you.

"don't hide from me, princess." he says, capturing your attention. " 'm gonna make you feel good."

logan carefully drags his thumb through your slit, collecting the arousal and circling it around your button. the feather like touch sends your head back and whimpers to fall from your lips. gently, logan pushes his middle finger past your velvet walls, groaning once you clench around him.

"atta girl, princess." he smirks watching you swallow up his finger. "takin' it so good."

logan watches in awe as your head fall back and the arch in your back. slowly he inches his face closer and licks a thick stripe up your fold before sucking softly on your button. you feel logan muffle 'fuck' against you, only resulting in more arousal to spill out of you.

"o-oh, logan." you moan, hips chasing his tongue feverishly.

since this was your first time, logan went easy on you, not making you work for your orgasm. he feels your cunt clench down on his one finger as it hits deep inside of you until you are seeing stars. with logan's other free hand, he paws at your tit and rolls it in his palm.

"need m-more!" you whimper with glossy eyes and lips. "p-please, lo."

in an attempt to give you what you want, logan struggles to hit another finger inside of you. he wasn't sure what he did to deserve this type of heaven but god, was he thankful for it.

"i can't, sweetheart." he groans, kissing your hip bone as he speeds up the finger inside of you. "you're too tight for two of my fingers. there's no way i'll be able to fit inside of you tonight."

before you could whine in protest, this indescribable wave of euphoria washes over you. smooth silky legs wrap tightly around logan's head. thighs covers his ears, blocking out the sweet sounds you were making. logan goes back to sloppily making out with your cunt until you weakly pull him off and drag him up to your lips, tasting your own release on his tongue.

"thanks, lo." you smile in a daze at him.

"anytime." he says. "i think you'll need another lesson soon though if you want to take all of me. do you want that, princess?"

he could feel your heart rate increase eagerly. you blush intensely and avoid his gaze as you nod.

"alright." he chuckles darkly. "but first, you gotta show me how you get off on your pillow."

[all-with-angel]

Stress test // Superhero!Sukuna

➤ Superhero!Sukuna x Gearmaker!Reader

➤ Deadlines are nipping at your heels and you haven't found yourself a willing test subject for your projects. As your last Hail Mary, you waltz into the training area and borrow the first person you see; Not knowing who exactly you had just made your test subject. Not like it matters to you.

➤ gn!reader, Sukuna being sukuna, cocky Sukuna humbled by reader, both are 20+, light injury, sfw, NOT PROOFREAD and I couldve probably done a better job but wtv we die like gojo

You haven’t slept in thirty hours.

You haven’t eaten anything other than energy bars and instant coffee in fourteen, and the last time you took a break was when a rogue drone had exploded and knocked you out for 16 minutes. Those were a good 16 minutes.

You’d love to take a rest, sleep until the world exploded even, but deadlines were looming over your head like a death knell, red marker on your calendar telling you ‘You’re screwed.’

You had ideas- God, you had way too many ideas. Building them was one thing, but that was the easiest part really. You could do that in your sleep, and frankly, probably had once or twice. No, the problem was testing them.

You needed raw data. Field stress levels, user performance under duress, energy thresholds when pushed to their uppermost limit. Simulated tests could only go so far. The board wanted grit. They wanted the real deal. The kind that said, “Yes, this will absolutely survive a villain launching a bus at your face.��� or “Yes, this will hold up against the strength of Infinity.” (Like that's even possible)

And you couldn’t give that. How could you? You didn’t have teams of testers like the more known gadget makers, no, you had yourself and A.I. test dummies that started flirting with you if they weren’t reset every other week.

You were a genius. But what good is a genius without results?

You put on your best unwrinkled lab coat, shoved your tablet under one arm, slapped a fresh stim patch onto your neck, and marched your overworked ass down to the training floors of the facility. Academy, as the higher ups would say, but it was anything but that really.

You didn’t learn much here other than that most of your coworkers were stupid.

Today’s plan? 

Find the strongest idiot. Throw gadgets at them. Hope for the best.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that sounded good. You really were a genius. Or sleep deprived. You couldn’t tell.

The facility, of course, was always active. Training rooms were booked 24/7 by heroes, cadets, and the occasional egomaniac. As you stepped into the third hall, the sound of explosions- actual explosions- echoed down the corridor, followed by some deeply maniacal laughter.

Sounds like the strongest idiot to me.

You took a step into the viewing area, peering into the highly reinforced glass and observed. There was smoke everywhere, but it quickly dispersed to reveal your maybe test subject.

He looked pretty familiar. HawkTuna-something?

He stood there in a scorched tank top, hands on his hips, surrounded by sparking debris. Pink hair and red eyes, face tattoos. He looked more like a gangster than a hero.

You jogged your memory, as fucked as it was- and remembered some news broadcasting about a Hero that had more than half of his fights end with a building or two collapsing. You snapped your fingers when you remembered, “The King”. That was his hero name.

You recalled it from an interview, where he refused to be called anything other than that. Right, so he was a cocky fucker. You could work with that. 

A few minutes later, you found yourself at a vending machine right outside the training hall, buying yourself your nth energy drink today. Just as you grabbed the can from the machine, the mechanical doors of the training room opened. Out came walking the King, steps heavy but not rushed.

You straightened your lab coat, holding your tablet to your chest and energy drink in the other as you walked up to him. “Uh, excuse me?” You smiled politely. Holy hell, he was bigger up close.

“What?” He clicked his tongue, red eyes narrowing at you. “You better make this quick. I have things to do.”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed you for a little while? You see I need test subje-”

“Not interested.” He huffed, shoving past you.

Okay, rude. You stumbled to the side, head whipping in his already departing direction. You mentally debated whether pursuing an already bitchy test subject was worth it, before realizing that both your job and education was on the line. You let out a huff of frustration before running after his retreating figure.

“Hey! Wait! Um- Tuna guy? Suzuki, was it?”

He stopped abruptly, leading you to bump into his back face first. He didn’t even budge. Instead, he turned around, a scowl that would leave any sane person shaking in their boots. 

Unfortunately, you were not sane. At least not right now.

“Sukuna. It’s Sukuna.” He hissed at you.

“Oh right, yeah, Sukuna. Anyway-” You took a few steps back, clearing your throat before continuing. “I need to put my projects under stress tests so I need-”

“Don’t they have simulations for that?” He was tapping his foot, crossing his arms as he looked down on you. 

Okay, this guy seriously had to stop interrupting you. “Well uh, those can only go so far. And the board wants actual real life testing,” You answered. “Could you come up to the lab with me and test some of them? It’ll be quick. I promise. I just need to get my reports done before my deadline.”

“Why should I care?”

“Sorry?”

“I said why should I care?” Sukuna repeated. “You’re some nobody asking me for a favor when I’m supposed to be getting dinner. Who do you think you are talking to the future number 1, huh?” He leaned forward, looming over you with a scowl.

“The future number 1 hero?” You mused, staring right back at him. “I highly doubt that.” It hurt your neck to crane your neck this high, but you kept your voice from wavering.

“Tsk. Do you not even know who I am? What I’m capable of, brat?” He clicked his tongue, voice lowering into a growl as he glared, crimson eyes inches away from yours. “I can destroy this facility and everyone in it in seconds.” 

“So?” You blinked.

You could see his eye twitch. “Do you have a death wish you-” His voice raised, almost yelling before you cut him off.

“Dude. Seriously, I can’t care less about what you can do.” You waved him off, “I only care if you can help me. Got it?” 

Sukuna, The King- The so-called prodigy with more potential as a villain than a hero, stood there, dumbstruck at your audacity. You could see the gears turn in his head, the veins starting to pop on his neck.

You sigh in faux defeat, slumping your shoulders. “Unless you’re too much of a pussy to test some measly little gadgets.” You shake your head, turning away from him. “It’s a shame really, the so-called future number 1, scared by some nobody's little inventions.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not falling for your taunting.”

“Alright.” You shrug. “But you do sound,” You look him up and down, pointedly ignoring the imprint of his muscles the size of your waist. “-pretty weak to me.”

Sukuna stood there, glowering at you, a support course nerd he’d never even heard of. To be honest, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious at what you’ve got in store in that lab of yours if you’d really go this far to recruit him. His manager probably would be annoyed that he was late to their dinner meeting again, but what was that idiot gonna do anyway? Yell at him?

He clicks his tongue. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” You raise a brow, a small smirk tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, fine.” He snarled.

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands once, previous ‘disappointed’ demeanor melting away quickly. “Come, come. Follow me.”

You click the handcuffs into place. “Comfortable?”

“No.” Sukuna answered, flexing his hands under the cold steel of the cuffs.

“Good. They’re not supposed to be,” Nodding, you take a few steps back. “Now break out of them.” You look down to your tablet, tapping a few buttons to monitor the stress levels of the cuffs and see how quickly they might break. You two have been at this for a while now, most of the gadgets being destroyed or barely grazing the cocky hero- Who simply grew more arrogant with every failed test. “These are a pair of reinforced handcuffs, they should hold up quite well-”

The handcuffs explode into pieces, scraps of metal littering the floor and edges of the testing area. “Against some robber, maybe.” Sukuna drawled. “Is this it? Are you seriously gonna waste my time with barely put-together chunks of metal?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the pair of handcuffs off the list and marking it for extra blast reinforcement and maybe power dampening qualities.

“Nope. Next.” You grabbed a gadget from your side table, raising it and aiming at Sukuna. The hero stares at you, the weapon and then back at you. Seemingly unimpressed. “A gun? Really?”

“It's a non-lethal firearm, just as impactful as rubber bullets but not as harmful.” You keep your aim steady, ready to fire.

“I’ve melted bullets in mid-air. Do you really think that would work?” 

“They’re high velocity, so we’ll find out.” You pull the trigger twice, but nothing hits Sukuna. Instead, two very small and unrecognizable puddles of the bullets are a few feet away from him.

“Well, well, well. Looks like your high velocity rounds aren’t much compared to me.” He scoffed.

This time, you felt your eye twitch. He really was starting to get on your nerves. “Yeah, guess so.” You lowered the gun to your side. “Could you get the next gadget? It’s behind you.”

“Tsk. Asking me to do your job now, huh?” Sukuna rolled his eyes, large frame turning around and inspecting the table behind him. Just enough time for him to lower his guard. You raised the gun again, firing at his back- This time, it hits.

“Fuck!” The hero exclaimed, lips pulled into a scowl as he whipped his entire body towards you. “The hell was that?!”

You hummed in satisfaction, finally setting down the gun and tapping your tablet to record the results. Success. “My finger must’ve slipped, sorry.”

“Like hell it did!”

“Did it hurt?” You smirked.

Sukuna felt a bruise forming on his back, the point of impact throbbing lightly on his back. “No. Of course not.”

“Noted.”

Sukuna growled at you, ready to lunge and rip you a new one before he remembered that if he did maul another of his coworkers, that he’d get suspended. Again. So instead, he huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we done yet? Or do you have more chaos to unleash?”

“Yep, just one more.” You tossed a grenade-shaped contraption up and down your hand. “Though, this one has healing properties. Should help with the pain.”

Sukuna eyed you suspiciously, checking if this was another trick. He didn’t find anything other than quiet amusement in your eyes and anticipation. You were clearly enjoying it with him as your test subject. When you noticed his distrustful glare, you reassured him with a smile. “Don’t worry, if something goes wrong, the agency has your medical bills covered.”

He rolled his eyes, like that made it any better. “So you're saying something can go wrong?”

You shrugged. “Anything could go wrong, really.” You traced your thumb on the metal of your little toy, finger hovering right on the detonation button- It should go off after 5 seconds after pressing it. “But trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Sukuna said, voice flat.

“Shame.” You pressed the button, tossing it at his feet and stepping backwards. He didn’t move though, even if he did raise a brow at your sudden withdrawal- It didn’t last long before the healing grenade exploded.

Green slime-like substance coated him and a good portion of the area, luckily nowhere near you. The substance from the grenade seemed to pulse and glow green, especially the chunks that were on and around Sukuna. You quickly noted that down.

Sukuna cringed at the sludge coating his body, he didn’t feel any better than he did 3 seconds ago, maybe even a little worse with how icky the green goo felt. “The hell?” He raised his hand, the slime connecting in strands to the rest of his torso. “Some healing grenade this is.”

You stayed quiet.

He clicked his tongue, glaring at you before looking to the door. “I’m done with this bullshit. Now I gotta take a shower before going anywhe-” Sukuna tried to take a step forward, only to be halted by the slime. He kept trying to pull at his limbs, each action taking more effort than the last as it became apparent that this was no ordinary healing grenade.

It hadn’t even passed any screenings yet. And this was still a work in progress, not an actual thing you had to test at the moment. It was one of your flukes, you knew that. Sukuna, did not. “Oh, right. About this one,” You picked up your tablet, voice painfully nonchalant as you act unaware of the struggle that Sukuna was going through. “I don’t exactly have a dissolvent for the healing cream, and it gets quite sticky.”

“Then what are you waiting for??”  Sukuna screeched, head snapping in your direction as any fire or explosion he tried to use was cancelled by the healing agent. Did you mention that it also doubles as a power-cancelling agent? No? Oops. “Get to work on it then!!”

You shrugged, turning your back to him and towards the exit “Alright.”

“Hey, HEY! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” 

You turned around, motioning towards the testing area in shambles. “You don’t expect me to work in this mess, do you?” Voice level, like you were pointing out solid facts- trying your damn hardest to not let the smugness bleed into your tone.

“So, what? You're just gonna leave me here??” Sukuna sounded a mix of stunned, confused and angry.

“Thats the plan, yeah.” You start walking away, the door hissing as it automatically opened. “Don’t worry! It’ll probably melt off in an hour if I’m not done by then!” You give him a wave, smirking at him over your shoulder. 

“Probably?? You motherfu-”

He was spewing curses at you now, belittling you and trying his hardest to defend his last remaining drops of dignity. You simply smiled back, polite. “See you, Number one.”

Yeah, you weren’t going to work on that dissolvent.

(open!) tags: @idontwannatalkrn1

[inlovewithladies]

Nerdy Abby headcanons!

I love nerdy abby so much this needed to be done. this is college au btw.

GENERAL

definately majors in kinesiology with a minor in biology

Color codes her stuff like she had OCD

when she gets to do lab stuff she gets all giddy like a kid in a candy store

since shes all buff and stuff i feel like she'd try new protein powder or bars and rank them based off taste and effectiveness

i know for a fact in my heart of hearts she loves star trek. like she has 3 posters in her room and figurines on her shelf

lives off of energy drinks especially if she has a test and needs to cram studying but doesnt tell anyone coz she preaches that theyre bad for u and doesnt wanna seem like a hypocrite

watched neon genesis evangelion

her laptop has a bunch of stickers on it IN A RELATIONSHIP

her love language is acts of service

she took literal ages to confess so she tried to communicate her feelings through actions. ie: carrying your books, walking you to class or back to your dorm

btw the confession wasnt smooth at all. she blurted it out in the middle of a study session with you, palms sweaty and shaky. 'hey, so um... i like.. like you, like a lot- wait can i start over?"

your first kiss was right then and there, she froze for a solid five seconds but when you pulled away she was cheesing so hard

even if your doing a different major than her, she'll offer to proof-read your homework just because she can (and she likes it)

enjoys making your lunch (i also feel like shed be one of those people who disguise broccoli in brownies)

at first she was kinda shy about physical touch dont get me wrong, she loves her muscles but she also doesnt wanna hurt you by accident. like if shes hugging you shell ask 'too tight?' before settling in

at some point she wanted to cut her hair but ultimately kept it long since you loved to braid it so much

I KNOW FOR A FACTTT she follows the sidewalk rule like her life depends on it

if your leaving the dorm (coz ofc your sharing it now) she watches out the window for a min to make sure your good wherever ur going.

if ur sleeping in the same bed, in winter shes amazing but in summer your probably gonna wanna sleep on the couch coz that woman is a human heater

NSFW

she talks a big game but gets completely flustered when it comes down to it

SOFT DOMMM

doesnt matter if its the 50th time shes seen you naked, shes reacting like its the first. always mutters a lil 'goddamn' when the bra comes off

i feel like shes a boob kinda girl

only had one other experience before you (ow*n) but she never really enjoyed it

reads up on the female body and how to illicit more extreme orgasms and follows it to the letter until the one time she got way too lost in the pussy and went off-script, suckling at your clit like a baby getting breastfed. you ended up cumming super hard and she decided to perchance do what she felt in the moment next time.

super attentive to your reactions, if you seem to particularly like something she'll log it into her brain like data for next time

careful with her strength but if you tell her you want it rough, your gonna get rough so be prepared

if shes strapping you down, she ends up lifting you somehow without noticing, lifting your hips off the bed, your legs hooked over her arms while she pounds you against the wall.

likes having you on top too though, especially if shes tired. she'll happily lay back and grip your hips, letting her hands occasionally drift to your tits.

if your both up to it, she'd also be happy to film the two of you having sex. of course shed never share it, just save it for if your apart during a long night.

has a thing for nasty tongue kissing while she thrusts into you

shes got a sensitive spot right under her left ear, kissing it is like a button to get her flustered

loves it when you scratch her back, matter of fact, the next day she'll purposely wear a tank top with the back kinda cut out iykwim so people can see the marks

isnt meticulous about shaving so she has a bit of a bush, not that you mind

if shes feeling subby, she'll let you tie her wrists lightly while you eat her out or finger her or whatever you wanna do to her

HATES getting edged. may i repeat she HATES being edged.

overstimulation on the other hand... especially if shes stressed or something. your girl is just so smart her brain just needs a break from thinking for a while

loves when you eat her pussy while making her keep eye contact with you

AFTERCARE

if she was submissive, she's like a pile of mush after sex, mumbling shit and shed grab you if you try to leave the bed.

lay with her for a little bit then gently guide her up with you and clean her up in the bathroom

likes to have her hair washed after sex

she definately sweats a lot after sex especially if she was strapping so she needs to have a shower either way

'was that okay? did i hurt you? gimme a minute ill get you some water- or do you wanna wash first?'

likes having you in the tub with her so she can hold you against her chest from behind while she kisses your temple.

after that you guys sleep like babies

A/N if you couldnt tell i rlly love abby anderson

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 IV

Part I Part II Part III Part V

Wow, can't believe this was just a concept idea and this is part IV XD Part V may be the end but I'm not entirely sure. Don't get your hopes up for a part VI

Also, some of y'all wanted a tag list soo (Did my best but I couldn't @ some of you-)

Tag: @redkarmakai @erikasurfer @szapizzapanda @kore-of-the-underworld @imhere2dosomething @pastel-mouse @cooki3dough @naina326 @peptox @ladylupuscrow @confused-they @megasweetbones @1-800-crazy @lillian-morningstar @butterflycardigann

CW: Mention of past kidnapping, bar fight, blood, "death" and lab testing. Self-harm (Reader testing their ability). Gun shot and injury.

After you finally get Richard Grayson off your windowsill, you can sit down and eat

What makes him think that he can just walk into your life?! And with him being a vigilante, he most definitely could have saved you all that time ago! 

To clear your head, you try to remember what happened before you found yourself in your “brother’s” apartment. 

You and your friends wanted to go to a bar before college started…….a fight happened….How are your friends?! Did classes start already?! 

Opening your group chat with your friends, there are some messages about the bar fight, Red Hood, and how they’d visit you in the hospital

When making your message for the chat, you lie about being discharged from the hospital and ask if classes have already started

Your friends are so kind and update you on everything that has happened since you were in the hospital

The fall semester has begun but you should have an excuse because you were in the hospital

With some help, you were able to email all your professors about your absence and just hope they don’t drop you from the classes

Also hope they don’t ask for any documents from the hospital to confirm that you were there.

After a bit of rambling, you and your friends log off the group chat for the night. You never told them about what actually happened to you or what you found out about Nightwing, Red Hood, etc.

The information is difficult for you to process. Your whole family are famous vigilantes and no one came to save you when you were kidnapped. 

And Nightwing, he really was your first friend in Bludhaven and it always hurts to lose someone close

But he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve your attention and time when he abandoned you just like the rest of the family.

You would have been dead if it wasn't for this weird thing that keeps your heart beating!

Maybe it would be a good idea to test this “power” of yours. You’ve died twice now and it seems that it takes a couple of days to heal and regain consciousness

Just for a small test, you make a small cut on your finger and watch it heal right before your eyes. You were hesitant to do these tests at first but this is also fascinating

Another cut is but a little bigger and it takes a little longer to heal. 

This continues a few times before you can have an idea of how long it takes for your body to heal itself. 

Once you’re done, you decide to go to sleep again and wait until it’s morning

Back at the manor, Tim has been hard at work. Making multiple plans that will end with you coming back home

Some are more intense than others but it can't be helped if you decide to be difficult 

Tim has also spent a lot of time researching your “powers”

Back when Dick saved you from that thief, Tim took the knife with your blood on it for research

Some interesting findings can be helpful if all else fails

It’s around noon when you wake up and your professors responded to your emails

They say that you’re allowed to keep your classes but there is a lot of classwork to catch up on

After eating some lunch, you sit down and look over all the work you’ve got to do. That is a lot….

You spend all day struggling and planning how you’ll get help

The next day, you decide to go to class. You go a little early because you knew you’d likely be lost

Luck seems to be on your side because you’re able to find your classroom! 

Walking inside, you talk to the professor and they tell you about a project for pairs

Thankfully, you’ve already been assigned a pair so you won’t be alone. You do feel bad about not being here to help though 

The professor points you in the direction of your partner and you introduce yourself. The moment your pair looks at you, your mood immediately takes a 180

Why is Tim Drake in your class? Doesn’t he go to a college in Gotham or something?

You pretend to be polite until the professor walks away and you glare at your partner while he just smiles at you

When you sit next to Tim, you try to sit as far away from him but he just moves closer

Before you can argue with him, the professor starts talking about the assignment for the day

You try to do the assignment alone but immediately get lost and you reluctantly accept Tim’s offers to help

Tim’s explanations were quite helpful and you both finished quite quickly. The room is filled with chatter so you take this moment to interrogate your “brother”

He gives vague answers to your questions but is sure to mention that he didn't want to leave his “sibling” by themself

Before you can respond, Tim cuts you off by saying he has something for you

You watch him carefully as he shows you a familiar item

Your phone

You instinctively reach for it but Tim stops you by grabbing your wrist

Glaring at Tim and his smiling face, he says he’ll give your phone back if you’d go back to the manor for at least one night

Tim repositions his hand on your wrist to be your hands intertwined 

You try to remove your hand but Tim persists. It isn't until you decline his offer does he put your hand down

You’ve lived a couple of weeks now without your phone so there is no need for it. Plus, you plan to buy a new one later

Tim doesn’t mention the family for the rest of the class

When class is over, you immediately go to the library (Almost got lost) to finish more work 

You settle at an empty table near a window and take out your laptop. Of course, it doesn't take long for you to struggle with the assignment and begin feeling annoyed

(Un)Luckly, Tim has found you and offered to help

With his help, you’re able to complete a few assignments before you have another class to go to

Tim invites you to the manor again but you still decline him

You only have two classes today so you hope to get home as soon as possible before running into Tim again

This repeats for a couple of more days

Everyday, you always have Tim in one of your classes

Tim attempts to bribe you to go to the manor with him, with your phone, playing games together, some other stuff you didn’t pay attention to

At least he never bribed you with his help on your classwork. Even after you catch up on old assignments, there are just so many concepts to understand

It’s annoying but Tim has successfully squeezed himself into your life by constantly being around

Something seems to have changed though because you notice Tim has started to leave you alone more

You don’t know why but would rather not question it. He’s a vigilante, right? He probably has some work to defeat a villain or something, you can literally care less about what Tim does

One day, you’re with your friends to participate in an event on campus. There are supposed to be games and free food so why not

Before the event began, there was a speech from the sponsor of the event

The sponsor is a lab group of some kind, promoting the study of life and encouraging new findings. You don’t know what it is but something about them sends a shiver down your spine

When the speech ends, you and your friends play a few games when a person from the sponsor stopped by

You all talk a bit and answer some minor questions before the person goes to a different group of people

At the end of the event, your friends offer to drop you off at home but you decline. You don’t live that far away and you also have pepper spray to keep yourself safe

While walking a person blocks your path. It’s that same sponsor person from the event

They go into more detail about the lab group they’re in, researching life and all

You do your best to remain calm, not showing your disturbance by their sudden presence

That is until they point out how there was a bar fight in the area and a victim went missing

A victim that looks exactly like you, covered in bruises and cuts, bleeding so much that the hospital wouldn’t be able to save them

Yet here you are, in perfect condition

This is when they finally reveal their intentions, wanting to figure out how you escape death

Offering a place in the lab group as a researcher and totally not a test subject

You pretend to consider their offer while carefully taking your pepper spray out of your pocket

It seems the person planned for this because they quickly take out and shoot at your hand holding the pepper spray

Terrified, you immediately make a run for it

You’re filled with so much adrenaline that you can't hear the person shout and the other gunshots that nearly miss you 

Running through multiple alleyways, something suddenly grabs you and pulls you into an almost pitch-black area

Things move quickly as an arm wrap around your waist, a whirling sound is suddenly hear above you, your feet leave the ground, and now you’re on a rooftop

You almost collapse once this new random person releases you from their hold

No longer in a dark alley, you can finally see who this new person is

Red Robin 

He gives you some time to catch your breath and calm down, putting his grappling gun back on his utility belt

Once your heart rate slows to a normal pace, you’re quick to show your annoyance at seeing the vigilante

Red Robin just seems to smile at you, not showing how your words affect him in any way

When you finally give Red Robin a chance to speak, he goes straight to the point

He admits to leaking some information to that lab group, just wanting you to see how you can live on your own

Even if Red Robin didn’t tell the lab group about your ability, they would have found out eventually 

That’s what happened to your mother after all

The vigilante then gives you two options

You can go with the research team and be tested on for the rest of your life or you can have a life back at the manor

Hell, there is a chance that your family of vigilantes can find and save your mother. Allowing you to reunite

As long as you returned home

With your two options, you find yourself back at Dick’s apartment

Dick bandaging up your hand, Jason carrying a box with stuff from your apartment, and Tim contacting Bruce

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Worst option; Optimus walks in on Soundwave and Shockwave with the reader as they're fucking

Like, sure, he knows they're safe now, no issue there

But Soundwave reads his mind and suddenly, Optimus is considerably less safe than before

He's very sorry about his sweaty censor bar thoughts. Soundwave wishes bots and cons alike would stop perving on his S/O, they're married ffs, and tbh he doesn't want to see that. He did not need those images in his head

Bout to go blitzo nuts on this

Soundwave x reader, gender neutral AFAB reader, racially ambiguous, slight Optimus Prime x reader, fingering, size kink, creampie, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Optimus was a guest as strange as that sounds. Him and the Autobots were guests to Megatron and his lackeys as the two sort out this whole ordeal.

The Autobots kidnapped you with the best intentions. You were cooped up in Shockwave’s lab by yourself. How could Mirage not be led to believe you were one of the sick scientist’s test subjects? Your kicking and screaming was strange but surely that must just be the trauma from what you went through!

The way you begged to be let back to your husbands surely must just be some form of Stockholm syndrome or perhaps some sort of meddling inside of your mind done by Soundwave?

Wait.

Husbands?

The whole ordeal turned from the Autobots feeling heroic in rescuing a sweet human to the horror of realization when Ratchet tested the ring on your finger; spark casing from two different mechs.

Now Optimus had to clean up this entire mess for the sake of the Autobots’ PR as well as trying to deescalate the war further and figure out what to do with Shockwave’s research. Research he caught Wheeljack’s cooling fans blaring over. While Powerglide had Astoria and it was no secret that they were sexually active with each other, actual research on interspecies relationships between Cybertronians and humans was brand new.

What would happen if the greater human population heard word of this? Cybertronians sexual deviants who only came to earth to pray on helpless humans? You a traitor to your species and planet to court not one but two Decepticons? The whole thing was a meas that made Optimus’ processor ache.

He wanted nothing more than to visit the showers and wash the day off of his plating then return to his assigned habsuite with his fellow Autobots and plan for another stressful day filled with perverted allegations.

While Optimus’ processor mulled over the travesty that was the WaveWave Husband Scandal, as Bumblebee had named it, he didn’t pay much attention to which door he opened until he was greeted with a sight that would forever be burned into his optics.

Soundwave lounged on a berth with his slick coated spike flopped out of his modesty plate and onto his thigh. You were snug against his frame with your legs spread so wide little was left to the imagination. Two blue metal digits from the servo of the same arm that was supporting your body against Soundwave’s pushed in and out of your squelching hole.

You were so wet Optimus wasn’t sure if the human body was capable of safely producing fluids to such a capacity until he saw the ring of pink all too familiar fluid leak around Soundwave’s digits. Soundwave was fucking his own release back into your pretty little hole.

“Your performance was excellent,” Soundwave cooed into your ear. His mask was slipped away into his helm so he could lay soft kisses across your face and torso.

“Please!” You cried with your head thrown back.

“I will keep you stretched for Shockwave’s return,” Soundwave groaned before biting into your side.

You whined out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Too much.” Despite how pained you sounded you humped Soundwave’s fingers as they dipped and swam around in your thoroughly used hole.

You were beautiful.

Optimus understood the appeal of humans and understood why so many of the Autobots were now interested in pursuing interspecies relationships much like Powerglide. Humans were so small and soft. Cute fuzzy bodies that look like that could barely handle being spiked down by a minibot. But seeing this copulation between Cybertronian and human right before him, Optimus couldn’t help the greedy thoughts that pushed aside his stressful day and replaced it with images of you stretched beyond belief and begging for his overload.

“We were so worried,” Soundwave purred giving you a harsh thrust of his fingers. “We were led to believe you were offlined by a fellow Decepticon or by the Autobots.”

Optimus would never. He would never lay a finger on your precious head. Not when you continued to make such cute noises. Please keep sounding like that while he pushes his spike to the base inside you. Your soft stomach extending to make room for such a large intrusion. Optimus imaged laying his servo over your torso like a blanket and feeling how he shifted the insides of your body with his cock.

“I was so scared,” you whined grabbing onto whatever part of Soundwave you could.

Scared? Of the Autobots? Optimus felt a sharp twinge in his spark at the idea. He never wanted to scare you. He never wanted to see any human hurt or scared by his kind. Optimus only wanted to see your face smiling up at him as you shiver in delight through your orgasm. Your own juices gushing like they are now but mixed with his own release instead of-

Suddenly a thought that wasn’t his own permeated through Optimus’ mind. A feeling of pure rage and unadulterated lust for violence.

His panicked optics made contact with the glaring red of Soundwave’s visor.

The mech pulled you closer to his frame and sat up straight bringing his other servo to cover your nude form.

“Prime,” the way Soundwave growl echoed in his helm made Optimus’ battle protocols twitch in preparation for a confrontation.

You still remained unaware of the psychic confrontation happening before you. Your hips still pushed and gyrated against Soundwave’s fingers like it was the only movement you knew.

The leader of the Autobots put his servos up in a calming motion as he backed away hoping you wouldn’t turn and be frightened by his presence.

As gently as a 20 foot mech could, Optimus backed out of the habsuite letting the metal door slip closed with an electric hum.

The noise made you perk up believing Shockwave had returned but you were only met with an empty room where your other lover’s purple form should have been.

“Wha-“ you were cut off by Soundwave trailing his glossa up your chest.

“Nothing to worry about,” Soundwave mumbled between kisses to your skin. He rubbed the spongy spot at the top of your vaginal walls making you buck your hips and moan out his name.

You had been through enough involving the Autobots. All Soundwave wanted for you was to have you writhing in desperate pleasure.

[societyfolklore]

Will u do a part 2 for “open for me” with new tech? THIS HAS TO EH MY FAV TONY X YN STORY EVER

I know this took a while..

Controlled Input

Title: Controlled Input Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader Summary: You're the most put-together woman at the Stark Gala. Until the StarkTech prototype inside you starts pulsing to Tony's voice in your ear. You knew he had plans tonight. You just didn’t know they included orgasm denial, public humiliation, and a ruined orgasm in the elevator. Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: 18+ / Explicit content Minors DNI,  Orgasm denial,  Remote control vibrator,  Public sex kink, Ruined orgasm,  Exhibitionism, Power play, Possessive dirty talk, Voice kink, Teasing & Control,  StarkTech smut, Slight degradation, Smutty unprotected sex AN: This idea was originally one I did plan for the Orgasm Denial Square for the AAkinky bingo, but went with the Loki idea instead... kinda feel it does work for the part 2.. (I'll let you be the judge of that

The Stark Gala was its usual mess of elegance and ego: Manhattan skyline glittering beyond glass walls, lights refracting off thousand-dollar gowns, champagne flutes clinking with laughter that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

You looked perfect. Sleek satin gown in a shade Tony had once called ‘fuck-me red’ diamond drop earrings, and heels high enough to make your legs look long without making you wobble.

No one here had any idea what you were hiding under that dress. But he did.

Tony Stark stood on the other side of the ballroom, sipping champagne, charm weaponized. His tux was classic. Sharp. Clean lines and reckless magnetism. He looked like a man capable of breaking rules and making you beg for more.

Your ear buzzed.

"Comms test," came his voice, smooth as sin. "You hearing me, sweetheart?"

Your breath caught. "Loud and clear."

"Good girl."

The moment you heard it, that indulgent, knowing tone right before the device inside you stirred to life.

It was small. A slim internal prototype he'd insisted on installing personally in the lab just before, licking his fingers clean afterward and telling you not to be late. Made of surgical-grade silicone, moulded precisely to your shape, The prototype wasn’t just nestled inside you. It felt like two of his fingers had been left behind, curled up inside. The base sat snug between your parted folds, flush as if the palm of Stark’s hand still cupped you. Each embedded sensor tracked every twitch, flutter, and subtle contraction from within, and that special watch around your wrist picked up all the biometric data he could ask for.

"Remember, you can't come right away. Got to test this little invention out properly…" Tony murmured, voice like silk and sin, just as the toy shifted inside you, the tip of the toy felt like it moved under the silicone skin, gentle pulsing rubs up against that bundle of nerves.

Your lips parted. You swallowed the gasp with a practiced smile, nodding at a photographer who snapped a couple of shots all while the toy pulsed gently inside you. Deep and slow. Measured. A warning shot.

Tony chuckled in your ear. "That one was level two. Think you can handle level six in heels?"

The words slithered through your earpiece just as your hand tightened instinctively around your clutch, knuckles white. Your breath hitched, a subtle gasp escaping before you could swallow it down. As if on cue, the toy inside you responded switching from that teasing thrum to a deeper, rolling vibration that pressed up against your g-spot, making your thighs twitch beneath your gown.

Your calves flexed as you struggled to walk in a straight line, making a proper effort to move naturally. The polished floor shimmered beneath the lights, and the faint chime of clinking glass cut through the ambient music. A spotlight drifted lazily across the room, illuminating sequined dresses and sharp suits as you passed. Deep breaths... Focus on something, anything else but the feeling.

You stood by the bar, fingers wrapped too tightly around your flute, trying to keep your knees from locking.  Then the toy shifted, not just a vibration, but movement. A slow, deliberate pressure rolled inside you, like something stirring. The tip curled slightly, nudging your g-spot in a pulsing rhythm that made your thighs tighten and your walls flutter involuntarily. It was a firm, focused pressure, the kind that sent sharp sparks of pleasure rippling up your spine and left you clenching around the toy in helpless response. Slick heat pooled deep, your body aching to be filled, to grind down onto that exact point of contact until the pressure tipped you over but Tony wouldn’t allow that. Not yet. Just as you adjusted to that, a voice broke through your focus.

"Hey! I thought that was you."

You turned sharply, heart skipping a beat- not from the voice, but the toy that chose that exact moment to flutter across your clit. It felt like a pulse and roll, like a mechanical exhale brushing over your nerves in waves.

The woman in front of you looked vaguely familiar. Blonde. Bright smile. Maybe... Grants department?

"Hi," you managed, blinking through the heat. "Sorry, I- "

"Didn’t mean to startle you," she laughed. "I'm Rachel. We spoke on the funding alignment last quarter? You were amazing in that meeting."

You nodded, hoping your smile passed for polite instead of strained. Every inch of your body felt like it was vibrating, your knees barely holding.

Inside, the toy curled again. A long, slow drag against your g-spot that nearly buckled your knees. As if sensing you were distracted, it pulsed harder then stilled for a half-second.

Rachel kept talking. Something about budget reallocations. You nodded along, praying to every god Tony hadn’t hacked the volume up again.

He had.

A sudden, subtle hum thrummed through your core. Then the base of the toy shifted slightly against your clit, teasing the lips apart to apply more direct pressure. You could feel it those whispering rollers, like little metal bearings spinning under silk, brushing your clit with maddening, teasing precision. Each pass sent heat jolting through your core, a wicked, circling pressure that made your clit throb and your legs tremble. It wasn’t just stimulation, it was torment, perfectly calibrated to keep you swollen, needy, and seconds from falling apart.

Your breath hitched. Rachel didn’t notice.

"We’re actually opening another round of disaster relief grants next month," she said, eyes sparkling. "If you have time to consult, I’d love to put your name in."

"Yes," you gasped too quickly. "I mean, that’d be great. That sounds great."

Tony's voice slid across your earpiece, like honey down your spine. "Smile, baby. Don’t be rude."

Across the room, Tony tapped something on his phone. A slow smirk pulling at his lips.

The toy fluttered fast against your clit. The g-spot stim went deep. Then everything stopped. Restarted. It felt like a rhythmic chant of need and denial. A full-body sync that had your thighs twitching under your dress.

"Wonderful," Rachel said, utterly unaware. "I’ll send something through next week. Enjoy the rest of the gala!"

You watched her walk away. Trembling. Glowing with shame. The toy buzzed slower now, drawing out each pulse like it was savoring the tension.

Your breath came hard and shallow. You couldn’t remember if you’d even blinked during the entire conversation. The heat between your legs was molten.

Then, softly, in your ear:

"Come here."

The toy responded with every step you took. The floor was dense with bodies and polite expectation. Each small hello, each handshake, each coworker who stopped to compliment your gown or mention the quarterly report became its own personal torture.

You smiled. Nodded. Struggled to keep your breaths shallow. And every time you were delayed, every time someone said your name, asked for a minute, held your elbow to steer you into conversation.

Each time your path was blocked, the toy responded like it was wired to your frustration. Deep internal throbs. Featherlight clit flickers that danced maddening circles over your swollen bud. Your walls fluttered helplessly, slick and aching around the relentless toy. Every pulse dragged slick arousal down your thighs, every flick across your clit made your hips twitch with the urge to grind down against it- desperate for friction, for more, for permission. A maddening spiral of stimulation that had you gripping desperately to hold it back, your body trembling on the edge with no way to fall.

When you finally reached him, the muscles in your thighs were tight from restraint. Your face burned with effort and shame.

He didn’t even look at you at first, just took a slow sip of his drink. Then, gently, his hand brushed the small of your back.

You shuddered.

"Took your time," he murmured. "Was that rude of me, darling?"

You pulse and the toy rewarded you with another deep throb that made your knees knock, your hand flying out to grab his thigh next to you, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit pants. You squeezed, needing something- anything- to anchor you as the sensation speared through your core.

"...Tony..." Was all you managed to gasp out, voice trembling, barely audible over the soft music drifting through the ballroom.

He turned just slightly, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "Shhh," he whispered, dragging the sound out like silk. "You’re doing so well."

Friday's voice chimed in again, sharp and indifferent to your struggle. "Cervical contact pressure escalating. Pulse rhythm confirmed. User pelvic tension increasing. Lubrication levels continue to rise. Core temperature 1.4 degrees above baseline."

You whimpered, pressing your thighs together instinctively, but it only made things worse. The toy responded to pressure, he designed it that way. Every squeeze fed it more data. Every twitch made it pulse harder.

You swayed a little in your heals as the Mayor of New York started his speech. 

Tony smiled, whispering against your ear again, voice thick with smug amusement. "What did I just say about behaving, sweetheart? You’re acting like you want everyone to see you fall apart. Is that what you want? You want to be my pretty little mess in front of everyone?"  You shook your head, but the heat between your thighs told a different story.

Tony's voice was a low buzz against your ear. "Biofeedback shows me everything, baby. I thought you'd enjoy this little game."

"Just enjoying the party," you said sweetly, managing a smile as a board member turned to give Tony a small wave.

"Liar," Tony spoke through his forced smile waving back. "You're dripping, aren't you? Let me check." You tried not to panic. Only relaxing when he pulled out his phone instead of shoving his hand through the slit in your dress. 

Tony looked down at his phone. Then the toy throbbed hard. Once. Twice. A deeper pulse that had your knees nearly buckling.

"Oh yeah," he hummed. "Slippery little thing, aren’t you?"

The mayor launched into an anecdote about disaster relief. You clamped down harder, trying not to feel the slick heat sliding down your thighs.

Friday's voice cut through the comms, clinical as ever. "Lubrication levels elevated. Heart rate 114 BPM. External tremors detected in quadriceps."

Tony laughed. You could hear the ice clink in his glass.

"Keep clenching, baby. Every squeeze makes it worse. And if you cum before I say so? We're doing this again. In front of the Avengers."

You bit the inside of your cheek. And just like that, he left you alone- quivering, the mayor’s voice a haze in your ears. You stood frozen for a moment, your whole body tense, throat dry. Then the sound of applause snapped you back, and somehow you made it twenty more minutes.  You moved around more, drifting from group to group with a flute in hand, laughing too hard at bad jokes, sipping champagne you barely tasted. Your core pulsed in rhythm with the toy, and you swore it knew every time you tried to relax. During a brief conversation with Maria Hill, you prayed she wouldn’t comment on the sweat clinging to your back or the glazed look in your eyes. Each passing minute felt like a test and Tony was tracking every answer.

As you smiled and nodded through more pleasantries, your thighs flexed with every low throb from the device buried inside you. The weight of it, the heat, the pressure; it was getting harder to stay poised. Harder to hide that you were dripping.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could last before Tony appeared beside you again, his presence a gravitational shift.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His hands stayed respectfully high, but his tone was anything but innocent. "Looking a little flushed."

"It’s warm in here," you whispered, breath catching slightly.

"Mhm." He leaned in, the scent of whiskey and cedar curling around you like silk. His breath ghosted over your ear. "Let’s take this upstairs. You’ve got five minutes to hold it. Think you can manage that - or should I keep edging you in the elevator?"

Your mouth went dry. The toy pulsed once, sharp, deliberate- like it wanted to hear your answer too.

He guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, polite nods exchanged like nothing was wrong like you weren’t soaked and shaking and seconds from crumbling. The elevator ride up to the penthouse was pure, silent torture.

Tony didn’t touch you at first. He leaned against the wall like a man waiting on a taxi- casual, collected, maddening. His eyes dragged down your body, pausing where your thighs trembled and your hand gripped the railing too tightly.

Then the doors slid shut. And the toy surged to life.

A low, grinding pulse dragged across your g-spot, slow and deliberate. Beneath it, the rollers under the base reawakened, circling your clit with maddening precision, each flick like the kiss of heat lightning.

You staggered slightly, jaw slack, chest rising in shallow gasps. Your heels wobbled beneath you, and one hand flew out, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the air before catching the railing for balance. The other clutched your clutch bag like it might tether you to reality. "Please," you breathed, voice shaking, not even sure what you were asking for. Relief? Permission? Mercy?

Tony tilted his head. "Sensitive already? Thought this was supposed to be a test, not a total meltdown."

You whimpered, clutching the railing harder. "It’s too much."

"You say that every time I’m right."

Your thighs closed and the toy responded; a firmer roll that nearly made your knees buckle. You bit your lip, tried to hold still, but every shift of your body only triggered a new surge. 

Tony pushed off the wall and circled behind you, standing close but not touching. His breath ghosted over your neck. "You're really going to fall apart in here, huh? I barely even touched you."

You shook your head. You couldn’t remember anything but this- his voice, the toy, the ache. .

"T-Tony- "

"What is it, sweetheart? Want me to turn it off? Or do you want to come?"

The toy pulsed again, firmer. You nearly dropped to your knees.

Friday’s voice buzzed into your ear, unfeeling and cold. "Orgasm threshold: 96%. Clitoral sensitivity: critical. User response: unstable."

"You're about to make a mess in here, aren't you?" Tony asked, one hand ghosting down your back. "After all that control you showed tonight... this is how you want to end it?"

You sobbed out a breath, your body twitching as you tried to hold it back. Your muscles were locking up, desperate to release. Your cunt milking so tightly around the toy you could feel your slick coating everything, dripping, pulsing.

"Let go," he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. "Come for me, baby. Right here."

You didn’t have a choice. The orgasm hit like a crash. You came so hard it stole the air from your lungs. The toy didn’t slow, it thrummed right through you, drawing the orgasm out, making your hips jerk and your thighs shake.

You sobbed into the space between you, forehead pressed to the mirror paneling as your body finally gave in.

Every tease from the night, all the near-misses and false starts- had sharpened your nerves to glass. You weren’t just desperate now. You were raw.

Tony let out a soft hum, watching you fight for control. "Poor thing. You lasted all night just to lose it in a metal box."

Your hips jerked forward involuntarily. The pressure was unbearable, too much and not enough all at once. You tried to breathe, but it was like every muscle in your body was clenching, trying to trap that orgasm and force it back. But you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

Tony watched you shake, one brow lifted. His hand slid lightly down your spine, resting just above your ass.

"There you go," he murmured with a smile. "Perfect little toy isn't it." 

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Tony stepped out first, unhurried, already tugging the knot of his tie loose as he walked toward the sunken living room. You followed a half-step behind, legs shaky, your hands fluttering at your sides like they didn’t know where to land.

He dropped the tie over the back of the couch and leaned against it, rolling his sleeves up with the lazy precision of a man who knew he had time- and control. You tried to straighten up, but your body still trembled from the elevator, nerves misfiring beneath your skin.

He looked at you. Really looked.

And then reached for his belt.

The soft whisper of leather sliding through loops made your breath catch.

"You think you earned it, sweetheart? After that little display?"

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your knees dipped but you stopped yourself. Instead, you stepped forward, trembling, drawn to him like gravity.

Tony pulled the belt free in one clean motion, but didn’t drop it. Instead, he let it hang loose at his side while the other hand slid up beneath the slit of your dress, fingers brushing over the soaked curve of your mound the firm base of the toy still pressed against your clit.

"Still sensitive?" he murmured.

You gasped, nodding faintly, and reached for the back of your dress. The zipper came down with a low hum. Silk pooled to the floor.

Tony’s eyes dragged down your body as his foot nudged your legs farther apart. "Hold still," he said, lowering himself to his knees.

His fingers found the base of the toy, tugging slowly. Your cunt locked down, not wanting to let it go. The stretch was sudden and overwhelming, your muscles fluttering from overstimulation.

Tony smiled as he eased it free.

He brought the toy to his lips and licked it once, slowly, deliberately, like he had back in the lab when he’d tasted you from his fingers.

Then he leaned in and gave your pussy the same treatment.

You gasped, thighs quaking.

"Taste test complete," he said smoothly, rising to his feet.

He sank down onto the couch, shoving his suit pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock- thick, flushed, glistening at the tip. He set the toy on the side table like a prized instrument, then reached for your hand and pulled you gently between his legs.

"Come here."

You climbed into his lap, straddling him as he settled back, the heat of his body radiating through his shirt where your chest pressed flush to him.

He hissed through his teeth as your slick folds met the thick weight of him. “Fuck. Love it when you’re ready for me, sweetheart. All wet and aching.”

You nodded, breathless, hips shifting with need as the swollen head of his cock slid through the mess between your thighs, nudging teasingly at your entrance. The anticipation crackled like static under your skin.

You sank down slow, gasping at the first tight push, your body stretching wide to take him. The pressure was exquisite, a burn that made your toes curl and your fingernails dig into his shoulders. Inch by inch, your cunt gave way, fluttering, clenching around the intrusion as your walls adjusted to his size.

“Fuck,” he groaned, jaw tighten, watching you with heat-darkened eyes. “Still so tight. Can feel you dripping around me already.”

He filled you to the hilt, every inch of him locked deep inside, your cunt flushed and snug around him like you were made for this- made for him. The stretch pushed against that swollen, tender ache inside you, and your whole body shuddered, overwhelmed, but greedy for more.

You braced yourself, pressing your chest to his as your arms curled around his neck. The fabric of his shirt was still warm, slightly rough against your peaked nipples. His arc reactor pressed firm against your sternum, cool metal in contrast to the fever between your legs.

You moved slowly at first, tiny, aching rolls of your hips, each one sending sparks through your overstimulated body. His hands slid up your thighs to your hips, fingers digging in.

"That's it, baby," he rasped, jaw tight as he watched your face. "Use me. Just like that."

You moaned into his neck, body rocking in tight, desperate circles. Every drag of his cock sent another ripple through your still-sensitive walls. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the pressure, the heat.

"Fuck, you're perfect like this," he growled, pulling you down harder. "Wrecked and still hungry for more."

You found your rhythm, hips rolling and lifting with slow, needy grace, every thrust slick and  frictionless, each motion more desperate than the last. He filled you so deep it made your eyes flutter, your core tightening around him as you chased your own edge again.

Your hands tightened behind his neck, your chest pressed flush to his. The rough brush of his shirt against your nipples sent jolts through you, sharp and distracting, as if your entire body was made of open nerve endings. His cologne; amber and ozone, it clung to your skin, dizzying.

Tony’s gaze never left you. Possessive. Lidded. He watched your face like he was cataloguing each flutter of your lashes, each trembling moan. “Look at me when you cum,” he murmured, voice thick and hungry. “Let me see how pretty you get when you fall apart.”

You whimpered into his neck, grinding harder, the sound of your slick body meeting his echoing obscenely off the penthouse walls. He was so deep, his cock dragging perfectly along that raw, oversensitive spot that had you sobbing out broken breaths against his skin.

His hands slid from your hips to your ass, holding you open, guiding each movement with subtle force. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark, to claim. “Feel that? That’s me everywhere. All night and still not enough for you.”

Your orgasm crept closer, tighter, your body a lit fuse. Your arms locked around his neck, burying your face against his throat as you rode it out, hips stuttering, thighs trembling. Your cunt pulsed wildly around him, holding like you didn’t want to let him go.

Tony’s head dropped back against the couch, a ragged groan ripping from his throat. “Gonna fucking come- fuck, baby- ride it just like that.”

You were still grinding when he spilled into you, hips jerking up as he pressed you down, cock twitching deep inside. His moan was low, raw, shameless, his eyes glued to your face as you both came apart together, messy and breathless and utterly ruined.

Your head stayed tucked into the crook of his neck, your body soft and boneless against him, every part of you still twitching in the aftermath. Your thighs ached. Your walls still fluttered occasionally around his cock, overstimulated and stretched. The wet, obscene heat of where your bodies joined soaked into the expensive fabric under you, but Tony didn’t care. He didn’t shift. He didn’t pull out.

Instead, his hand rubbed soothing circles up your spine. “You handled that tech better than I thought you would,” he said, voice rough and amused.

You hummed, dazed. “That… wasn’t… a fair test.”

He grinned into your hair. “You’re right. But it made for great data. Friday’s got six orgasm threshold points, four biofeedback spikes, and two shamefully perfect audio samples.”

You groaned, burying your face deeper in his collar. “You recorded that?”

“Of course I did.” He tapped a knuckle lightly against the back of your neck. “For science.”

You shivered, not from cold. You were still sitting on him, his softening cock still buried inside you. He was growing hard again.

You felt it. So did he.

His hand slid down to your hip. “Round two?”

You lifted your head, eyes glassy but teasing. “I thought this was about the prototype.”

“It is.” He grabbed the toy from the side table and spun it between his fingers, still glistening. “Only now your pussy’s full, and I still have data to gather.”

He glanced down between your bodies, smirked, then lifted the toy thoughtfully. “How do you feel about… multitasking?”

Your breath hitched.

Tony guided the toy lower- not toward your clit this time, but behind you, his touch suggestive.

“Tony- ”

He didn’t press in. Not yet. Just let the slick head tease the sensitive rim as he whispered, “Shhh. Let’s see how well you handle a secondary input.”

You trembled, already fluttering around him, helpless against the idea.

“Still part of the test,” he added with a wink.

And just like that, the next phase began.

[brookghaib-blog]

Silence between hearts

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

Word count: 8,9k

--

The Jade Viper Bar - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - 11:47 PM

The humidity clung to Y/N's silk dress like a second skin as she paused beneath the flickering neon sign of The Jade Viper. The bar's crimson glow reflected in the puddles at her feet, staining the rainwater the color of diluted blood. Her fingers tightened around the beaded clutch in her hand—a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday, back when she still had hope that would care for her as his daughter.

"This is where you'll find what we need," Valentina had purred over the phone that morning, the sound of ice clinking in her glass audible even through the static. "Desperate men make the best test subjects, darling. And you? You look just innocent enough to reel one in."

Y/N exhaled through her nose, watching her breath disturb the thick, smoke-laden air as she pushed through the door.

The bar was a study in controlled chaos.

The scent of stale beer and sweat hit her first, followed by the acrid tang of something chemical burning in the backroom. A ceiling fan spun lazily above, doing nothing to dispel the heat that pressed against her skin like an unwanted touch. The led lights trying to make look more exquisite, loud music blowing the place, and multiple people just partying and enjoying the night life Malaysia had to offer.

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to her the moment she crossed the threshold.

She was a vision in emerald silk—too elegant, too clean for a place like this. The dress hugged her curves just enough to be dangerous, the slit up her thigh revealing a glimpse of skin that had several men shifting in their seats. Her heels clicked against the sticky floor as she made her way to the bar, the sound sharp as gunfire in the sudden hush.

The bartender—a grizzled man with a scar through his left eyebrow—watched her approach with the wary gaze of someone who'd seen beautiful things turn deadly.

"You lost, princess?" he asked, his voice rough as sandpaper. "You look like you're at the wrong place."

Y/N smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Not at all. I know exactly where I am." She slid onto a stool, the leather creaking beneath her. "Gin martini. Three olives."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. That kind of order didn't belong here.

As the bartender turned to make her drink, Y/N let her gaze wander across the room, cataloguing each potential candidate with clinical precision. Too aggressive. Too alert. Too healthy. She needed someone weak, easy, not much love for life. But also with strong body potential.

She needed this. For once she needed her project to work. Prove her father that she was succeful on her own, even after he sold it to Valentina, seeing his daughter's idea as a failure and unrreal theory that was a mistake of calculations by her brilliant mind. Her mind. That was what is important for him. For her to be someone he wants, smart enough, perfection at it's finest, inhuman if possible for the sake of results.

Even after so many deaths, the lab and all the project members kept going, mainly because of Valentina persistence, but also hers. She wants her creation to be real so she would be seen, so it could be hers and hers only. Even if it would work, Valentina would never have her weapon. It was her way of perfection and any human emotion would have to be pushed down. Not that she was raised with many. She was thought two things that were important, as someone in her field... and as a woman. Being the best, and being the prettiest. Be the perfect human that would be placed at the top of the chain.

Her father sold her project for money and because of his lack of faith on her science and calculations. But she knew, it was her way out.

Bob Reynolds wasn't hiding, but he might as well have been.

Curled into the darkest corner of the bar, he looked like a man trying to fold himself out of existence. His shoulders hunched forward protectively, hands shaking around a warm beer he couldn't afford to replace. When he lifted his head, the hollows beneath his eyes were deep enough to drown in.

Y/N watched his fingers twitch toward his jacket pocket for the tenth time in five minutes - searching for a fix that wasn't there. Golden Sentry withdrawal. She'd recognize the symptoms anywhere.

He startled when she slid into his booth, nearly knocking over his drink. "S-sorry," he mumbled automatically, eyes darting anywhere but her face. "This seat's... I mean, you probably..."

"What's you're name darling?" She pushed the untouched gin toward him.

He looks her in the eye, confused by her attention. "I'm Bob."

Y/N noted the sweat beading at his temples, the way his knee bounced uncontrollably. "You're shaking."

"Just cold."

In 90-degree heat.

She leaned forward slowly, giving him time to pull away. "I'm not heree to jugde anyone. What if I told you I could make it stop? The shaking. The cravings. All of it."

Bob flinched like she'd struck him. "Nothing makes it stop." His voice cracked. "I've tried everything."

"Not my treatment."

His laugh was a broken thing. "You some kind of doctor?"

"Exactly the kind you need. I can make you perfect Bob."

Bob's hands clenched around his glass. For a moment, she thought he might bolt. Then, so quiet she barely heard: "I don't have money lady?"

Y/N reached into her clutch. The business card trembled slightly in her grip - not from nerves, but the stifling heat. Or so she told herself.

"My name is Y/N," she said, pressing the card into his damp palm, "you're not paying a penny, you're receiving it. I'm very good at what I do, and looking at you, I can tell that you have the potential I'm looking for." She says closing and holding his hand. She really didn't have time to waste on him, but he looked easy to convince. A little reassurance, symphaty, seem interest and he will fold. He's lost. He just needed someone to care, and she knew exactly how to do it, because in the end, she knew it because she also desired it.

Looking at his eyes, and leaning towards him to indicate some type of attraction. Some type of need from him. "Or don't come, I'm just saying you have a solution. But if you want to just "party" and be who you are, that's fine. It's okay to live with now desires."

Bob looks at her hand still on top of his, and back to her. No doubt this lady was pretty, well-dressed, and her smell, God she smelt good. "I just... stop being hopefull for myself, it's ok really, I'm used to being me. It's all I've been all my life... Dr. Y/N."

She laughs, kinda finding funny the need for her label, he didn't knew her yet he already treated her as above him. Perfect. "I can change your being if you like, you can be someone knew. Someone you love."

"Where are you coming from? What's you story Dr.?"

She leans back, ready to start a conversation she definitely didn't have any interest, what type of drug addiction even cared about other people. She already knew the answer. He was a man and she was attractive. She already was disgusted, but he was a good candidate and she came a long way.

"I'm here working for a lab, a good one, and I'm a doctor there, investigating. But I was here and I had a free day, so why not go out...met a nice good looking man, you like that Bob?"

Bob blushed, being drowned by his shyness, not expeting the compliment from her. "I-I mean, yeah... You deserve it, you sound like you have an important job, that sounds exhausting. You deserve some time for yourself...but I...I'm not someone a woman like you would like to be seen... you're...too put together, and I'm...Bob."

He tried to laugh it off, telling his awful beliefs on himself while trying to make her go away. Not because he wanted to, but because she needed to, still feeling the effects of the drugs he took half an hour ago.

"I like Bob." She smiles, almost forced he thinks. But it was genuine, he was weak, no desires. Bob was about to become her creation, he was perfect for the role and she could not wait to make perfection out of him just so she could rub it in her father's face.

"I'm going to leave Bob, but I liked you, and I'm serious you should call the lab, I'll be there, it's just an experiment, you don't have to do anything or pay for nothing... just try something knew. Sometimes it's all you need. I'll make you put together too. You're too handsome to continue to be a waste of oxygen." She finishes her drink, never breaking eye contact.

Bob looked at her, half of him being perfectly lored by her words, and the other half being face by the reality of her thoughts that she was trying to hide all their conversation. A waste of oxygen.

"Bye Bob, see you tomorrow? Maybe after?" She holds his hand for the two seconds it took to spill that sentence, trying to be appealing, nice for him. Leaving and being out of the door in seconds, like she couldn't wait any more time to be out of that bar.

All that small and strange conversation to be appealing, to be persuasive. And what had convinced him was only one sentence that he wanted to turn into a lie. A waste of oxygen.

Outside, the monsoon rain had turned the streets to rivers.

Bob's voice echoed in her memory - that fragile hope beneath the suspicion. She'd heard it a hundred times in clinical trials. Seen it evaporate just as often.

Her phone buzzed.

"Did you find him?" Her father's voice was all sharp edges.

Y/N watched her reflection warp in a passing taxi's window. "I found a candidate."

"Good. Valentina wants him prepped by Thursday."

The call ended before she could reply.

Bob's hands had been shaking when he took her card. Not just from withdrawal - from fear. She'd seen the way his breath hitched when their fingers brushed, how he'd recoiled from his own reflection in the bar mirror.

Perfect.

Broken enough to say yes.

Strong enough to survive what came next.

Y/N stepped into the storm, letting the rain wash the bar's stench from her skin. Somewhere in the drowning city, Bob Reynolds was counting the minutes until his next fix.

She'd be there when he realized there wasn't one.

--

The phone's shrill ring shattered the predawn silence of Y/N's office. She'd been sitting in the same position for hours - back rigid against the leather chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin, watching the first gray fingers of dawn creep across Kuala Lumpur's skyline. The receiver felt unnaturally heavy when she lifted it.

"Y-yes?" A man's voice, frayed at the edges like torn fabric. "This is... this is Bob. From last night. You gave me..."

She heard the crumple of paper as he unfolded her business card for the hundredth time.

"I remember," Y/N said, her thumb tracing the edge of her research notes. The words Subject Acquisition: Phase One stared back at her in crisp black type.

There was a wet cough on the other end of the line, then silence. She could practically see him - slumped in some phone booth, picking at the scabs on his arms, the receiver slippery in his sweat-damp palm.

"I want to try," he finally whispered. "Your... your cure."

Y/N closed her eyes. Somewhere in the building, a centrifuge whirred to life. "Come to the address on the card. You can come now."

"Ahm.. I'm actually at the gate already."

--

Bob looked worse in daylight.

The fluorescent bulbs of Y/N's office exposed every ravage the meth had wrought - the yellowed nails, the scabs along his hairline, the way his left eyelid twitched uncontrollably. He sat perched on the edge of the guest chair like a bird ready to take flight, fingers picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

The room smelled of him now - stale smoke and unwashed skin, the chemical tang of desperation. Y/N's pristine world of glass beakers and stainless steel had been invaded by human decay.

"You're sober today," she observed, setting down a glass of water.

Bob's hands shook as he reached for it. "Twelve hours." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Longest in... I don't remember."

Y/N opened a drawer and slid a folder across the desk. Inside, glossy photos showed brain scans - a healthy one beside one ravaged by methamphetamine. Bob flinched.

"This is what you've done to yourself," she said. Then she flipped to another page. "This is what I can do."

The after images showed neurons reknitting, dopamine receptors blooming like flowers after rain. Bob's breath hitched.

"How?"

Y/N produced a small vial from her pocket. The liquid inside caught the light, glowing with an unnatural golden hue.

"Sentry," she said. "My creation."

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. Bob stared at the vial with the desperate hunger of a dying man offered salvation.

"You'll stay here," Y/N continued. "Two months of monitoring. Daily bloodwork. Cognitive tests." She leaned forward, close enough to smell the stale smoke in his hair. "But when we're done? No more cravings. No more shakes. A perfect mind in a perfect body."

Bob's knee bounced erratically. "Why me?"

The question hung between them. Y/N's gaze flickered to the drawer where she'd shoved her father's latest email - another demand for results, another veiled threat.

"The world needs better people," she said automatically. Then, softer: "And I need to prove I can make them."

Something shifted in Bob's face. His bloodshot eyes traced the tension in her shoulders, the white-knuckled grip she kept on her pen. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"You're what I need. I hope you can do it to me...and that people value you. I know I will Dr.."

The words struck Y/N like a physical blow. All her life - the stolen research, the sleepless nights, the desperate attempts to earn her father's approval - distilled into this single moment of unexpected recognition.

This broken man saw her. Not her father's daughter. Not Valentina's pawn.

Her.

This man...This unknown man she didn't even see as human. Gave her the one sentence she looked for. How could someone like him have more eyes that everyone around her.

"Yes Bob... Someone will value me, specially because of you."

--

Y/N was making her way to the lab room, Bob following her not much behind, looking around curious.

Reaching the automatic glass doors, using her face to unlock them, looking back to check on Bob's presence, they reach a white room, full of screens, a bed, medical tools, and what appeared to be a skylight above it.

"I need you to change to these clothes, they are clean, there's a bag where you can put all of you other belogings, the staff will put them in the room where you will be staying." She walks around picking up what looked like hospital clothing and a small clear bag, handing them to him.

"Where ahm...where do I change?" Bob asked looking around for a door or a space where privacy could reach him.

"You change here, I will come back with the team where you're ready, take your time and breath, be calm." She says as she goes out of the room leaving Bob to stare at the clothes thinking about the outcome this will have, and anxiety reaching him.

He was quick changing into the clothes, wanting for this to pass quickly, anxious for his new change and her promises to be reached.

After just a couple of minutes, Y/N walks again into the room, speaking to the four people following her around, giving them indications and their new subject. All of them had what looked like files on their hands. Looking at him, through him. He was an experiment here. He was not a person, and their looks showed him that.

"Okay Bob, I will make this as quick as it can be, I need you to lay down for me, breath and relax, roll up your sleves." Y/N was already walking to him, a wheeled steel table with all her tools in it with her.

The staff waited for him to lay down, plugging the wires onto his body, being scanned by all the machines circulating the bed.

Waiting, Y/N was ready for the serum to be inserted.

The syringe gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Bob rolled up his sleeve, exposing a landscape of track marks and scar tissue. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as Y/N swabbed his forearm with alcohol.

"It'll hurt," she warned.

Bob's cracked lips twisted into something resembling a smile. "Everything does."

The needle slid in with barely a whisper. As she depressed the plunger, the golden serum disappeared into his ravaged veins. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—

Bob's back arched violently. The monitors behind them screamed their alarms as his heart rate spiked into dangerous territory. Y/N watched, transfixed, as golden veins spiderwebbed beneath his skin before fading back to blue.

When it was over, Bob lay panting on the tile, his sweat-slick hair plastered to his forehead. But when he lifted his head, his eyes - those impossibly blue eyes - were clearer than they'd been in years.

"What..." He flexed his fingers, marveling at their steadiness. "What did you do to me?"

Y/N reached out, almost against her will, and brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead. His skin burned beneath her touch.

"I saved you," she whispered.

And in saving him, perhaps herself.

--

The lights buzzed overhead, faint and cold, casting a pallid glow across the whitewashed walls. The room was small—bed, sink, a tray with untouched food—and reeked of bleach and sterilization. It wasn’t a hospital, not really. But it wanted to be.

Bob lay sprawled across the stiff mattress, limbs heavy, the back of his shirt clinging to his skin with sweat. His breath came slow and uneven, chest rising like it resented the work. The serum—it had burned. Not all at once, but like acid blooming beneath the surface, slow and invasive. Like it was trying to rewrite him from the inside out.

But he didn’t feel reborn.

He felt worse.

His mouth tasted like metal and old ash. Every joint ached. His thoughts, once too loud, now stuttered and faded like a dying signal. He couldn't tell if he was falling asleep or falling apart.

The door opened with a hiss.

No knock. No announcement.

She stepped inside like it was her own room—and maybe it was, in a way. Y/N didn’t look at the bed first. She looked at the monitors. The numbers. The notes clipped to a tablet she’d brought with her.

Only then did she glance down at him, curled slightly on his side, shirt sticking to his back, brow damp with fever-sweat.

“You’re still awake,” she said plainly. “Good.”

He stirred, barely.

His voice came out dry. “Didn’t realize... I had a curfew.”

She didn’t smile. She rarely did when it wasn’t performative. Instead, she walked across the room, heels clicking softly, stopping beside the bed without a hint of hesitation.

“How do you feel?” she asked, but there was no warmth in it. Just a checklist tone.

“Like I got hit by a truck full of glass and fire,” he muttered, groaning. “And maybe the truck reversed a few times.”

Y/N scribbled something on the tablet. “That’s to be expected. The serum forces rapid cellular restructuring. Pain is the first sign it’s working.”

He winced. “So… hurting means I’m lucky?”

“You’re alive,” she said curtly. “That’s lucky enough.”

She walked around the bed slowly, checking vitals on the wall display. Her movements were practiced, precise. Detached. Bob watched her through half-lidded eyes.

She didn’t ask if he needed water. She didn’t offer help.

“You should rest,” she said. “Testing begins in a few hours. We’ll need to see how your system is adapting.”

“Testing,” he repeated, voice cracked.

Y/N turned her gaze back to him. “Bloodwork. Endurance. Cognition. Neurological response. Physical output.”

She said it all like she was reading from a menu. He wasn’t a patient—he was a list of symptoms waiting to be documented.

Bob rolled onto his back, letting out a shaky breath.

“Does it usually feel like this?”

“No one’s gotten this far before,” she replied. “You’re my first functional subject.”

“...So the others...?”

She paused only briefly. “Dead. Or damaged beyond utility.”

Her words fell like stones into the silence.

Bob swallowed hard.

He could see it in her eyes, then. The truth she didn’t bother to hide. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t lucky. He was useful. A vessel. A second chance—for her, not for him.

“I thought you wanted to help people,” he whispered hoarsely.

Y/N looked at him evenly. “I want to perfect them.”

Then, more softly—almost to herself—she added, “And prove it.”

He frowned. “Prove it to who?”

But she was already turning away, walking back to the door.

“Rest, Robert,” she said without looking back. “You’ll need your strength.”

The door slid shut behind her, locking with a soft click.

Bob stared up at the ceiling, the white lights blurring in his vision. He felt small beneath them. Fragile.

And despite the serum coursing through his blood, despite the promise of perfection and power…

He had never felt more disposable.

--

The room was colder today.

Sterile, metallic, too white. It looked less like a lab and more like a crucible—where things were melted down, broken apart, and reforged into something unrecognizable. A theater of suffering dressed in stainless steel.

Bob stood in the center, shirtless, chest heaving, heart stuttering somewhere between exhaustion and fury. Electrodes clung to his skin like leeches. His veins bulged, dark and crawling, betraying the serum’s slow war through his body. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from something worse—a pressure building in his bones, coiling like a predator in his blood.

Y/N stood on the other side of the glass, arms folded. Immaculate as ever. Her lab coat fell like a cape, pristine, untouched by the sweat or blood of the man behind the glass.

“Begin endurance sequence,” she said flatly into the mic.

A low mechanical buzz stirred the floor. The assistant beside Bob—Harris, a younger man with the kind of condescending smirk that came from cushioned privilege—nodded without looking at him.

“On the treadmill, Subject Seven.”

Bob gritted his teeth. They never called him by name anymore. Just a number. A designation.

He staggered onto the machine, hands clenched.

The test began.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty.

The speed increased with brutal indifference. Incline rising. Air growing thinner. His lungs begged. His legs screamed. Sweat poured down his back in rivers. He ran until his vision flickered, until the room swam with double-images and nausea clawed up his throat.

“Push harder,” came Y/N’s voice through the speaker.

There was no kindness in it.

Only calculation.

Only pressure.

The treadmill shut off with a sudden jerk, nearly throwing him forward.

“Vital scan,” she said.

Harris approached with a monitor, jamming a sensor against Bob’s chest without warning. The edge of it dug into bone. Bob hissed and shoved him back.

“Warn me next time.”

Harris scoffed. “You’re not here to be comfortable.”

Y/N didn’t intervene. She didn’t blink.

“Proceed with the physical resistance trial,” she said instead.

Bob was dragged to another station. Steel cables. Weighted bars. Movement resistance gloves. Every piece of equipment designed to test the threshold of pain, of muscle endurance, of recovery.

The tests went on for hours.

By the end, his knuckles were raw, blood darkening the wraps around his fingers. His breath came in ragged bursts. There was a tremor in his jaw he couldn’t bite back.

He collapsed to his knees.

Someone laughed. Harris again. “Thought you wanted to be fixed. You’re still just a junkie with good PR.”

Bob looked up, glassy-eyed, a thousand-yard stare beginning to burn into something more focused.

“What did you say?”

“I said maybe we should’ve picked someone who didn’t already have one foot in the grave.”

Bob’s jaw clenched.

“Enough,” Y/N said from behind the glass. “Draw blood and move him back to the room.”

But Harris didn’t wait. He moved in early—needle in hand—and without warning, jabbed it straight into the crook of Bob’s bruised elbow. Not cleanly. Not carefully.

Bob screamed.

The pain wasn’t just from the needle—it was from everything: the serum, the exhaustion, the voices, the fear, the humiliation. All of it twisted together like rusted wire around his spine.

He snapped.

His hand shot out on instinct, fist colliding with Harris’s chest with a thunderous crack. The man went flying across the lab, slamming into the far wall hard enough to leave a bloody smear as he crumpled.

Gasps erupted from the medical staff.

Alarms blared.

Bob stood there, eyes wild, chest heaving. For a second, he didn’t look like a man. He looked like a storm that had grown legs.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

She stepped into the lab with calm precision, clipboard still in hand, heels echoing on the tile. Bob turned toward her, half-dazed, arms trembling.

“You’re stronger,” she said simply, as if it were an observation on the weather.

“No,” he rasped. “You made me into a monster.”

She looked him up and down, unafraid. “No I didn't. You're perfect.”

Security moved toward him—stun batons raised—but she lifted one hand.

“Stand down.”

They froze.

Bob’s vision blurred at the edges. His breath slowed. The pain roared in his bones, but something beneath it… something deeper… had awoken.

He looked at Harris’s body, groaning on the floor, and then at Y/N.

And for the first time, she smiled, a smile that was so weirdly big, as tears come to her face. Letting out a laugh.

The serum was finally working.

--

The days bled into each other like old bruises—yellow, purple, sickly at the edges. The lights never turned off in the lab. Time was a theory. Sleep was optional. Mercy didn’t exist.

Bob had stopped asking what day it was. It didn't matter. The white coats came in with needles and wires and machinery. They attached him to things that clicked and beeped, asked him to move until his muscles screamed, screamed until his throat was raw, stayed silent when the pain crested too high for sound.

And then they’d start again.

Y/N stood behind the glass every morning. Always there, always watching. Never speaking unless it was necessary.

But she noticed.

She was the only one who did.

Because Bob wasn’t just breaking.

He was changing.

It started subtly. During the third day of exhaustive neural tests, when they placed him in sensory isolation and bombarded his nervous system with synthetic stress triggers—pain, voices, unbearable flashes of childhood trauma, withdrawal memories. He wept. Screamed. Clawed at the padded walls of the isolation tank.

Then… he stopped.

The tears dried.

The shaking ceased.

What replaced it was worse.

He went silent.

Staring.

Not at anything in particular. Just… outward. Through people, through walls. A haunted, still look that didn’t belong to the broken man who had first walked into her office days ago.

Y/N wrote it down. She didn’t mention it aloud. She simply noted:

Subject displays catatonic dissociation under stress. Staring. Withdrawn. Possible early signs of compensatory mental partitioning.

But it wasn’t just psychological.

The next day, during resistance drills—after twenty minutes of relentless physical abuse from a pair of armored guards trying to test his “combat reflexes”—one of them hit too hard. A baton cracked against his ribs, and Bob let out a visceral, breathless gasp, collapsing to his knees.

“You like being weak?” one of them said.

The room tilted. Bob’s hand dug into the ground.

And then, something shifted.

He stood. Not stumbled—stood. Smoothly. Slowly. Like someone was pulling strings from inside him.

His eyes were blank, but his voice was cold, quiet.

“Don’t touch me again.”

The guard laughed. Raised the baton.

And Bob caught it mid-swing.

There was no warning. No shout.

Just the crack of bone as he bent the guard’s wrist backward without effort. The man screamed. The second guard lunged—and was thrown across the room with a single shove, slamming into the reinforced wall so hard that plaster cracked.

Y/N pressed her palm to the glass, watching intently.

Not afraid.

Not surprised.

Bob’s chest heaved. Muscles flexed like coiled cables beneath his sweat-slick skin. His arms were bigger. Tighter. The veins under his skin pulsed black-blue, like oil moving just beneath the surface.

Power. Raw. Unfocused. But there.

The strength was real.

But so was something else.

Because later—when the sedatives had worn off, and he sat in the corner of his cell again, knees drawn to his chest—he cried.

He didn’t remember everything. Just flashes. Sounds. His own voice, low and unfamiliar, echoing in his ears.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” he whispered when Y/N came in.

She didn’t answer.

She only crouched, observing him through the glass panel of the cell.

“No one listens to me,” he said, curling tighter. “I keep telling them I’m not okay. I keep begging. But no one listens.”

Y/N stared, impassive.

He turned his face toward her slowly, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

“…But you see it, don’t you?” he murmured. “You know something’s wrong with me.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “Something is evolving in you.”

“I’m scared,” he whispered. “I think I’m losing myself.”

She didn’t deny it.

She only said, “Then let it go.”

He stared again. That look returning. Vacant and chilling. As if he had retreated somewhere too deep to reach.

Later, under dim lighting in the observation theater, she reviewed footage: one of the medical staff caught Bob in profile—chest rising, bruises blooming under his collarbones, lips moving silently. He was mouthing something.

She zoomed in. Enhanced.

"I am here."

Repeated. Over and over. Lips forming the words without sound.

And then, he looked up into the lens.

Straight into the camera.

And smiled. Eyes glowing at her.

--

The facility hummed low with artificial life—hallways whispering with cold air vents, dimmed fluorescents casting long shadows across clean, quiet floors. Staff moved with mechanical precision, all too used to the rhythms of experimentation. But tonight, they moved away from one room in particular. Cleared by command.

Y/N’s command.

“Clear the wing. No assistants,” she said without looking up from the data pad. “From here on, I handle Subject Seven’s diagnostics myself.”

Her tone didn’t allow for debate. She didn’t offer reasons, and none of them dared ask. Even Valentina wouldn’t blink—this was her project now. And this subject was beginning to show signs that were far too promising… or far too dangerous to be shared.

She entered his containment room alone, the steel doors sealing behind her with a final hiss. No windows this time. No cameras. She had disabled the feed herself.

Bob sat in the far corner of the room, back against the padded wall, shirtless, still glistening with the faint sheen of post-test sweat. His eyes tracked her warily—red-rimmed, sunken, uncertain. He was thinner than before, but there was something volatile in the way his shoulders tensed, like a man bracing for an earthquake he couldn’t outrun.

He felt sick.

More than that—he felt wrong.

The door opened with a soft hiss. Y/N stepped inside alone again, clipboard in hand, her heels tapping a rhythm that was fast becoming routine. She didn’t knock. She never did.

He didn’t lift his head. Just mumbled, “You don’t believe in knocking, do you?”

“No need,” she replied flatly. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen.”

Her tone was cool as always—clinical. But there was a slight falter in her pace as she got closer, and she noticed something: despite his bruised ribs, his split lip, the tremor in his fingers from exhaustion—he was still sitting up straight. He looked present.

Not shattered.

Not yet.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, setting the clipboard down.

“Better,” he said softly, finally looking at her. “I think… I think it helps.”

“What does?”

“The pain.” He smiled, small and sad. “It makes sense. I deserve it. For the man I was before. For the mess I made of my life. This… this is better than rotting on the streets.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying him.

“You’re saying you like this?”

“No,” he said. “But I accept it. And that’s more than I ever had before.”

There was silence for a beat. She tilted her head, intrigued.

“You think punishment makes you worthy?”

He looked away. “Maybe it’s the only thing that ever will.”

Y/N said nothing, but her gaze didn’t soften. There was no pity. Only analysis. Still, she crossed the room slowly and sat down across from him. Close enough for him to feel the heat of her presence. He glanced up at her, eyes tired and rimmed red.

“You’re different when you're in here,” he said after a moment. “Not like when you’re watching through the glass.”

“That’s because in here, I get answers.”

He nodded, then flinched—just slightly. A jolt of pressure shot through his chest, like a sudden drop. His breathing hitched.

“Hey—hey,” she stood quickly, alarm sharpening her voice. “What’s happening?”

But his body was already stiffening.

His fingers twitched, curled. His skin flushed gold under the surface like light through amber. A radiant pulse began to bloom from his chest—like a sun cracking through skin. Then his eyes snapped open.

They were glowing.

Brilliant, gold-white. Blinding.

He stood slowly, and this time, he was taller. Straighter. Something inhuman rippled beneath his skin—a calm storm, barely held.

She took a single step back.

He tilted his head, that warm glow behind his gaze searing into her.

“I don’t deserve pain,” he said, but it wasn’t Bob’s voice anymore—not entirely. It was deeper. Richer. Full of something ancient. “I deserve reverence.”

She didn’t speak.

The air buzzed.

“You made me,” he said, stepping closer. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she said carefully.

“You shaped me from ruin.” His voice was equal parts wonder and command. “Then you broke me again.”

“I had to test you.”

“No,” he said sharply. “You wanted to see if I’d submit. But I’m not a man anymore. You saw it. You know.”

She watched him, heart thudding—not with fear, but fascination.

She understood now.

Bob craved punishment. But the Sentry—this glowing, impossible god standing before her—craved something else.

Worship.

“Yes,” she said, slowly, reverently. “I saw you. And you were… perfect.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. She took a careful step toward him.

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” she said, voice low. “Not even close. What you are—it’s not a mutation. It’s not a mistake. It’s creation. You’re not a man, you’re the answer.”

The golden light around him flared softly.

“You think I’m the answer?” he asked, voice tinged with curiosity, with hunger.

“I think,” she whispered, “you’re the beginning of something new.”

A pause. Then, something softened in him. Not entirely human. Not at all safe. But… tamed. For a moment.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“That I’m perfect.”

She smiled. “You’re perfect.”

He took a breath—deep and indulgent—and let it out like a sigh of relief. His eyes dimmed slightly, his shoulders relaxing.

And just like that, the Sentry quieted. He didn’t vanish. But he leaned back into the body that held him, content, for now, to bask in her gaze.

Bob blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. He looked at her, confused, uncertain.

“What just happened…?”

“Nothing,” she said smoothly, stepping away and picking up her clipboard. “You're tired. Get some rest. We start again tomorrow.”

She left the room without another word.

But behind the glass, she made a single note in the margin of his file:

Praise increases compliance. Needs reverence. He responds to adoration.

--

The silence in the observation room was a heavier thing than it had ever been. Y/N stood at the glass wall, arms limp at her sides, her expression unreadable. Behind that wall, Bob sat hunched on the floor of his quarters. The cot remained untouched—he rarely used it anymore. His knees were drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them, trembling slightly under the white fabric of his uniform.

The last few days had been a slow collapse.

The tests had grown more invasive, more demanding. Neural taps. Strength resistance simulations. Pain tolerance trials. Every time he seemed to stabilize, something inside him would shift—memories would fray, his gaze would glaze, or worse, he would look at her and flinch like she was a stranger.

His powers were accelerating rapidly, almost impossibly. Muscle density, healing capabilities, visual acuity. All off the charts. But the mind—the man inside the mutation—was breaking open at the seams.

And the scariest part wasn’t when Bob cried or screamed or begged.

It was when he stared.

Quiet. Still. Gone somewhere deep.

She had seen that kind of stillness once—on her father’s face.

Y/N pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose and sighed.

You’re losing him.

And if she lost Bob, she lost everything. Her work. Her legacy. Her revenge. But more than that—deep down, in a part of herself she refused to name—she knew she might also be losing the only living being who had ever looked at her like she mattered.

She stepped through the airlock and into his quarters.

The moment the door hissed closed, Bob’s eyes twitched toward her. Red-rimmed. Tired. Suspicious.

She didn’t speak right away. Just walked slowly, carefully, and crouched beside him—knees creaking, lab coat brushing the floor. She didn't reach for him. Just existed in his space for a moment, with warmth in her silence.

“You came to hurt me again?” he murmured, voice cracking.

She shook her head. “No. Not today.”

His brow furrowed, confused. Guarded.

Y/N let out a breath and sat fully beside him, her back resting against the cold wall.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said softly. “About everything I’ve put you through. And I think I made a mistake.”

He didn’t answer. But he was listening.

“I treated you like a subject. A tool,” she said. “And that’s not fair. I told myself it was necessary. That pain was the price of progress. But… you’re not just a project. You’re a person. You’ve been through hell. And I didn’t stop to see it.”

A long silence.

Then: “Why are you saying this?”

“Because I want to do better,” she said honestly, gently. “Because I see what this is doing to you, and I can’t pretend it’s okay anymore.”

He looked at her, blinking hard. “You made me this way.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Bob turned away, resting his head back against the wall. “I feel like I’m disappearing. Like there’s someone else in here, pushing me out. And I’m scared.”

Her heart twisted. She reached out, finally, and placed her hand carefully on top of his, not forcing him to accept it, just… there.

“You don’t have to be scared alone,” she said. “You’ve had no one. I can be here. With you. If you want.”

He didn’t move.

But he didn’t pull away.

“I thought you hated me,” he said quietly.

“I’ve never hated you.”

He didn’t answer.

So she went on.

“You didn’t deserve the things that happened to you before this. And maybe you think you deserve what’s happening now—but you don’t. No one does.”

He looked down at their hands. His fingers flexed slightly, touching hers. “Then why does it feel right when it hurts?”

Her throat tightened. “Because they taught you pain was all you were worth.”

He shivered, and she shifted closer.

“But I see more than that in you,” she murmured. “You’re strong, Bob. Brave. Smarter than you think. And maybe… maybe you’re becoming something even greater.”

His breath caught. “Greater?”

She smiled faintly. “Stronger than anyone. Maybe not just better. But… perfect.”

His eyes glowed—just faintly, flickering like a match.

That always happened when he surfaced. The part of him that didn’t shake. That didn’t cry.

The part that needed to be told he was everything.

“You think I’m perfect?” he asked, his voice lower now—not quite his own.

Y/N met his gaze, softer than ever. “I think you’re becoming something no one will ever be able to match.”

He straightened slowly, eyes glowing brighter now, tension rippling through his muscles as if remembering his own greatness. His shoulders squared.

“I knew it,” he said, voice nearly serene. “You saw it too.”

And just like that, the shattered man was buried beneath a new mask.

One that needed her—for now.

She stayed at his side. Letting him feel her warmth. Letting him believe.

Because even gods needed temples.

And she would be his, if it kept him in her control.

If it saved her masterpiece.

--

It started with something small.

A candy bar.

Bob hadn’t tasted real sugar in weeks—his meals had been measured and rationed, protein-heavy, vitamin-saturated, dull as sand. So when she handed him the wrapped snack during one of their quieter sessions—no needles, no machines, just a clipboard resting on her lap—his fingers trembled as he opened it. He didn’t say anything, just took a bite, and then another. A smudge of chocolate smeared the corner of his mouth.

Y/N wiped it away with the corner of her sleeve.

“You’re not just data,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “You’re a person. They forget that sometimes.”

He didn’t look at her, but something shifted in his chest. A tightness he hadn’t even realized was there uncoiled just slightly.

The next day, she brought him a sandwich—soft bread, warm chicken. The next, a coffee, real coffee, not the sterile nutrient fluid they pumped into the subjects. Then a blanket. Socks. A chair with a cushion. Lip balm.

She noticed everything. His hunger. His discomfort. His silence.

And she fixed it.

When the tests were brutal—and they always were—she would come storming into the lab, voice sharp, eyes aflame, berating the staff with just the right fury. “This wasn’t what we discussed,” she’d snap, standing between him and the machines. “He’s not an animal.”

They would quiet, nod, retreat.

They never questioned her authority. She was the one in charge. She wrote the protocols. She set the bar.

But Bob never connected the dots. Never saw that the pain they inflicted was her design. Because afterward, she was always there.

Bandaging his arms.

Apologizing in soft whispers.

“I wasn’t there,” she’d say, kneeling by his cot. “I would have stopped them.”

She’d stay late. Sit beside him as the lights dimmed, reading his vitals by the glow of the monitors. Sometimes, when the nightmares returned—trembling fits, disjointed flashes of his old life, screaming into the dark—he’d wake up to her hand stroking gently through his hair.

“Shhh,” she’d whisper. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

It became a ritual.

She would stay until he fell asleep.

Sometimes longer.

Bob stopped talking to the other staff. He stopped looking at them. When they tried to coax him out of his room for a scan or an exam, he ignored them. Refused to move.

But when Y/N came—just a quiet knock, her voice soft—he followed. Always.

He trusted her.

She was his tether.

His anchor in the chaos of his fracturing mind. The only constant in a world of shifting memories and invasive pain.

Once, when his powers flared unexpectedly—he’d bent a steel tray in half without realizing it—he panicked. Terrified he was losing control. He fell to the floor, fists clenched, gasping.

She was there in seconds.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

She held him.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, over and over, stroking his back. “You’re not a monster. You’re mine. You hear me? I’ll take care of you.”

He clung to her like a child.

He needed her.

And she knew it.

The deeper he fell into her care, the more isolated he became. They made sure of it. A slow, strategic withdrawal of other contact. Less staff rotation. Fewer voices. Always her.

When he cried, it was for her.

When he smiled, it was because of her.

He began to crave her presence—watching the door like a loyal hound, ears pricking at the sound of her heels.

She was warmth. She was safety. She was love.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Even if it was perfectly orchestrated.

Because behind every soft glance, every nurturing hand, was calculation.

Her notes were full of it.

Subject displays increased cooperation when exposed to emotional care. Recommend continued one-on-one interaction to maximize psychological dependency. Rapid increase in obedience and physical response post-praise.

She was feeding his weakness, nurturing it into loyalty.

And he—poor, broken, beautiful Bob—never questioned it.

Because for the first time in his life, someone stayed.

--

The room was dimly lit, bathed in the faint hum of soft blue monitor lights, the walls lined with quiet machines blinking in quiet rhythm—everwatchful, everrecording. Bob lay still under the sterile sheets, his eyes open and distant. Y/N sat beside him, as she had most nights now, phone in hand, scrolling, half-engaged, the way one humors a pet that insists on your presence but not your focus.

Tonight was different, though. Bob could feel it.

The pain hadn’t dulled. If anything, it gnawed deeper. His joints ached in ways they shouldn’t. His head throbbed from the flashes—memories that weren’t his, voices that spoke in his tone but not his mind. He felt stretched, hollowed.

And tonight, it felt unbearable.

He turned his head slightly on the pillow to look at her. “You don’t have to be here.”

She blinked, not looking up from her phone.

“I know you’re faking it,” he continued, voice soft—no malice, no accusation, just truth worn thin by exhaustion. “But at least you give me something I crave. And you’re so good at it.”

That made her pause.

The screen lit her face in faint light as she looked up slowly, phone frozen in her hand.

Her eyes searched his—half-expecting him to be teasing, or confused. But there was clarity there. Depth. Something terrifyingly aware behind those tired blue eyes.

For a moment, she didn’t speak.

He continued to stare at the ceiling, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You're not like the others,” he murmured. “You're better. You know how to make someone feel needed. Even if it's a lie.”

Y/N’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. Something in her stomach twisted. How long had he known? Had he always? Or was this…new?

She blinked quickly and set her phone aside, suddenly animated, leaning forward as if the shift in posture could erase what he'd said. Her voice took on a lighter tone, tinged with breathy disbelief. “Bob… What are you talking about?” she asked gently, smiling—just enough to seem soft, not insincere. “You’re exhausted. I think you’re reading too much into this. I’m just tired too, that’s all.”

But her heart was thudding—he shouldn’t be this perceptive.

She had to pivot, quickly.

Before he could retreat from her care. Before he saw too much.

Her expression softened further, and she tilted her head with a playful, sympathetic tilt. “You know what I think?” she said gently, resting a hand over his. “I think you’re overthinking everything again. You do that when you're stressed.”

He didn’t pull away. He just watched her. So quiet. So tired.

And desperate for something—anything.

“Hey…” she said more gently, voice dipping into something warm and honeyed. “Why don’t we both rest? Just for a bit. You’ve had a long day. We both have. Friends… look after each other, right?”

He blinked. Her words felt strange. “Friends?”

She nodded, already slipping out of her shoes, unbuttoning her coat slowly and setting it on the chair, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can stay here,” she said softly, slipping under the covers beside him. “Just tonight.”

Bob turned his head toward her, the sheets rustling slightly as her presence warmed the space beside him. He didn’t move, frozen, eyes wide—not with fear, but with something achingly vulnerable.

She smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. Her fingertips brushed his skin so gently, it nearly undid him.

" I really care about you Bob,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, afraid his voice would crack.

And then—everything went black.

As if the light had been swallowed whole, not turned off.

The monitors shut down. The gentle hum of the lab fell silent in an instant. Y/N sat upright, eyes wide in the pitch darkness.

The air in the room changed.

Heavy. Electric. Like a storm about to break.

Looking down trying to see Bob, she was alone.

The cold that seeped through her skin wasn’t natural.

Y/N blinked and the room was gone.

Bob—gone.

The hum of machines, the sterile scent of the lab, the soft glow of artificial light—all gone.

Darkness surrounded her now, thick and oppressive, as if she had been plunged beneath ink. She turned in place, breath hitching. Her heels clicked softly against a polished floor that should not exist. And then—

A single note.

A piano.

Sharp. Perfect.

Then—

CRACK.

The sound of a whip slicing air and meeting flesh. Sharp. Wet.

Another piano key.

Then another. A rhythm. Crack. A scream. A perfect A major. Crack. A low sob. F sharp.

It came in cycles.

And suddenly, she knew.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes adjusted, and the room took form from the shadows like a curtain lifting on a stage she had long since burned away in her mind.

The piano room.

Her piano room.

Back in the penthouse. The place that smelled of waxed mahogany, stale wine, and disappointment. It was too real—the ivory keys smeared with red, the glossy floor reflecting the warped chandelier light above.

And at the piano—a girl.

A child no more than eleven.

Immaculately dressed. A long, silken white gown with lace cuffs. Her dark hair pinned back into a braided crown that a governess had once spent an hour perfecting. But her hands… her hands were ruined.

They bled at the joints, fingertips raw, the keys slick with crimson trails—but still she played.

La campanella.

The impossible song. A cruel performance that her father once deemed the measure of genius. Of perfection.

Her perfection.

Standing beside the girl was a tall man, graying, stoic in his dark three-piece suit. His eyes held no pity. No pride. Only expectation.

The power cable in his hand—industrial, rubber, humming faintly with static and fury—swung by his side. Streaked red.

The child faltered.

She missed a note.

She froze.

He turned to her with the stillness of a statue and said, cold as winter steel: “Get up.”

The little girl trembled, tears streaming down her face—but she obeyed.

She stood. Laid her bleeding hand on the piano bench. No one needed to explain what came next.

CRACK.

Y/N screamed—not aloud, not outwardly, but deep, guttural, in her chest where no one could hear.

She stumbled back, shaking. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop it. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her breath short.

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

The walls warped, stretching and flexing like the inside of a dying heartbeat. The chandelier pulsed with an unnatural glow.

And the piano stopped.

So did everything else.

And then—like a snap— they were back.

The room. The bed. The lamp on the desk.

Y/N was still lying beside him, but she was sitting upright now, gasping, covered in sweat. Her eyes darted around in disbelief. Her phone was still on the nightstand. The monitor still beeped. The world was normal.

Bob sat up next to her, breathing hard. “Did… did you see that?”

She turned to him slowly. Her voice was dry.

“You were there too?”

He nodded.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

Only the sound of Bob’s heavy breathing and the soft flicker of the light filled the space between them.

Then he whispered, “What just happened?”

And for once, Y/N didn’t have an answer.

She only knew one thing now.

Something else was inside him.

And now, it had seen her.

[ichorai]

chiropterology — mother's day.

drabble synopsis ; mind the pretzel dips! warnings ; swearing, some good ol' sibling rivalry.

series masterlist.

“Ground rules!” Stephanie called out to the hoard of bats gathered together in the living room. It was the early hours of Mother’s Day—so early that the sun had yet to rise. Each year on this day they all had a not-so-friendly competition on who could successfully pamper you the most. It was undoubtedly one of your most favorite holidays of the year. “Only two people attend to Mom at once—we don’t want to overwhelm her. To ensure everyone gets a fair shot today, you can only stick to her for two hours at a time. You’re allowed to spend time with her again later, but you need at least an hour cooling period in between.”

“What if someone goes over the time limit?” Jason grumbled. “Some people apparently have really bad “internal clocks.”” He placed air quotes around the last term with a scoff. 

Everyone simultaneously glared at Tim, who blanched at the sudden attention. “What? I’ll stick to the time limit this year, I swear!” 

“Uh-huh,” Steph said, giving him a stink-eye. Last year, Tim had gone to the movies with you on Mother’s Day, hogging up many hours of your precious time, much to the rest of their fury—it was safe to say that he was disqualified from the competition.

“And what does the winner get this year?” Damian asked, foot tapping against the polished hardwood. 

Steph’s grin widened. “Winner gets first pick for movie nights for the next three months.”

“Oh, the horror!” gasped Jason in an exaggerated fashion. “You all have such terrible taste!”

“God, if I have to rewatch Pride and Prejudice one more time—” Tim moaned. 

Jason kicked at Tim’s shin with a fiery glare. “Shut your mouth. It’s a good movie—!”

“Loser?” Cass asked.

Duke wavered nervously. It was his first year competing, and he was more nervous than a baby bird about to take flight for the first time. “There’s a punishment for the loser?”

Tim shot his hand up. “To give our dear Alfred a break… Loser does everyone’s laundry for the next three months.”

“Ooh, evil,” said Jason, a sharp grin pulling his lips thin, recalling the many condiment-soiled uniforms he had tossed into the hamper. “I like it.”

“Alright. Rules aside, I want a clean competition this year. May the best man, boy, or woman win,” Dick declared. “Though, I’ve known her the longest, so I really do think you guys should be congratulating me on my victory beforehand.”

Damian stared up at him balefully. “Oh, please, Grayson. Do you even know what Mother’s favorite chocolate bar is?”

Dick scratched at the back of his neck. “Uhm… Kit-Kats?”

“Wrong,” Damian said, an edge of pride sharpening his voice. “And even if you were right, you are an idiot to inform the rest of us of such precious intel.”

Dick crossed his arms. His little brother got him there. “Rats.”

“All agree?” Cass asked. “No bribe.”

They all nodded at each other. This was a sacred holiday, and cheating was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

“Great!” Steph exclaimed. “Let Mother’s Day begin!”

The kids were being terribly attentive this year. You could hardly step in one direction without one of them appearing in front of you with wild, eager, almost manic eyes. All of them offered to give you a massage, or read one of your favorite books to you, or run a warm bath for you, or run to the store to grab you a tub of your preferred ice cream, or clean up your lab, or volunteer as a test subject for your newest experiments (which was very much appreciated).

Urgh. You loved Mother’s Day. 

Bruce watched the kids fret over you, sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug that said Okayest Dad of The Year. “Why don’t they ever do this on Father’s Day?” he muttered.

“Please,” you scoffed, kissing your husband’s cheek. “If the kids hovered over you like this, you would go into hiding for the next fortnight.”

Bruce grumbled some more, but didn’t disagree with you.

The hours drew on, and the kids grew increasingly frantic. You caught sight of Tim hurriedly scribbling in his notebook out of the corner of your eye more times than you could count—presumably trying to keep score, even though you weren’t at all keeping track of how many favors each person was doing for you.

However, there were still very notable, thoughtful things the kids did for you today that you would cherish for the rest of your life. Steph had made you a playlist of all your favorite songs, and a few of her own recommendations that she thought you would enjoy, and she was very much right. Cass had one of your favorite books translated to braille so you were able to read in the dark without worsening your eyesight. Damian sketched a large portrait of you and your beloved cake robot together, and signed your name in beautiful Arabic calligraphy. Jason and Tim both assisted you with clearing out the closet full of your old inventions in one of the upstairs rooms, even offering to help you test if any of them still worked. Both of them walked out of your lab two hours later sore, winded, and dizzy. Dick, with the help of Alfred, made you a photo-album with old pictures from his time as Robin. Afterwards, you and Dick went out for a short session of karaoke, and it was the most fun you ever had singing to depressing 90s music. 

But there was one thing that stood out to you the most. One thing that immediately made up your mind on who was going to be the winner.

Duke had come up to you an hour before The Reaping (AKA when you picked a winner and a loser), looking somewhat nauseous. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with you today, so he was already quite nervous.

“Hey, bud!” you cheerfully greeted, holding a basket of broken car parts. There was grease smeared over your cheek, which Cassandra had stepped forward to wipe away with a warm, damp towel. “What can I do for you?”

“I actually…” Duke fiddled with the clasp of his bag. “I had something made for you. I asked Luke to help me out with all the mechanics, but… I’ve been working on it for the past few days.”

He pulled out a long column of metal, fitted with thick, tinted glass on either ends of the tube. It resembled a telescope of sorts. 

“Ooh, how neat!” you exclaimed, dropping the basket and taking the contraption from him, lifting it up to your eye-level to examine the handiwork. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

Duke placed a hand on your shoulder, and gestured up the stairs. “I think it’s best to explain it on the balcony.” As he led you up (with Cass silently trailing behind like a ghost), Duke said, “Remember when you told me how much you loved stargazing? But doing it in Gotham is almost impossible, considering—”

“The light pollution,” you said, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me this is…”

Duke pushed open a door to one of the many balconies of the manor. “Take a look.”

You blinked at the boy, shocked at his thoughtfulness, before hastily pressing the lens up to your eye and angling your face up to the sky. And there it was—a kaleidoscope of scintillating stars like shattered glass freckled all throughout the dark canvas of Gotham’s normally murky horizon. They winked at you knowingly. You made a garbled, shocked noise, stumbling back a few steps from the balcony in your urgency to tilt your head back and see more. Duke steadied you with two hands over your shoulders. 

Duke sounded sheepish as he said, “Luke had it specially designed to filter out certain wavelengths of light. It was really all him, but I was the one who thought of it.”

Finally, painfully, you tore your gaze away from the sky. And when they met Duke’s, he was surprised to find your expression overcome with emotion.

“Oh, Duke. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you. This is so thoughtful.” You enveloped him into a warm hug. “You win, by the way. Competition’s over.”

“I promise I didn’t just do it for the competition—!” Duke protested, but you shook your head anyway.

“I know, hon. But it doesn’t matter. You win anyway, hands down.”

The time had come for The Reaping. All the kids crowded around you in the library, begging to know who would be the winner this year—and movie-picker for the next few months. Cassandra and Duke, of course, already knew, but they stayed relatively silent in comparison to their rowdy brothers and sister.

“Alright,” you said, which immediately halted the argumentative chatter. “This has been an amazing day for me, truly. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love you all so much, and I’m so touched that you guys go through all this trouble every year for me.”

“You deserve it,” Dick said, which earned a chorus of agreement. 

“Now, don’t butter me up just yet. I’ll start with announcing the loser,” you said, clearing your throat. You looked towards Jason. 

“Oh, no,” he said.

“I’m sorry, hon,” you told him, taking his hands. 

“No. Mom, no. How could you do this to me?” Jason appeared genuinely betrayed by your decision. The rest of the kids burst into raucous cheers at avoiding three months’ worth of stinky vigilante laundry. Alfred was also going to be very glad. 

Trying your best to stifle your laughter, you clutched his scarred hands closer to you and dramatically uttered the next few sentences as if you were giving a eulogy. “I love you so much. But when you called me from the amusement park asking what kind of pretzel I wanted, I told you I wanted a cinnamon pretzel with chocolate dip. You came back with a cinnamon pretzel… and a caramel dip. I’m so sorry Jason—I hereby declare you this year’s loser.”

“Shit,” Jason groaned, head falling back as he realized his mistake. One goddamned caramel dip cost him his victory!

“Hah!” Damian proclaimed. “So it is clear, then. I am obviously the winner this year, and you will all be watching—”

“Actually,” you interrupted, shooting Damian an apologetic wince, “this year’s winner is Duke!”

“What?” Damian barked. “Impossible! It is his first year. Nobody wins on their first try.”

Bashful, Duke awkwardly waved when everyone’s eyes fell on him. 

“He had a special telescope made for me,” you said, brandishing the gift from its protective case. Everyone clamored closer to get a good look at it. “One that lets me see Gotham’s stars through all the smog. You guys are not allowed to touch it without my explicit permission, by the way. I’m serious! I will suspend you from patrolling, and Bruce would be happy to see it through!”

They all gulped nervously.

“Wow—” Steph said once she got a better look, eyes widening as she whistled a low note. “No, yeah, I didn’t stand a chance against that. Way to go, Duke!”

The rest of the siblings clapped Duke on the back, congratulating him on the win. Tim handed him the sleek back remote to the theater room’s large monitor. “For you, my liege.”

You carefully put the telescope away, then ruffled Damian’s hair. “Better luck next year, kiddo.”

“Tch. It will be war next year, Mother.” He looked up at you, determination burning within his dark green eyes. “And I shall be the last one standing on the battlefield!”

“Okay, you little gargoyle,” Tim said, gently shoving Damian away, who angrily kicked at Tim’s shin (which was already bruised from Jason’s kick earlier that day). He pretended like it didn’t hurt, and gave you a warm, one-armed hug. “Happy Mother’s Day. We love you, Mom.”

[softlymaximoff]

Head canons of Wanda Maximoff and new Avenger reader

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

She absolutely terrified you. Her damn green eyes that looked like they were made out of sea glass were always watching. Most of the time they were cold or glaring and you never knew what the hell you did to be on the receiving end of it.

When cooking for the team became your job you just knew Wanda hated it. She’d barely touch the meals made, never said thanks and never offered to help. It was probably one of the most agonising parts of your week.

You, much to everyone’s surprise were also from Sokovia, or well, a small town just west of Wanda’s home country. Another thing she hated. First you come in as another failed test subject from some underground science freak lab, then become one of the team’s best additions and lastly, you were wanted.

Wanda never got the warm welcome, after the stunt she pulled all those years ago, she socially sabotaged herself. Without her brother, without her literal whole world, she was truly alone. Yes Natasha and Clint came up and checked on her every now and then but she knew it was only because Fury told them to.

You on the other hand, were the best thing the team’s seen since sliced bread. They had found you caught in a loop of ruthless behaviour after seeking you out for weeks, months even. Fist fighting men at the bar as they went to corner your mission agents, dealing with backend rivals who had done your institution wrong, targeting officials in a higher power conference from yards away. You were a spy with the ability to predict another’s internal thoughts.

Unlike Wanda however, you couldn’t show a person’s fear or control their mind. You were just a lurker in the back of someone’s dark twisted void of a thought system. You were a menace. Raised in a lab, released in a maze full of people from hell.

When they brought you in you were uncontrollable, snarky and feisty. But you weren’t a monster. You were just a vessel for the lab you escaped. REMUS was the name, Regimen, Effectus, Mactabilis, Ulciscor, Scientia. They had sedated you, Clint’s aim on his bow and arrow never ceased to amaze you.

That was 7 months ago. The team trained you to control your power and drive your combat and stealth skills to their respective teammates. Sparring with Bucky on combat drills, stealth recall practice with Nat and prediction drills with Clint and his arrows.

Wanda hated the special treatment you got. She loathed it. It made her feel even more of an outcast than she already was. Every time she’d see you with her teammates she’d scowl and put her walls up again. She never knew you saw her. You felt it. Her mind was the only one in the team you couldn’t weave your way into. No matter how hard you tried.

The only ever time her walls fell was when she’d heard your voice on a particular night you’d woken up from yet another nightmare. Your own internal battles were screaming at her to find you. Her heart hammered in her chest knowing she was the cause of this. She pushed her pride and anger down when your words became bitter and spiteful towards yourself.

That night she stood outside your door contemplating whether or not to go in but the final straw was when she’d heard your inner voice screaming for someone to make it stop. The sight of you curled up in a ball on the mattress on the floor hyperventilating made her own tears well up and she was by your side in an instant. To her surprise you didn’t even flinch, you just let her comfort you.

From then on, Wanda was nicer, a little less cold, and maybe even a little in love with you. She didn’t understand it, and neither did you. She came back to the tower one day when you and some of the crew were on a recon drill with fresh flowers from a local organic market near the compound. An array of Hibiscus, Lilly-of-the-Valley, purple Hyacinth, and a single Maidenhair Fern.

When you eventually came back from recon, Wanda’s flowers were at your room door, gentle red dust glowing around the bouquet like a whispered apology. Wanda never spoke to you much, but her actions had said all you needed to hear. You had finally found a friend in her. You were no longer a monster in her eyes, you were just you. And that’s all you could have asked for.

[sunshineyrosie]

and in the silence, there’s us (3rd person POV)

summary: she would never have expected bringing her boyfriend a coffee after a long shift to be the moment that changed everything.

pairing: Viktor x reader (no use of Y/N; no physical description but she works as a nurse and grew up in the undercity like him)

w/c: 2.7k

notes: 3rd person POV, allusions to smut at the end, but nothing too explicit. this is my first time posting fanfiction in nearly 10 years, and my first Arcane fic, so please be kind <3 feedback would be very appreciated. also, i’m posting this using the tumblr app, so please forgive any formatting issues.

read on ao3: here masterlist 2nd person POV version here

She slips into the lab, balancing two to-go cups in one hand, while pushing the door open with the other. The scent of the coffee curls into the air before she speaks, announcing her presence.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” she says, setting the cup beside him on the workbench. He glances up at her, his face lighting up just enough to make the exhaustion in her limbs worth it.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before returning to the delicate circuit board in front of him. She watches him for a moment—so absorbed in his work, fingers deftly adjusting the tiny components with careful precision.

“Funny you should say that,” she says, dropping unceremoniously onto the stool beside him, stretching out her sore legs. “Because I actually did save a life today. Well… kind of.”

“Kind of?” He hums, taking a sip of his coffee as he adjusts a resistor.

“Well, mostly because I resisted the urge to strangle a new resident with my bare hands.”

His smirk is instant. “High bar for heroism these days, no?”

“Trust me, if you were there you would understand.” She deadpans, taking a swig of her coffee before continuing. “This patient comes in, right? He’s pacing around, clutching his chest like he’s auditioning for a medical drama. Then the brand new just-out-of-med-school cardio resident struts in like he owns the place, and immediately declares that the patient is having a heart attack. Orders every cardiac test known to man, meanwhile I’m standing there going ‘Hey, maybe it’s just indigestion,’ but apparently my Tiny Nurse Brain wasn’t worthy of such insight.”

Viktor lifts an eyebrow in anticipation. “And?”

She huffs, stretching to get a crick out of her spine. “When I kept insisting, he finally sighed, looked at me like I was a nuisance and told me to give him an antacid ‘if that would make me happy.’ Like he was indulging a toddler!”

“Did it work?” Viktor asks, his smirk widening.

“Oh, beautifully. Two minutes later and the guy lets out a burp so aggressive it could be classified as a seismic event, then suddenly felt amazing. Meanwhile, Dr. Smug, MD was suddenly very fascinated with the ceiling tiles.”

Viktor chuckles, shaking his head. “Did he at least apologize?”

“Of course not,” she replies with a snort. “He’s a doctor. Pretty sure admitting a nurse was right would void their medical license.”

“Well, I hope you were gracious in your victory.”

“Oh absolutely. I smiled, nodded and let him marinate in his shame. A picture of a true professional.” She responds with a cheeky grin.

That earns a full laugh from him, a sound she never tires of. “You could write a book. Things I’ve Had to Say to Medical Professionals That Should Be Obvious.”

“Maybe I should, it would sell millions.” He shakes his head, amused.

She leans into her seat as he returns to the work in front of him, and they relax into their normal routine—the easy back and forth, the familiarity. She talks as she always does, effortlessly filling the silence with whatever happens to be on her mind—recounting the chaotic moments from her day. Her patients. Some absurd interaction with a coworker. And as always, he listens.

He doesn’t interrupt much, mostly responding in low hums, nods, and half-smiles as he works. Occasionally letting a quiet chuckle or a cheeky quip escape his lips. But mostly, he just lets her talk. It’s always been like this between them, chattering from her, contented silence from him.

She knows he’s focused—his mind occupied by whatever invention he’s creating, adjusting, fixing—but he never makes her feel like a distraction, or acts like she’s intruding on something important.

Even if she’s rambling about absolutely nothing, he lets her. Because he likes hearing her talk. She knows that he is listening even as his hands move with precision. His quiet attentiveness is one of the things she loves most about him—not that he simply listens to her, but the fact that he wants to.

The hum of Hextech machinery fills the lab, a steady backdrop to their conversation as she watches him tinker with some new prototype. At this, she realizes the absence of his partner. “Where is Jayce today, anyway?”

“Out with Councilor Medara.” He responds, curtly. “Something to do with finalizing their venue choice for the wedding.”

“Did he tell you about the venue?” she says, tipping her head back to finish the rest of her coffee. “It’s ridiculous—ginormous chandeliers everywhere, some garden straight out of a fairytale, a twelve piece orchestra. I swear, it’s more of a spectacle than a wedding ceremony.”

Viktor chuckles. “Jayce does love going all out.”

“Mel, too. They want it to be unforgettable.”

“Seems like they will get their wish.”

She sighs, absentmindedly rubbing at a stain on her scrub pants that won’t come out. “I don’t think our wedding would ever look like that. It’d be simple. Just something small and meaningful.”

She suddenly realizes what she’s said—that she’s referred to it as their wedding, as though it’s a certainty. She doesn’t expect him to react, hoping he wasn’t listening that closely or would take it for what it was—another passing comment, an idle thought. One that she’d never even considered seriously because, well, she assumed it wasn’t on his radar.

Then, suddenly, Viktors hands still. The tool in his grip falls onto the metal surface with a soft clatter. He turns to her, studying her carefully, like she’s just said something that rewired his entire world. “Is that what you want?”

She blinks. Oh.

She hadn’t expected that response. Hadn’t expected his full attention, the weight of his golden-eyed gaze. She hadn’t expected the way his voice turned heavy and serious. “I—”

Before she can get an answer out, he abruptly stands up, grabs his cane and strides—well, as closely as one who walks with a cane can stride—into a lone storage room on the opposite side of the lab. Wait. What just happened?

Panic sets in fast. Her stomach clenches. She hadn’t meant to drop some grand revelation, and certainly had not expected anything more than a hum of acknowledgment. He didn’t react negatively, but now he was gone, and silent. A foreign, uncomfortable kind of silence her brain struggles to interpret. I ruined everything, didn’t I? Scared him off?

Marriage was something she never bothered dwelling on. His work consumed him most of the time. Marriage almost seemed like a silly afterthought in his world—a world of progress and Hextech research and scientific deadlines. And yet… he’d gone quiet and then left the room.

She grips the edge of the counter, already bracing herself for a polite change of subject when he returns. Backtrack, quick. Fix it.

Maybe she could laugh it off, shake her head, say something about it being a hypothetical. Obviously I wasn’t serious about it being our wedding.

Or she could change the subject entirely—a ridiculous shift into something, anything else. This was certainly an area she excelled at. Hey, did I tell you about my patient who thought she could cure her appendicitis with lavender oil?

She scrambles to think of something, anything to pull herself out of this mess.

She’s just about to get up and find him, to force the words out of her mouth before the silence swallows her whole, when he returns—his expression unreadable, something clutched tightly in his palm.

Without hesitation, he makes his way back to her, stopping close enough that she can see the flicker of determination in his eyes. Anything she planned on saying was suddenly lost in her throat.

Then, gently, he takes her hand, turning it over before slipping something onto her finger—a thin, delicate loop of twisted wires. “I’ll get you a better one,” he says, watching her reaction intently. “But I couldn’t wait another moment to see a ring on your finger.”

Her breath catches, alternating between glancing up at him and back at the wire now wrapped snugly against her skin. The makeshift ring is a delicate twist of copper wire, with thin strands of blue and silver cables weaved through it. It fits perfectly, and it’s threaded in a way that gives it a quiet elegance so beautiful that it shouldn’t be possible for something crafted in mere minutes. Yet, somehow, it is.

It shouldn’t surprise her, really. Not when it’s his creation. Not when those meticulous hands of his could never make something carelessly, even if he tried.

“You—“ her voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re serious?”

“I am.” His voice is steady, sure, like he’s just made the easiest decision of his life. “I’d like to formally apologize for not getting down on one knee—bad leg and all. I figured proposing without completely wiping out on the floor was the better choice.”

A relieved laugh bursts out of her, the tension melting instantly. Then, voice full of warmth, she nods. “Okay.”

His relief is instant, undeniable. Before another word can be said, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her in—so tightly, so fiercely, like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go. She hears his cane clatter to the floor.

She presses into him, fingers clutching the fabric of his well-worn vest, her scrubs still wrinkled and stained from a day that now feels insignificant compared to this. Viktor, the co-creator of Hextech, the man who never rushes, never jumps without thinking, somehow did just that today. This man—her fiancé—was going to be her husband.

Neither of them ever thought they would have this—this moment, this certainty, this absolute rightness that never seemed possible growing up in the Undercity. No one had ever expected much from Zaunite kids like them, but they both refused to let their circumstances dictate the limits of their success.

She fought her way into the world of medicine, earning respect in a field that wasn’t always kind to her. And Viktor—he had built something incredible, something groundbreaking, with a brilliant mind that never failed him, even when his body tried to.

They found each other in spite of a world that didn’t seem built for them. But now, here they were. Standing in a city, in a lab, that once felt like a distant dream, holding each other like the world finally made sense, and neither of them would let go.

Not now.

Not ever.

—

Later, much later, they lie tangled together in bed, still sweaty and out of breath.

Their bodies were pressed closed together like the space between them didn’t have a right to be there. He’s been stripped of the braces he wears throughout the day, his back and leg finally free of the rigid support. Just skin against skin, warmth without barriers.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the night outside in Piltover, and an occasional creak from the old apartment settling around them. His fingers trace slow patterns along the bare skin of her back, absentminded; a habit more than a conscious thought. She has her left hand placed on his chest, unable to stop staring at the ring. Hardly believing it was real.

She exhales, shifting against him, pressing a chaste kiss onto his bare chest, right over his heart. “What if we just elope?”

His fingers still for half a second before continuing their path. “Skip the whole thing?”

She hums, placing two, three more kisses against his warm skin. “Think about it—no stress, no planning, just the two of us.”

Viktor considers it. He can picture it easily—just the two of them, slipping away, exchanging vows in some quiet place where no one else exists. Incorporating Zaunite traditions into the ceremony. It’s tempting, ridiculously tempting.

But then—

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I think it would be nice to have our people there. The few we have, that is.”

She exhales, tilting her head back to look at him, pleased to see his amber eyes looking right back at her. “Yeah. It would.”

Neither of them have families in the traditional sense—no parents, no extended relatives waiting for an invitation. But they do have people, as few as they might be. “I guess if we do that, it will barely even be a wedding. No ridiculous venue, no big fluffy dress, definitely no twelve-piece orchestra.”

“No chandeliers?” He asks with a smirk.

“Absolutely not.” She responds with a playful glare.

He chuckles, tightening his arm around her bare body. He places a contented kiss at the top of her head. “Besides, if I were to elope without making Jayce my best man, I think he might cry.”

She snorts. “Cry?”

“Oh yes, full on devastation. Probably will shed real tears just to guilt me about it for the rest of my life.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Alright, fine, we can’t have that. I will not have our marriage haunted by a lifelong grudge.”

A comfortable silence settles between them again. Then, he curls his fingers underneath her chin, a silent request to look at him again. “It doesn’t need to be big. Just ours.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, softly pressing her lips against his. “Ours.”

After a beat, his chest shakes with a quiet chuckle, as if he just realized something. “What?”

He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “I was just thinking about Jayce, and how he is going to lose his mind when he finds out.”

She laughs in response. “He will probably think we’re messing with him at first.”

Viktor sighs dramatically. “And when he finally realizes it’s real—“

“Oh, he’s gonna cry.”

“Do you think we’ll get the quivering lip?” Viktor asks, smirk widening.

“Absolutely.” She nods. “But the moment he wipes his eyes, it’s all over.”

He groans, rubbing his hand down his face. “And then, after the waterworks, he will pivot immediately into planning mode.”

“Oh without a doubt. Give it thirty seconds and he’ll be listing venues, caterers… probably finding some way to put fireworks into the budget. Viktor, I swear, if he starts planning anything with a theme, we’re shutting the whole thing down immediately.”

“This is what I get for letting him meddle in my love life in the first place.” He grumbles, poking her in the side, making her jolt with a startled laugh.

“Hey!” She swats at him, grinning.

“I should’ve known better,” He teases with another quick poke to her ribs, making her regret ever letting him find out she was ticklish. “Letting a scientist play matchmaker? Dangerous.”

“Oh please,” She grins, swiftly pulling him toward her by the back of his neck so he lands on top of her. “You didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. He probably treated us like an experiment—ran the calculations, probably put together an entire hypothesis about why we’d end up together.”

Viktor scoffs, a breath of laughter beneath it, leaning down to begin trailing kisses along her neck and collarbones. “Fortunately for me, his data turned out to be shockingly accurate.”

“I bet there’s a whole spreadsheet somewhere proving our compatibility. Probably laminated.” She giggles, her hand sneakily making its way down his torso.

His groan is immediate. “There absolutely is. And if he tries to present it at the wedding, I am banning him from speech making.”

“Oh come on,” she laughs as he pins her wrists against the mattress and begins leaving teeth marks on her skin. “You’re a scientist yourself, mister. A little scientific validation never hurt anyone.”

Viktor doesn’t argue with this. They both know without Jayce introducing them, they might never be here now. He pulls away to look at her, his gaze lingering down at her for a long moment. When he speaks again, it’s softer. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” she responds, looking back at him with nothing but devotion. “I love you, too.”

They would tell Jayce soon—tomorrow, perhaps. But for now, he wanted to ensure that no man except for him would be on her mind (or mouth) for the next few hours.

Viktor leans down and presses a wet kiss against her ear, spreading her legs apart gently and slowly pressing himself against her until they’re one. And just like that, the world again shrinks to nothing except for the two of them.

—

please feel free to comment any feedback below, and reblog to share with others, if you feel so inclined 🖤

you can find a 2nd person POV version here

[august-anon]

Could we please have a fic

Where Tim is still adjusting to being a lil bro and he's still a bit nervous around Jason because the RH incident and Jason is fully aware that his lil bro is scared of him, and then Dick, (very purposefully) tells Jason that Tim is ticklish. Jason decides to use this information.

editing? who's she? (aka i was too lazy to edit a 5.5K tickle fic i just wanted to post it jksdhsdjfh)

also, seeing as my life is consumed by DC/esp the Batfam right now i was compelled to actually do my research for this fic and i went and found teen titans volume 3 #29 and looked through their fight. and dont get me wrong i love a good titans tower fic, tim drake is The whumpable character ever, but it is SO FUNNY to me the way fandom has apparently blown this so out of proportion because skimming that fight between the two it was literally like. the vigilante equivalent of squaring up behind the Waffle House at 3am while Jason is wearing a Party City Robin outfit sdjfhdsfj it was so unserious, he was definitely a theater kid lol, Tim wasn't even busted up that bad the worst he had was a bloody nose and maybe a concussion from the final blow lol

so i leaned more into the canon energy of it (snarky Tim who held his own decently well) because i think the whole fanon "he-almost-murdered-me-and-i'm-traumatized-and-terrified" energy leans into a fear dynamic that i am not necessarily comfortable exploring in a fluffy tickle fic? so i hope that's alright and that you still enjoy this fic even though i didnt full lean into that "scared of jason" energy i think you were looking for!

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Brothers Forged in Laughter

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity -- though i do briefly reference Teen Titans volume 3 #29)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Tim & Ler!Jason (plus a very brief Ler!Dick)

Word Count: 5623 words

Summary: Tim wasn’t Jason's little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. But, well, the kid was kind of asking for it at this point. Maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

[ao3 link]

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Developing an unspoken sort of truce with the Bats had not been on Jason’s to-do list when he returned to Gotham, especially after his little trip to Titan’s Tower or the explosive confrontation between him, Bruce, and the Joker. Really, Jason blamed Dick. He was like a leech, it was impossible to shake him once he got his teeth sunk in.

Still, it had its benefits. He didn’t have to worry about getting arrested and thrown in Arkham anymore, for one. Not to mention, the Bats left Crime Alley well alone now (bar an Arkham breakout), leaving the neighborhood to Jason’s expertise. But most of all: access to the Batcave.

Jason didn’t necessarily enjoy his visits to the Cave, but there were things that Bruce’s money could buy that Jason had difficulty getting his hands on. For instance, the state-of-the-art lab that was hooked up to the Batcomputer and all its insane processing speed. 

With Batman publicly off on a JL mission and no risk of running into Bruce, Jason didn’t hesitate breaking into the Batcave (was it really breaking in if they never deactivated Jason’s codes in the first place? Jason liked to think so) to study a concoction from his latest Scarecrow copy-cat that thought Crime Alley made a great testing ground. It was just his luck that the little replacement Robin happened to be down in the Cave at the same time, drowning in an oversized hoodie and staring down one of the Batcomputer’s monitors with bloodshot eyes. One of his arms was in a sling, but Jason didn’t keep track of the Bats’ cases enough to know what had caused the injury. He was more wilted than the oregano plant Jason had forgotten at one of his lesser-used safehouses. And, more importantly, he was in Jason’s way.

“Pretty sure little birdies are meant to be resting when their wings get clipped,” Jason called out as he walked up the steps toward the Batcomputer.

The line of Tim’s shoulders went taught as his head snapped around to glare at Jason. “I’m pretty sure zombie crime lords are supposed to stick to Crime Alley.”

Jason held up his sample of knock-off toxin, shaking the liquid inside. “Wouldn’t exactly be here if I didn’t have to.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line as he huffed a breath out through his nose. “Fine.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he turned toward the mass spectrometer, fumbling a bit to set it up properly. It’d been a while since he’d had to use one, and the one in the Cave was a lot newer than the one he’d used as Robin. It didn’t help that the back of his neck burned from the eyes boring into it.

“Don’t need a babysitter, y’know.”

“Like I’m leaving you in the Cave unsupervised.”

Jason scoffed. “What am I gonna do, poison your juice boxes?” The machine finally started running rounds of analysis, so Jason spun around to lean against it, locking his eyes onto Tim. And the stack of soda cans next to him. “Or your Zesti, apparently. Alfred lets you drink all that shit?”

Tim stayed silent, narrowing his eyes.

Jason lit up. “He doesn’t, does he?” He laughed, eyeing the pile of empty cans again. “Maybe we should call him down right now, what do you say?”

Jason started towards Tim and the Batcomputer, only meaning to ruffle his hair, maybe tease him a bit more about his serious sugar addiction, but he came up short as Tim slipped a hand against the underside of the Batcomputer’s desk, fingers subtly searching. Jason knew there was a panic button under there, even though he’d never had to use it during his time as Robin. It would send alerts to Alfred, to Dick, to every device of Bruce’s – hell, it might even send alerts to Clark or Diana at this point. Jason really didn’t need Superman busting in with a disgruntled Batman in his arms while he was trying to get work done.

So he backed off, raising his hands in mocking surrender as he leaned back against the machinery behind him, playing it off with a sarcastic, “Damn then, Boy Wonder, keep your secrets.”

The rest of Jason’s visit to the Cave was spent in tense silence, only broken in brief intervals to discuss the specifics of Jason’s case and the results of the toxin analysis. Turns out it was developed from an older strain of Crane’s – the most current fear toxin antidote could wipe it out no problem.

It didn’t leave him as satisfied as it should have, feeling all off-kilter as he mounted his motorcycle and started his drive back to Crime Alley. He couldn’t shake the hard look in Tim’s eyes as his fingers searched the bottom of the desk. It was fucking infuriating. What should he care if the newest little Robin was scared of him, after all? He and the Bats weren’t a team, and Robin certainly wasn’t his responsibility.

Maybe Jason had inhaled a little of the toxin when running the analysis. That was all.

*     *     *

Scared wasn’t really the right word, Jason realized over time. Because Tim was very obviously not afraid of him. He would poke and prod at Jason, even outright mock him sometimes. His glares were fierce and intense, his tone short and snappy. At times, he almost seemed to be seeking out a fight, like he wanted a rematch, to prove the words he said back at Titan’s Tower.

“Do you think you’re that good now? Do you really, Tim?”

“Yes.”

Wary seemed more accurate. He wasn’t frightened of Jason, but he was mostly certainly on edge. Even more so when Jason started visiting the Manor itself, finally giving in to Alfred and Dick’s invitations (though he still staunchly refused the invitations for family dinners – no way in hell he was being civil with Bruce for that long.). Tim would eye Jason like one would a particularly reactive dog – cautious and ready to act, but without any outright fear or anxiety.

And Jason… he could live with that. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but it’s not like they were family or anything. Just because Bruce took in the kid didn’t make them brothers – and it wasn’t like Bruce was his father anymore, anyway. The itch that grew under Jason’s skin when Tim would look at him like that was purely from having eyes on him, that was all. And he didn’t feel guilty for making the kid feel like that, thank you very much – that lingering weight in his chest was just a perfectly normal reaction to Dick’s puppy-dog eyes every time he and Tim sniped at each other. 

Seriously. No grown man should be able to make that expression. It was unnatural. 

He was so used to Tim’s cold shoulders that when he arrived at the Cave one afternoon, he almost fell off his motorcycle at the bright, cackling laugh that echoed across the stone once he cut his engine. It was boyish, childish, happy – all the things Robin should be. For a moment, it made old bitterness crawl up the back of his throat like bile, but he just as quickly swallowed it back down. He’d already taken out enough on the kid.

The laughter grew louder as he climbed the stairs up to the Batcave’s main platform, growing squeakier or snortier or gigglier in various intervals. By the time he made it up the stairs, Jason had a pretty good idea of what was happening. Turning away from the Batcomputer and towards the training mats easily confirmed it.

Because there was the Boy Wonder, in all his red-faced glory, cackling up a storm as Dick tickled the absolute shit out of him. 

At least Dick had someone besides Jason to take all that tickle-monster energy out on, now.

Dick’s head shot up as Jason’s boot scuffed across the stone, and he shot Jason a grin. “Hey, Little Wing!” Tim’s laughter lightened, growing more giggly. Probably Dick lightening up his attack in case he wanted to participate in the conversation. “What brings you here?”

“Came by to hack into the computer.” Jason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Got some CCTV to look into, and the setup is better here than in any of my safehouses.”

Dick nodded, and Tim’s laughter jumped in pitch again.

“Jesus,” Jason said. “You trying to kill the kid?”

Dick laughed himself and finally let up, leaving Tim to roll onto his side and catch his breath. 

“Nah – but I think I might’ve finally found someone more ticklish than you, Jay.” He gave Jason a meaningful look, winking when he was sure Tim wasn’t looking.

Jason scoffed. He would not be filing that information away for later, thank you very much, because Tim was not his baby brother. “Yeah, whatever. I grew out of that – Lazarus Pits and all.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, a disarming smile on his lips. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, then, if I–”

Jason swiftly backed away from the mats. “Yeah, no. I’m busy – came here to work and all. Try to keep it down, will you?” He managed to catch Tim’s eye for a second. “Try his thighs,” he advised. “Or just under his ribs. Makes for great revenge.”

“Wha– Jason!”

Jason turned his back on them, not wanting to unpack the narrow-eyed look Tim gave him. Not even moments later he heard Dick yelp.

“Oh, no you don’t – you’ll regret that!”

And the Cave was quickly filled with laughter once more, two sets of it this time. Not exactly the quiet environment Jason had hoped for when he came by to work, but he would deal. The Batcomputer had high-quality headphones for a reason.

And, privately, Jason thought those two could use more opportunities to smile.

*     *     *

Over time, the uneasy truce settled into something more comfortable. There were times it still chafed, itching at Jason’s skin until he felt he needed to claw it off, but things were rarely so tense anymore that Jason expected to be cut off like a necrotic limb. Hood still handled Crime Alley, the Bats tackled the rest of Gotham, and sometimes, if the cards fell right, they were able to work cases together without any casualties.

Cases like this new up-and-coming gang. They’d spread outside of the Alley, maneuvering in areas where Hood didn’t have as much reach or authority, but they were still spreading through his own territory like slow-acting poison. There was only so much he could do, and so when Dick offered the Bats up to help, Jason agreed with only minimal bitching. 

Which led him to this warehouse rooftop, going on three hours crouched uncomfortably next to Robin, the irritation of a failed stakeout grating against his ribs and skull. The established gang these newbies were trying to ally with hadn’t even shown, and even the newbies were starting to pack up shop, wanting to get back to base before dawn broke. The newest little Robin, however, didn’t seem to be getting the memo that this was a bust.

“Kid,” Hood all but growled. “Let’s go, there’s nothing more for us here.”

Robin scoffed, still laying on his stomach and not bothering to drop the binoculars to have a conversation with Hood. “Something might still happen. I’m not going to drop this just because you’re getting impatient.”

A flash of irritation bubbled up in Hood’s chest, frustration coiling hot in his stomach. The gang was leaving, Hood was starving, his knees ached from crouching on this roof all night, and he really should’ve told Dick no when Robin was offered up to help with the stakeout. But of course, the Bat himself was too busy with some last-minute JL business, and Nightwing had his own problems in Bludhaven to deal with. The worst part was that Robin was right, something could still happen, but Hood sincerely doubted it. They hadn’t gotten any new or relevant info in the past two hours, and Hood was ready to stuff his face with some greasy fast food and pass out for the next six hours.

And so as the newbies finished loading up their vehicles and driving off, Hood reached over to snatch the binoculars from Robin. Somehow, even with his face buried behind the plastic, he knew Hood was coming and shifted out of the way, thrusting a foot into Hood’s chest to try and hold him back. Hood’s height was an advantage here, but Robin still refused to let go of the binoculars, staring after the newbies’ vehicles as if they held the answers to the universe. 

And Hood, overtired and ready to be out of all this goddamned armor and in bed, let his instincts take over again. He jabbed one hand up under Robin’s arm, poking and prodding at the softer spot in the armor designed for mobility. Robin made an awkward squawking sound, his arm shooting down to protect the vulnerable spot and cutting the grip he had on the binoculars by half. Hood easily wrenched them from his hand after that, tucking them into an inner pocket in his leather jacket.

“Come on,” Hood said, standing and brushing himself off like nothing happened. “Batburger, I’m buying.”

Robin scowled at him, eyes unreadable behind the white-out lenses of the domino, and slowly rose to his feet. “Fine. But I want Jokerized fries, and I don’t care how you feel about it.”

*     *     *

Jason had to wonder if the kid ever slept. Every time he came by the Cave, Tim was there too – training, running samples, working cases on the Batcomputer – no matter what absurd hour he arrived. Jason let out a loud, long, obnoxious sigh as he cleared the stairs to the main platform of the Batcave, and Tim immediately whipped around and glared at him over the back of the desk chair.

“Can I help you?” Tim snapped.

“I need the computer.” Jason kicked the base of the desk chair as he approached, propelling it several inches to the left. 

Tim’s scowl deepened, and he rolled the chair back into position. “Well you can wait. I’m busy with a case.”

Instead of arguing further, Jason opted for the quickest route of success. He grabbed the back of the desk chair, spun it around so Tim was no longer facing the desk, and unceremoniously dumped him out of the seat. Tim squawked as he stumbled out of the chair, but regained his footing quickly and immediately trying to bolt back into the seat. Jason smirked and yanked it away, sending it rolling a few feet behind him.

“Whoops.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Real mature.”

Jason laid a hand over his heart and cocked his head to the side. “Ouch. You wound me. Truly.”

Tim glared at him, but his eyes flicked towards the desk chair behind Jason. They burst into motion at the same time – Tim lunging towards the chair, and Jason lunging towards Tim. After a brief tussle, Jason yanked Tim into a headlock, and for a brief second the two of them went eerily still. Jason loosened his grip, making the hold easy to break, but didn’t let go. Tim stayed frozen for a moment longer before tilting his head up, giving Jason a challenging look.

Jason’s mind warred with itself for a few moments. Not my little brother, one side of his brain said. Isn’t he, though? another replied. He had, unfortunately, filed away that information Dick had given him, as much as he tried to ignore it. And, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? He didn’t think he’d even given Tim back his Bat-noculars.

A moment passed, and Jason suddenly lunged, latching his free hand onto Tim’s side and squeezing away. Tim jerked in his grip, squealing as a smile forced its way onto his face. One hand went towards prying Jason’s off his side, while the other came and clutched at the forearm around his throat for stability. Jason grinned and allowed the hand to crawl up Tim’s side, carefully keeping his headlock loose so that Tim wouldn’t really feel trapped. The second Jason’s fingers touched his ribs and a real laugh jumped out from Tim’s throat, he was out of Jason’s grip in seconds. Tim stood across from him, giving him another one of those uncomfortably calculating looks, though the blush rushing to his cheeks diminished it slightly.

“Fine,” Tim said eventually. “I should head up and get a snack anyways.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. 

“But I’m coming back down in two hours, and I will be getting back to my case. Whether you’re done on the computer or not.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, sure thing, Timberly. Whatever you say.”

*     *     *

Jason was at the Manor for family dinner.

His skin itched at the thought as he sped into the Cave on his motorcycle – he never entered through the Manor proper, not in all these months, something about that just made it too real, too raw – and threw his riding gear off. Bruce was going to be there – not Batman, Bruce, and he hadn’t really interacted with the man outside the mask since he came back – but so were Dick and Alfred. And so was Tim.

Bit by bit, the kid had been relaxing around him. They worked cases together (and with Nightwing) when Hood needed a Bat, or when the birds needed his help instead. He didn’t tense whenever Jason came through the Cave anymore, didn’t eye Jason with suspicion when they crossed paths on patrol. He still stared a lot, but it’s not like Jason could blame him. He had attacked the kid, and even if he didn’t leave him with more than a concussion and some bruises (and Jason with a grudging sense of respect for the brat, as he walked away with his own array of bruising and a busted nose), the kid was well within his rights to keep his eyes on Jason’s movements.

But still, the progress they had made was, well, nice.

Speak of the devil — the Cave wasn’t empty. Tim was in the training area, dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running his bo staff drills with a single-minded focus that could rival even Bruce. Jason almost would’ve thought that Tim didn’t realize he was there, but Tim’s eyes flicked his direction as he approached the edge of the training mats. Tim ran through the move he was doing a few more times, making minute posture changes each time until his form was perfect, before dropping out of his stance and facing Jason.

“Not bad,” Jason said.

Tim ticked up an eyebrow. “Thanks.” His gaze trailed over to the stairs. “Alfred’s still making dinner, and Bruce is up there brooding and fussing over everything until it’s perfect. You probably wanna stay down here until the food’s ready.”

The skin around Jason’s eyes tightened as he suppressed a wince. “Yeah, thanks. Where’s Golden Boy?”

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched up. “He got saddled with ‘distract Bruce’ duty.”

Jason matched Tim’s half-smile. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to fidget. Tim stared.

“Let’s spar,” Tim said suddenly, turning on his heel to set aside his bo staff.

Jason stared at him, incredulous. “What?”

“Spar. You and me.”

“Are you sure about that, kid?”

Tim shot him one of those calculating looks over his shoulder. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Jason pursed his lips. “No.”

“Then let’s spar.”

Palms sweating, Jason kicked off his boots, shucked his leather jacket, and set aside the weapons he’d hidden on his person. He set himself up opposite of Tim, lowering his body into a fighting stance.

“Ready?” Tim asked.

“Yup.”

The word was barely out of Jason’s mouth before Tim lunged, immediately going in for a grapple. Jason almost laughed — he far outclassed the little Robin in both weight and strength — and quickly sent the kid sprawling to the mats before backing away. Tim was scowling when he stood up.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“Don’t worry, Boy Wonder. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Tim lunged first again, feinting left before trying to circle around to Jason’s back on the right. Jason whipped around and blocked the incoming blows, jabs that would’ve left his arms numb and tingling for hours had they landed. On one block, he snagged Tim’s wrist and used it to twirl him halfway around. He shoved Tim forward, harder than he meant to, and let him stumble a few feet as he retreated again.

The spar went on like this for a while, Tim attacking and Jason blocking and retreating. Tim’s scowl got deeper and deeper, and the careful control he usually held in his movements started slipping more and more. After the tenth time Jason knocked Tim’s attack away and retreated, Tim finally snapped.

“Stop babying me! I can take it!”

“Tim—“

“No.” Tim fell back into a ready stance, face red and splotchy from frustration and exertion. “I know what it looks like when you’re fighting for real. So fight me.”

Jason pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

Jason rushed first this time, and Tim met him in the middle. They exchanged a series of blows (though Jason pulled his punches — this was a spar not a brawl, and he kinda thought Tim had enough of Jason punching his lights out by now), and Tim held his own well. He’d gotten some good hits in during their confrontation at Titan’s Tower, but it was clear he had improved since losing to Jason back then. If Tim had been in a better state, he might’ve been able to hold out against Jason’s onslaught for a while.

As it was, Tim had clearly been training for a while before Jason had come in and had already been fatigued, and his lingering frustration from Jason’s kid-gloves was obviously making him sloppy. With Jason’s bulk and sheer strength, he had Tim pinned to the ground in minutes. Tim grunted and growled and struggled under him, trying to free himself, but Jason had both his arms pinned above his head and had settled his bulk over Tim’s thighs so he couldn’t flip their positions or kick Jason off.

“Satisfied?” Jason asked dryly.

Tim didn’t reply, twisting his wrists to test Jason’s grip.

“Ready to hit the showers? Alfred probably won’t be happy if we come to dinner all drenched in sweat.”

Tim twisted his hips, trying to throw Jason off but unable to get the leverage to move his considerable weight. “No, fuck you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Timber, you kiss Alfred with that mouth?”

Tim paid him no mind, continuing to hiss and spit under him. Honestly, it reminded Jason a lot of when he was Robin. Whenever Dick beat him in a spar, he would hiss and spit and carry on, trying to break the hold until Dick got sick of his whining and—

Ah. So that was why Dick had been tickling the kid to tears the other month. 

Jason gave Tim a considering look. For a moment, he wondered if he really had the right. Tim wasn’t his little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. He’d been telling himself so for months, even if there were moments of doubt. But, well, wasn’t Tim his little brother? They snarked and tussled over the computer and helped each other on cases, and Jason was here to eat family dinner with him for God’s sake.

And hey, maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

Amidst Tim’s struggling, Jason managed to wrangle both his wrists into one hand and pin them firmly above his head. Then, making sure Tim was watching, he hovered a hand over Tim’s stomach and slowly started wiggling his fingers.

Tim gasped and froze. Then, just as quickly, his struggles started up again with a new desperation.

“You wouldn’t.”

Jason grinned, lowering his wiggling fingers another inch. “Say uncle, Timmy.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, dragging his eyes away from the ticklish threat to meet Jason’s own. “Do your worst.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut tight just as Jason’s lowered his hand and touched down on Tim’s stomach. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed, going pink in the face as he tried not to laugh.

Jason laughed for him. “Come on, TimTam, we both know you’re ticklish as shit. No point in not laughing.”

Tim shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to worm away to the left as Jason’s hand traveled to his right side.

“No, it doesn’t tickle? Are you sure?”

Even though his eyes were still closed, Tim turned his face away from Jason, trying to hide behind one of his biceps. Jason grinned wider and jumped his hand over to Tim’s other side, delivering a series of nibbling pinches without warning. Tim squeaked, like the little baby bird he was, and jolted to the right to try and get away.

“I dunno, Baby Bird. Seems like it might tickle.”

Tim made a growling noise in the back of his throat, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh again.

“No? Maybe we should make sure all your nerves are working right, then.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open at that, glassy and watery from the effort of holding back his laughter. Jason made sure to grin at him, smug and toothy and all evil-big-brother, just like Dick used to do to him.

“Tell me, can you feel this?”

His hand shot up and skittered calloused fingertips and blunt fingernails against the exposed side of Tim’s neck. Tim’s head snapped to that side with a muffled squeal, his smile fighting to become open-mouthed and toothy, forcing Tim to bite down on his lip to keep his reactions at bay.

“Hmm, seems promising. How ‘bout here, can you feel that?”

Jason shot back down and vibrated his hand into the center of Tim’s belly. Tim tried to jackknife to protect himself, but with his wrists firmly pinned and Jason’s considerable weight on his thighs, he was forced to stay flat against the mats. He chose to toss his head back against the mats instead, shaking it back and forth furiously.

“No?” Jason asked, voice dripping with faux-concern. “You can’t feel it?”

Tim let an annoyed little groan, but quickly cut it off as it started to take on a giggly tone. Jason was being deliberately unhelpful in the matter, poking his index finger into various spots of Tim’s stomach and vibrating it.

“Right here, can you feel this? What about over here? And here? Come on Timbit, work with me here.”

Tim flinched and twitched at every prod, trembling with suppressed giggles. Jason’s own cheeks hurt from smiling — he could definitely see why Dick tickled the snot out of him so often when he was a kid. This was adorable and hilarious. But he still had yet to make the kid break, which was kinda annoying. Like, hello, how was Jason supposed to tickle the snot out of him if he wouldn’t even laugh? Jason paused for a moment, letting Tim catch his breath as he planned his next attack. Now where was it that made Tim shoot out of his arms the other week…

Oh, that’s right.

Jason put on a mournful look, shaking his head. “Starting to get real concerned here, Timbourine. Maybe we oughtta do a full injury check.” Jason rested his fingers on Tim’s lower ribs. “What do you say?”

Tim gasped, shuffling as far away from Jason’s hand as he could, but Jason followed the movement easily.

“Jason—“ Tim started, but cut himself off, pressing his lips together again.

“What is it you said to me, again? Do my worst, was that it?”

“Jason, I’ll— I’ll buffer Bruce for you tonight. I’ll take on your caseload. I’ll clean your motorcycle, I—“

“As tempting as that all sounds,” Jason had to raise his voice to be heard over Tim’s rambling. “You know what I wanna hear. Admit you lost.” 

Tim’s mouth clamped shut. Of course. How could the latest model not come with that patented stubborn Robin pride?

Jason shrugged, tapping his fingers threateningly against Tim’s ribs, making him squirm. “Suit yourself.”

Jason wasn’t the greatest at picking apart Tim’s expressions, but he’d say the smile forcing its way across Tim’s face was almost giddy.

He started off with a typical injury-check touch, a light press and slide against the individual ribs, just to really play into the game he had set up. Tim’s face scrunched up instantly, obviously trying to hold back his reactions, and his body started squirming with a new fervor. 

“Nerves working here, Timmers?” Jason tickled his middle ribs a bit more deliberately, making Tim’s face spasm. “Seems to me like you might be feeling something. Does it tickle?”

Tim shook his head. Jason sighed.

“You leave me no choice.”

Jason released Tim’s wrists and latched onto either side of his ribs with both hands, tickling mercilessly. Tim’s eyes bugged out of his head as he let out a laugh bordering on a scream. His legs scrambled on the mats behind Jason, searching for leverage or freedom. As Tim’s laughter fell into desperate cackles, Jason couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Jason! Jay!”

“You know how to make it stop, Timmy.”

Even with his hands free, Jason was discovering that Tim was absolutely useless when he was tickled. Jason attacked lower on his ribcage and Tim’s hands latched onto Jason’s wrists in a feeble, laughter-weakened attempt to pry him off. That only opened up the rest of his ribcage and armpits to attack, which Jason took great advantage of. Tim’s laughter would get more panicky, more shrill, the higher Jason went, but his brain didn’t seem to know how to defend itself — seeing as his hands stayed latched onto Jason’s to try and pull him off.

“Jesus Christ, Baby Bird — how do you even live when you’re this ticklish?”

“Asshole!”

Jason raised an eyebrow, though he wasn’t sure Tim could see it through his squinted, teary eyes. “Be nice. I could make this so much worse.”

“No, no!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Of course, Jason still made it worse anyway. There was a particular spot towards the back of Tim’s ribs, right between the top two on either side, that sent Tim spasming like he’d been electrocuted. Jason laughed as he prodded at the weak points one at a time, watching Tim toss himself in the opposite direction of the ticklish jolts. Finally, he gave Tim a breather, resting his fingers against those spots on his ribs just to keep him giggly and twitchy.

“Last chance for mercy,” Jason said, just barely twitching his fingers to watch Tim jump. “Alfred’ll send someone down soon.”

Tim’s teary eyes went wide. “Wait, Jason, come on–”

“Damn stubborn little Robin.”

Jason dug his fingers in, torturing those little tickle spots as best he could.

“Fuck!” Tim practically screamed before breaking into laughter that would give even the Joker a run for his money. Surprisingly, the hysterical tone of it didn’t even make Jason’s skin crawl. “Uncle!” Tim cried out, and his laughter went silent.

Jason eased up, redirecting his attack lower on Tim’s ribs, though still vibrating his fingers into the nerves mercilessly. “Hm? What was that?”

“You win! Uncle, you win! Jason, come on!”

With a chuckle, Jason heaved himself off of Tim to sit on the mats next to him, ruffling his hair as he caught his breath.

“Fuck you,” Tim said, closing his eyes and relaxing bonelessly into the mats.

“Hey.” Jason raised his hands in surrender. “You could’ve stopped that at any time. Not my fault you’re a stubborn little bitch.”

“I’ll get you for this.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got, like, a hundred pounds on you and I’m twice your height. How do you think you’re accomplishing that, shrimp?”

Tim peeled one eye open to glare at him. “I’ve got Dick.”

Jason froze. Oh, shit.

“That he does,” a cheerful voice chimed in from the direction of the stairs. Dick strode towards them, a slightly feral smile on his face. “And I would be more than happy to help. We never did test your claim about the Lazarus Pit taking away your ticklishness.”

Oh, fuck, actually. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Tim about Dick’s thighs that one time.

Dick’s smile shifted from feral to innocent in the blink of an eye. “But maybe later. Alfred sent me to get you for dinner – and I know he wouldn’t appreciate your B.O. stinking up the dinner table. Hit the showers.”

Jason groaned as he got up, pretending to crack his back even though he wasn’t the slightest bit sore from their sparring or impromptu tickle attack. Then, he reached down and hauled Tim to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the Cave’s locker room ahead of himself. Just as he went to follow, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Good job, big brother,” Dick said, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel through the echoing cave. He gave Jason’s shoulder a squeeze.

Jason looked away and scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Little shit was asking for it.”

Dick laughed and dropped his hand, shoving Jason toward the locker room much like Jason had shoved Tim. He tried not to think about it too hard, instead focusing on how carefully he’d have to watch his back in the future.

No way he was letting Timmy and Dickhead take him down without a fight.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Through the bars of a cell do you see the stars are shackled too? (Platonic)

Welp yall, here it is! The 13k magnum opus I somehow wrote

Not sure if it’s any good but that’s for you guys to decide

Masterlist for this series 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea @angstylittleb1tch @badluckinfrench @emmbny @kenkenmaaa @yunho-leeknow @chibiduck @spqce-bun @coca-cola-fiend @Koifishpoond

If there was one thing Kaido knew about life was that it sucked. 

Day after day was a consistent drag of disappointment and bellowing sorrow.

there were only a few things that made it slightly bearable as he went from suicide attempt to suicide attempt as to finally end his own agony.

Booze

The company of a woman (alway Black Maria)

The thought of someone finally being worthy to kill him.

And the recollection of memories.

These four things made the time in which Kaido wasn’t actively taking a sword to his chest or gunshot to the head somewhat….ok. 

The first two of these were simple enough desires.

His entire crew indulged themselves just the same as him, though in relative moderation compared to Kaido’s ravenous appetite for both. They served as decent distractions, the buzz of booze and a pretty woman at just about anyone’s side was enough to at least raise someone’s mood. Kaido was no exception to this until that buzz went away and a woman’s touch faded to a lukewarm warmth that could never graze his heart.

The second was also yet another simple desire, a goal more to say. The thought of which made his blood boil in anticipation of someone finally being worthy of giving a finishing blow. His heart stopping and breath finally leaving his throat. Oden had been the closest to this, the scar proudly displaced on Kaido’s chest seen more as a badge of honor rather than a brush with death that many would look at in shame. 

If Kaido had been less of a man, perhaps he’d gaze at it the same way rather than something he often gleams at in a mixture of pride and melancholy.

But then there was that last distraction, perhaps the most effective of them all. 

Memory.

Kaido has lived a long life, one filled with various adventures that now make everything feel dull in comparison. 

He sometimes thinks of the Rocks pirates, the crew he was on all those years ago where he’d meet Linlin and Newgate.

Most times he thinks of Oden and their battle. The man he’d be willing to call an equal as they fought to the death before that dirt old hag pulled that underhanded trick. The bullet he put through the old Rulers head as he boiled.

Other times it's of the Boy formerly known as Alber in a lab. Fanning the flames that burned away at cracking test tubes and blindingly white lab coats. 

But of all memories he thinks of there was always one memory he found himself looking back to.

No matter how much he tried to drink and wash down the sorrow.

Nor the blood staining his hands that unlike the rest he tries to wash off.

He drinks and unfortunately remembers.

===

For as long as Kaido could remember he’s always been locked behind the bars of a cell and had the key thrown away.

Being born in vodka kingdom meant he was already drafted at birth for the sole purpose of being a cog in the machine of war.

The battle cries and burning villages served as his lullabies. 

Blood staining his hands at the ripe age of 5 like paint.

Club heavy in his hands as if it were a toy.

When you're born with shackles you don’t know the concept of freedom until you see it first hand. 

And Kaido saw it when the nobles of his kingdom sat down one night for a feast. They ate and ate as if it were the last thing they’d do, laughing at jokes and throwing the bones of chicken at the nearby stationed guards who stood and did nothing. Kaido was a part of that group, he stood as a 12 year old boy with a weapon in hand whilst having food he’d never been able to eat thrown at him.

He clutched his small hands readily made for crushing bones and splattering the innards of now dead fools.

But he was ordered to stand there and he did.

He stood there being mocked and having his horns tugged at.

A “tamed Oni”, one had cackled at him whilst grabbing his horns, pulling at them uncomfortably.

People used that term around him a lot. It had explained his horns that others did not have, nor the height and strength he had compared to other soldiers. They always treated him differently compared to the others, fear lingering in their eyes despite him accomplishing a raid.

Now he knows they were waiting for him to snap the leash curled in their hands.

To break the collar of “tame” they had bestowed him.

It would take a few years but ultimately they were right to be afraid.

Because no matter how much you domesticate a wild animal they with inevitably fall to instinct.

But unlike a wild animal who bite the hand that fed them they decided he’d be transferred to new masters.

It was more profitable that way. 

So instead Kaido became a bargaining chip.

His bunk with other soldiers was replaced with a damp dark dungeon though it wasn’t much different.

The invisible shackles became real and rubbed uncomfortably against his wrists.

And the slop he was already forced to eat somehow became worse.

In a cell Kaido sat.

And it was there he met a child a few years younger than him with eyes that caught his attention.

He could’ve sworn he saw the stars shine within their deep darkened irises.

It was there he met you.

===

“So what did you do to get thrown in here?” It’s a simple question but one that makes Kaido reared his head up from letting it hang down. A scowl paints his lips, keeping them in a downward slope as golden eyes look up from across the cell to you.

You sit there, head held up by your palm while you sit in a criss cross position. Bruises and dried blood paint skin, a sight he’s intimately familiar with yet like him you seemingly brush off the pain.

“They don’t like when their dogs rebel…so their selling me off”

It’s simple and to the point, he doesn’t want to talk further and his response should indicate that.

Yet you either don’t notice or ignore his tone.

“Ah…so you were a soldier right? How many years?”

“13”

“Wow” you tilt your head a bit at that, a mixture of amazement and disbelief along with sadness “13 years…when were you drafted?”.

Kaidō scowls, “at birth”

He watches confusion settle on your face. He quirks an eye at it.

“You're 13??” You sound exasperated at that, eyes widening a bit even as you say it.

“How old did you think I was?” He can’t help but ask.

“I thought you were in your 20’s maybe even 30’s”

Kaido in that moment suddenly felt that old as you said that. Did he really look that different compared to others? Guess it was that oni blood-

“Wow, you're even cooler than I thought! You can probably fool people into buying alcohol!” Saying this with a smile he can’t help but search it for sarcasm yet he finds none. Were you…really being genuine? Did you think he was “cool”?

Kaido didn’t really think anyone would describe him as that.

A monster, yes.

Demon.

Oni.

Devil child.

Beast.

But cool? That certainly wasn’t apart of the vocabulary spat at him by his superiors and civilians of burning villages.

“So wait, since you’ve been a soldier your entire life do you know anything outside of it?” It’s a stupid question, but one he guesses is still kinda nice to ask if only for conversation sake.

“What do you think?” 

You go silent and he thinks for a moment you stay that way, but after a minute you ask.

“Well, do you wanna know about the world then?”

With curiosity and maybe even a bit of hesitant crumbs of joy he nods.

You smile despite being in a dungeon chained to the wall adjacent to him.

===

Kaido had never once thought that the world could be so interesting until you brought color to it with all the knowledge you hold.

You talk of the islands where flowers grow and bloom, meant to be admired instead of crushed beneath military boots and razed into ash.

You explain the expanse of the night sky and the stories of constellations learned through years of travel. Stars he was taught to know the way back to the kingdom or to use as to navigate yet never appreciate their gentle light.

You tell of the burning sand between your toes and the expanse of crystal blue water that extends to the horizon, the sun setting over it in warm hues of orange, yellow and pink. He has walked across sandy shores but never truly felt sand beneath his feet, never truly stopped to enjoy the lapping of warm waves when the cold plunge and orders to swim are given.

You speak of freedom when all Kaido has ever known is of the chains and collar placed on him since birth.

And you breathe color into the monochrome world he once knew.

Kaido can’t help but imagine the world you describe to him, the sights and beauty of the sea.

Is it as truly free as you describe it?

Can someone like him who’s known the shackles of subjugation truly find peace there?  

Can he be free of the weight of chains just as you described?

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part (something very foreign to him) but he think he believed you.

Believed your words 

Believed your stories 

He’s left to ponder over them as you're dragged away by guards despite his protest.

He knows them well, worked with them once before and maybe had even shared drinks yet they look at him with disgust. With an apathy familiar and not foreign to him yet curls in his gut with disgusted anger. 

He tries to break free of the chains but cannot.

For hours alone in a cell he stares out the little barred window looking to the stars you taught him of.

And hours later you're dragged back more bruised and beaten than before but still keeping that damn smile. 

Still retaining the light and gentle air to you that makes you laugh off the broken arm that hangs limply.

“I never asked how you ended up here” Kaido finds himself saying as you rest against the cold stones of the wall, blood marring them a deep maroon as bugs crawl and cold water slithers down. You smile as you do for just about everything, it reminds him of the softness of fur that they had the grace to give in the coldest of winter “they keep asking how I ended up here, assume I’m a spy or something. They won’t take my word that I just ended up here by accident”.

“Did you?”

“Yeah, is guess you’d call it bad luck but I met you so it’s at least better than before” 

“How is me being here with you any better?”

“Having a friend in a cell to return to is better than nothing at all”

“You consider me a friend?” The word feels foreign on his tongue. He had colleagues, and his kingdom had allies made through treaties but never once has he heard that word applied to these relationships. There was always a hollow coldness to them, necessity over genuine companionship despite the same experiences of being born weapons.

“Of course I do” you say this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and it hurts his head. “I guess i never asked, but would you like to be friends?”     

Kaido doesn’t understand you, but maybe that’s why he likes you better than all the other recruits he was raised with.

 You actually think.

 You feel.

And you can create actual conversation about something other than the boring slaughter of more innocents. 

He could never call the razing of a village a war, not when they do not truly fight and just wait to be slaughtered to let the women and children flee. 

It does not satiate the craving for a true battle, a true foe, a true adversary for him to fight.

You do not scratch the itch of that fight but you do create a new one as he thinks of freedom beyond these bars.

Beyond the fate of being a pawn and soldier to master.

The itch gets stronger the more you talk, as does his urge to sit down and listen genuinely instead of mutely compute the drowning of orders.

Unlike commanders too caught up in their own pride you let him talk.

Let him ask questions.

Let him find different conclusions to morality even if yours and his budded heads.

But most of all you respected Kaido.

Respected him as a person rather than when you respect a monster because of fear.

And kaido finds himself returning the sentiment even if you're physically weak. But that’s ok, Kaido can make up for your lack of physical strength. 

Your mind is what’s more important anyways.

Your kindness he wishes to savor exclusively for himself even if in every other person he’d see it as weakness is written off. 

“Yes” he answers slowly, “I’d like that”.

===

Each day you're dragged out at some point and beaten within an inch of your life. Returning with more bruises budding into ugly purple spots as blood stains your white linen shirt a color he’s too familiar with. 

Cuts are crusted up as is old blood that keeps having more crust over.

More broken bones though now they aim for smaller ones, as to drag out having more to eventually break.

Each time you're brought back more broken than the last you keep greeting Kaido with a smile and it drives him mad. 

It also makes him realize just how strong you actually are though.

How resilient you are even in the worst of times.

They keep beating you for answers even when you repeat the same thing every time.

But you do not cry.

Don’t scream nor beg.

And that just seems to piss them off more and proves your resolve even further as to when they move to other methods like waterboarding and taking precise slashes.

You're determined not to give them what they want.

And that in turn makes them Determined to see you break.

To shatter into tiny shards that they’ll stomp into dust.

But even with that it’s nothing compared to you.

The burning look in your eyes rivals that of a thousand stars, and it burns Kaido to the core with how they shine.

How they do not flicker in the face of adversity.

Do not run out of fuel for the fire and just keeps burning to new intensity each time you come back.

Each time you stare at Kaido’s chains and the lock of the cell door.

In many ways you're weak but in others you are strong.

You're a contradiction in every sense of the word that Kaido wishes he could understand.

Because how can someone who has experienced such pain and cruelty of the world still smile as you do?

How can you still laugh with half a ribcage shattered and digging into your lungs.

How is it that despite it all you're laid back and calm even when a blade threatens to expose your innards to the world.

How can you be so soft and yet harder to crack than diamond coated on steel?

It doesn’t make sense (and it never will to him) but he wants to understand you.

Want’s to take the time to solve it like a puzzle instead of the regular way of solving problems via bashing it over the head enough times.

(He never gets the time to do this in the end though)

They don’t put your shackles on this time, it’s not worth the effort in their opinion when they’ve broken so many of your bones.

So they throw you on the hard floor, and lock up the cell once again.

You crawl your way to Kaido’s side of the cell, curling up next to him in a way that feels natural. He hikes an arm around you protectively as one would their own child, and while he doesn’t know what to consider you by (he now knows he considers you as one would a younger sibling) he knows he cares.

And while that’s a scary thought to him he can’t help but revel in it.

The fact that for the first time in his life besides pulling a trigger and watching the flames burn he cares. 

Cares for something of his own volition rather being ordered to. 

Despite being similar in age to him, you're so small in his arms. It’s mostly due to his Oni blood but a swelling of protectiveness wells up in him. He’s felt it before as they drag you off, yells at them to stop and leave you alone. But now settled in his arms so physically broken and battered it really dawns on him.

You're a child and so is he.

You only help to cement this in a small moment of vulnerability in his arms.

“I miss my home…even if I can’t remember it anymore.” He sees tears glistening in moonlight that peaks through the bars. You don’t cry from the beatings and torture like a skilled soldier, but you cry for home just as a child would.

 “I want to remember but I can’t and it hurts so much. It hurts so much Kaido, and I can’t do anything about it. I’d rather rip out my heart and burn my nerves to nothing or crush each individual bone to dust if it meant it could remember what home was like. I miss it so bad and I don’t even know what I miss” 

Kaido doesn’t know what to say, what to input and make you feel better because weapons are not meant to comfort others.

Monsters aren’t meant to hold the hand of the child, they're meant to scare.

But he tries.

“What do you remember?”

You bite back tears, swallowing them down to smile once more though now he sees how it wavers. It cracks ever so slightly at the corners, no one notices because it’s so bright that they never look there to see how practiced it is.

“It’s really hazy…” you start, playing with broken fingers before he stops you by placing his battle torn ones atop your own “but I remember a garden”

“What did it grow?”

“Flowers mostly…maybe peonies? Oh! And lilies. But I also remember strawberries, well more like remember the taste of them”

“What did they taste like?” He’s heard of those berries before but has not tasted them.

“Sweet…tart and earthy. I think I planted them because I was alone for periods of time?”

“Why’s that?”

“I think my parents” for a second you pause in consideration and contemplation, he watches the tears run in your head. But then eyes light up with a hazed recognition “they had to travel for work sometimes. They’d stay for long periods at home and then leave. They didn’t want me to go with them…thought it was dangerous maybe?”. 

He nods at that.

That sounded like a fair enough reason, especially for someone like you.

Gentle and kind.

Showing Weakness even if it also seemed to be your strong suit.

The world has and would eat you up.

“Mom smelled of spices all the time. I think she came from a desert island, and liked to visit it. She would bring me back things”

“Do you remember what those were?”

“No…I just remember my sash came from that place. Made of special silk or something” you look down, but your sash is not there. Probably taken and sold already when you were initially dragged into the dungeon. 

“Your dad?”

“He…I think he liked helping people.” 

“So he’s like you then”

Your smile seems to become more genuine at that.

“Kaido my memory is really bad, I forget a lot. if…I can’t remember all of this then can you do it for me?” You look at him, those stars he swears he can see hidden in them shine once more. How can he refuse such a thing? Not when you’d made him feel like he isn’t just a gun to be held or a weapon to hold. “It’s like you said, we’re friends” he feels weird saying this but maybe in a good way “I don’t mind”.

===

The marines will be there for him soon, he knew it was a matter of time but despite that he can’t help but feel as if it has all flown away in a mere month.

What should have been a time in which he lamented alone,Cold and starved. It was filled with knowledge, warmth and fulfillment none of which he’d ever had the privilege in knowing. To his commanders he didn’t deserve it but you seem to think otherwise. 

You always seemed to think otherwise to what he was taught.

When they dragged you back one night he noticed your smile was wider than it usually would. There was something about it that was innately different. 

Once more they don’t lock you in shackles, just throwing you limply to the ground.

Your eyes watch as they slam the door and leave.

Something in them sparks up like a match in the dark. 

A chuckle escapes your lips and he watches you sit up despite the broken bones. Worry etches itself into him.

“Stop moving your hurt!”

“I’m fine, had worse” it’s said as if it’s something as casual as the weather. “Anyways Kaido, where do you wanna go first when we get out of here?” You have that gaze again, it feels like a trick question.

“When?”

The look in your eye gets stronger as cracked fingers caked in your own blood reach into your pocket and pull out a key.

It gleams in the moonlight like your tears once did.

You repeat the question again.

“Where do you wanna go first when we get out of here?”

Kaido thinks back to your tales and finds his thoughts of where he’d be most free and answers back.

“The sea”

===

The escape is not pretty, blood was shed and Kaido is covered head to toe in red. You don’t fare much better but that’s mostly due to the fact you were in the splatter zone of Kaido’s rampage, which while you didn’t agree with was likely the only way for either of you to get out alive after being spotted.

The salty breeze rustles his hair and drifts past his horns, the ivory is stained red until he’s able to wash it.

On the small boat the two of you stole he lays down beside you on the wooden flooring. It creaks lightly because of his weight, but does not crack. The two of you look up to the stars, he wonders if they are as free as he feels whilst he stares up at them covered in the blood of his captors and by (one of) the only person he’d call a Friend’s side. 

For the first of many few times in his life Kaido feels happy to be alive, if only for this moment of respite.

And it’s the first time he feels like he could take the world.

If only for you to grasp and hold for the freedom you gave him.

Because just for that, for breaking his shackles he’d give you everything and more.

(It’s a sentiment Alber would come to understand as well, many years in the future.) 

Kaido looks to the stars, he thinks they shine brighter than when he was behind that of prison bars.

“I…I think they shine brighter here than before” he mumbles, he hears you move slightly closer despite all your broken bones and bruises.

“That might be because you’d never truly had the chance to stop and stare”

“Maybe” Kaido feels himself grunting “but everything kinda feels different now that I’m free”

“How so?”

He pauses for a moment, thinking how to phrase it before saying “it feels like things have color, it isn’t monochrome anymore. I can feel the wood beneath my fingers and sand sticking to my feet instead of ignoring the sensation because of orders. Salt stays on the tip of my tongue instead of gray slop that drowned away all taste…things can just exist without a purpose in war”.

Kaido had never been one for metaphors or flowery language, but for this he isn’t sure how else to explain it.

It all feels different.

He feels different, like a weight off both his shoulders and wrists.

Like new breath in his lungs.

An icy cold plunge into new waters.

It feels exhilarating and unpredictable.

He feels alive. 

For the first time he thinks he can say he truly feels alive, rather than just surviving. 

Not scraping by.

Not simply living without thought or question.

But alive.

Laying close to his head one of your hands goes to his hair, gently weaving it between fingers so much smaller than his own. 

“Now that we’re at sea, is there any other place you’d like to go next?” You ask looking up to the stars yourself, he wonders if they reflect the ones in your eyes or if yours are their own little night sky.

“I haven’t thought that far yet.” He answers honestly, he focuses on the Big Dipper and Little Dipper, he thinks that they reflect both himself and you. “But so long as we’re free then I’m content in where we go” he says this Earnestly, turning his attention from that of the celestial bodies to you.

There's a look on your face he can’t place.

But he thinks it’s some sort of sadness.

It looms over you like a specter and soaks you to the bone in melancholy.

But you nod, and let the silence punctuated by waves take over.

He doesn’t get that look now, but he later realizes it’s the look of “I’m sorry”.

===

He realized too late your wounds should not look that way.

He knew they shouldn’t have in the beginning but it only sets in now after examining them himself. 

Kaido knew he was no Field medic. His hands were only used to destroy and Maim and kill. But Kaido tried. 

Because that’s all Kaido could do.

Try.

Try for you.

Try for you to be more than just an agent of destruction.

Of trying to do his best in treating the wounds despite the fact he does not know how to be gentle.

How to properly show care.

But nevertheless Kaido tries, he wraps your wounds and cleans them with water even if he has to hold your hand due to the sting of salt. 

His hope is that you’ll float by a marine ship, in which he’d raid it and find their doctors to fix your infections.

But for now besides that he had to stabilize you, which seemed to be a fighting effort considering you don’t seem to care all that much.

At least for yourself.

When it had come to Kaido you placed him over yourself much to his dismay. Even back in that damp and dirty cell you’d done that. Giving him half your scraps of food, pouring a good portion of dirty water into his cup. 

“You need it more than me” is what you had told him along with something like “you're bigger than me which means you need more food to power you” and “I’ve survived with less, I’ll be fine”.

He’d at the time hesitantly accepted it, but now as he dives into the ocean and catches fish to cook he doesn’t take those excuses anymore. Even if he has to basically force a large portion of Cooked fish in your hands and sit down in front of you glaring, telling you to eat.

But that is the least of his issues when it comes to you.

Kaido knows that for a 13 year old he’s mature, as are you despite being younger than him.

But he feels like a damn nurse trying to make you take medicine when it comes to the simplest things.

No, make sure you stay hydrated.

You can’t skip out on getting rest just cause someone needs to be on lookout. It's fine.

Stop poking at the very infected wound that’ll irritate it!

Stop moving around when half your bones are broken!!

At 13 Kaido thinks he has gray hairs already setting in. Because this makes him feel as old as what you first assumed him to be when the two of you met.

You're stubborn as a mule on this, practically forcing him to keep you bed ridden with the minimal supplies this small fishing vessel had. The couch you lay on is itchy as are the sheets used as blankets but it’s something and that’s all Kaido has other than you.

But even with your condition of what should be constant physical agony you keep insisting on getting up.

On trying to help around the small sea vessel.

Saying you had to look out for your own boat even if he doesn’t think that’s very likely but promised he’d look out for it in your stead.

Help trying to navigate even if he knew how to.

For some reason you can’t seem to sit still, mind always needing to focus on something even if the waves were calm and weather was fine. When he’d check in on you as you rested he’d alway find you staring out the small port window, eyes glazed over. 

The haze of memory clouding them.

You tended to do that a lot in that cell but telling stories seemed to make it go away for a while.

But now you do it more often and he isn’t sure if it’s just how you are or if the infection is getting to you.

Either or, it leaves him sleepless at night More than he’d like to admit.

“Oh kaido? I never asked but why do you have horns?” You suddenly ask as he places down the slightly burnt piece of fish. Cooking was a skill taught to him…but cooking good food wasn’t. “You ask that now?” He responds then making you shrug your shoulders.

“didn’t think it was too important to ask at the time”

At that he rolls his eyes, picking up a piece of fish for you to eat. “I’ll answer if you eat”

“Ok” that was a bit easier than he thought- “but only if I get to keep asking questions”

“Fine” it comes out as an exasperated groan but to be honest a small bit of pride swells up in him.

You take a bite of the fish he cooked, eating it without complaint even though the outside is charred to ash. You look at him expectantly.

“I’m an Oni”

He waits for a reaction, but all he gets is a “oh, cool”.

“Is…that really your reaction to learning that?”

“Am I supposed to have a different reaction?”

“Yeah” he grumbles “I’m an Oni. O, N, I.” 

He looks at your face, you have the most clueless expression he thinks he’s ever seen.

“You…you don’t know what that means do you?”

“Not really? But I was just wondering if they were fake or not. Either or it doesn’t change my opinion on you” 

“And what’s your opinion of me?”

“I think your cool…and your my friend who deserved better than what life gave you”

He pauses momentarily at that, but nods.

He thinks the same of you, that you deserve better than this.

“…thanks. What’s your next question?”

You take another bite, “oh! Here’s a good question!” You suddenly turn a bit serious “what’s your dream?”

“My dream?”

“Yeah! What’s your dream now that you're free? What do you wanna do? What do you want to accomplish?” 

“I want to change the world” he says after a moment of contemplation.

“Cool!”

But that wasn’t the entire truth.

He left out a part at the end.

I want to change the world for you.

===

You’ve been acting more off than usual, and that’s saying something since you always act weird. Always having an odd look in those eyes of yours that encompass the night sky itself even in all its expanse. 

But now those eyes seem…obscured in a sense.

You're half-there and half-not.

Because of the infections you’ve developed a fever and you're losing sight of things.

Sweat pours from your forehead and breath remaining stagard as you took in deep puffs of breath.

Chills have begun to rack up your spine leaving you a shivering mess. He lets you cling to him, leaching off the warmth he naturally produces as his blood stained hands try to rub comforting circles into tousled and sweaty hair.

He doesn’t mind.

He can’t when your in obvious pain and confusion.

Mind slipping back and forth between conscious and unconscious, past and the present. 

Today he tried to have you tell a story but you kept fumbling over your own words.Trailing off and suddenly going quiet for minutes on end and then asking him what you were talking about.

You apologize for this. As well as being an inconvenience.

For being sick.

For slowly losing yourself in the veil of loopiness as your body gets worse.

But that’s hardly something that’s your fault.

It’s his.

(Or at least that’s what he blames himself for)

After failing to tell a story you go quiet for a while. 

Eerily so.

It sets him off tilter since he’s used to your voice constantly being in the air.

You don’t seem to know what to say anymore.

So instead Kaido decides to fill the air instead.

“Apparently in Oni culture we let someone close to us make a mark on our horns” it comes out of nowhere and it takes a minute for you to compute but when it does he sees fascination light up your face. 

“How do you know that?” Your voice questions, the sound of it easing some of his tension. You're still there, still conscious and not lost in your own mind. “I thought you didn’t know much about your people, considering you were one of the only ones likely left?”.

“A commander mentioned it once” 

He thinks back to that particular memory.

Said commander looking at the small horns poking out from disheveled hair. They weren’t quite as big as they were now, just barely enough to be called proper horns. 

He remembers that man’s laugh as he roughly grabbed them and tugged Kaido along with them.

“He said that when they were big enough they should carve the kingdom's emblem into them. A sign of ownership and of its importance”

��To you?”

“No, more like how it was above me” 

Now thinking back he isn’t sure if that man’s words were true or not. He’d been so deprived of information about a people he’d never met nor traditions he’d never see that any crumb would be eaten up by his mind.

Maybe it was made up.

But even if it wasn’t it remained stuck in his head.

“I want you to carve something” 

For a money you pause, a look of confusion stuck.

“Why though? I don’t want to make it seem like mark of ownership, that’s wrong”

Lightly he smacks your forehead with his finger, he ignores how it’s too hot and the sweat that sticks to it.

“You idiot, did you not hear what I said first? It’s meant to be a thing of friendship between us. They wanted to use it as something else, I want to use it as it’s meant to be used” 

“But what would I even carve? I don’t wanna put my name. That would seem weird”

Kaido pinches the bridge of his nose, then looking at you once more.

At least he knew you’d be genuine about it.

But even then your being too picky about shit-

“Do a star then”

He gets the idea when for a brief moment his eyes connect with your own.

They sparkle even with the hazy look in them.

“Will it hurt you though?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve been through worse”

“Well it matters to me-“

“Yeah well, you’ve used the same excuse before of things being worse. I don’t know what you’ve been through but I’ve been a soldier up till now, I can handle it”

By the end of the night as you lay asleep atop of him, head planted above where his heart would be (if he really ever had one) his fingers trace the indent of a messy carved star.

It’s slightly lopsided.

It doesn’t look even.

Or maybe even doesn’t look like a four pointed star to others.

But to Kaido it means everything to him.

(Something that even now years in the future despite being depressed and suicidal he fondly drags a finger over the carved notch. It’s one of the few things that can make him slightly smile about. A sight of which makes his commanders ponder of, though only King knows of its true significance to him)

It serves as an anchor or sorts.

A sign.

A motivation.

A determination for a dream.

A connection.

A symbol of freedom and a spark.

A sign of friendship to someone he feels is rapidly slipping from his grasp at each moment. Much like sand between his fingers or blood pouring from an open wound.

He cannot sew it up now matter how hard he tries,

He has to watch you bleed out slowly in pain.

And it kills him slowly on the inside.

Especially as you seem to be losing yourself bit by bit.

Kaido holds you closer, he hopes to not have to let you go.

But he knows at this point it is inevitable.

The fever isn’t going down and just seems to get worse.

The end is nigh.

===

A few years ago Kaido had saw a half dead rabbit in the camp near his bunkhouse with the others his age.

It’s white spotted fur matted with dirt and its own blood as it lay mutilated but alive. The small animal writhed on the ground, ants picking away at its flesh as it sat there still alive to be eaten. It’s a cruel fate for any living thing, but one that is not unexpected for a creature that was weak.

Or at least that’s what they told him.

His superior saw his gaze at the creature and scoffed when Kaido reached a hand to end its agony. 

He was told to let it writhe.

It was the rule of the world that the weak would die for the strong to survive.

The weak were meant to be eaten by the strong. 

And so the bunny was left to be taken apart slowly.

Dying in wheezing pain.

Left there to die in agony instead having its suffering ended with the quick snap of its neck.

Kaido didn’t know how to feel as it sat there in pain, he felt sort of sorry for it but he was given orders. 

And that was the way of the world.

He thinks back to that rabbit now and finds the similarity between you both too apparent.

Both small helpless creatures in pain.

You wheeze just as it did though now due to your feverish state.

You shiver as its body once did though instead of the chilling snow it’s now your body playing tricks on you.

And just like that small rabbit your fate is in his hands.

He has to decide whether to let you continue to a painful death just as it did or end it now. 

This decision weighs heavy on him now because he isn’t given orders to obey.

He has to make this choice of his own volition.

And for once he thinks there was one upside to being given orders to be a weapon.

Because morality and feelings never came into the mix.

He’d be given a task, do it and never have to think of how it made him feel nor the consequences of those actions on others.

It was survival.

Yet now decision weighs heavy in his mind, on his shoulders and most importantly in his hands as you are cradled by them.

He can’t help but notice once more that you're so small in them. He knows it’s mostly due to his oni blood but a part of him attributes it to how fragile you are. It would be so easy to hurt you by accident. So, so, so easy for the world to shatter you like glass. 

He’s surprised it hasn’t already or perhaps it did and you're a pro at picking yourself up back together.

Your form is held gently but close.

Kaido doesn’t want to let you go from his grasp.

Wants to hoard you to himself.

He doesn’t want you to go.

To leave him alone with this burning feeling in his heart at the thought of you going.

But Kaido knows that in the end he cares too much for you to let that part of himself overpower the right thing to do. 

No matter how much it’ll tear him apart and shatter him at his core.

You're worth so much more than both those combined. 

And he’s willing to become more broken than he already was just for you to die in peace.

His hands shake, you notice.

“ you ok…Kai?” The shortened form of his name was something you’d begun calling him a few days back. Speaking hurt your throat, so instead under his demand you’d stuck to short sentences. But at this point he’s unsure if you think he’s him or if you think your speaking to someone else.

“I’m fine…just” what does he say? What's he supposed to do? He’s 13 and he’s killed more than he could ever count yet this feels different. He’d never known his victim so well, never cared for them as he did with you. “I just need to know something” before he does this, even in your feverish state he needs to find some solace.

Tilting your head back to look up at him he sees your eyes struggling to focus. Squinting at his face almost as if drunk with uncertainty at who he was. 

“What is it?” Your words are slurred and slow, raspy and thin. The complete opposite as to what you sounded like before in that cell even with a broken set of ribs. You used to speak with such certainty and strength, joy and wonder leaking from each word. 

Your voice is but an echo of what it once was. Quiet and loosing its grasp before fading to silence.

“…even if we go our separate ways…will you still consider me your friend? Will you still care for me?”

You smile.

And Kaido feels the world shift ever so slightly.

“Course Kai.” Reaching up a hand you graze the ivory of his horns, a finger tracing the small star mark he let you carve “your my friend. I’ll always love you, always care for you even when gone. One day we’ll see each other again”.

Maybe you're more coherent than he initially thought.

Maybe you realized his intentions of putting you out of this misery.

Or maybe you genuinely think that you’ll meet once more.

In a way your right, you’ll one day meet in the realm of the dead.

(Something he now oh so desperately craves to go to)

Either way it’s all the motivation he needs to do this.

His hands shake as they shift grip to cradle the back of your head.

(A monster like him does not deserve your care, to ever feel loved as he did as your friend. But even then that’s an understatement, you were more like the family he never had. The annoying little sibling he never asked for but loved as if you were flesh and blood)

You stare up at him from your place, head leaning against where his beating dead heart is.

(Star filled eyes look up at him and they make it so that he can never look at the night sky again. Even in onigashima on the clear night skies with shining stars he cannot look at them. Only because he’s flooded with the guilt)

“Kaido?” You sound a bit more coherent than before, you look at him with a confused smile as your hands graze over the tears coming from golden eyes.

(He imagines the rabbit, if on that day he’d ended its misery. The flooding relief of death sweeping over its form that was left to rot and be picked apart by the scavengers. He promises you will not be left to that fate, that the world will not tear you apart as you die a slow painful end)

“What are you-“.

There’s a twist and then a crack.

The sound is quiet yet it rattles through his hands and into his core where sorrow roars its head for the very first time.

Slumping down to the ground he holds you, and doesn’t want to let you go.

He closes his golden eyes and falls asleep clutching a dead corpse (that unbeknownst to him began to fade away as he slipped into unconscious. He wakes up later on a marine’s ship and assumes they tossed your body, there are no survivors to tell the tale but himself).

Death is all that Kaido’s hands are good for, he isn’t ashamed of this fact but this time he feels genuine loss.

One of the few times he ever will. 

And just like the other time when he feels loss for a person he kills much later on in the future.

You and Oden smile in the face of death.

The sight haunts and transfixes him at the same time.

And it makes Kaido crave it all the more knowing the two people he misses smiled as death took them.

He wonders if the sight of the other side or complete and utter peace in the reaper's cold hands did it.

Either way he wishes to go out the same.

With content in his cold withered heart and a smile.

===

Kaido isn’t sure if he believed in ghosts and spirits, but he did believe that in some way you were still with him even in death.

Because you linger subconsciously in his mind and everything he comes across. 

When he joined the Rock’s pirates under Newgates offer he imagines what would have happened if you were still with him. Would you have wormed your way into the murderous crew’s hearts just as you did him?

He knows for a fact he would have had to fight Newgate for you. 

The man’s dream of a family aligning all too well with how he would have scooped you up the minute Kaido stepped on that ship.

Linlin talks about a childhood best friend that sounds a lot like you.

She reminisces about it quite a bit, no one but him actually listens (even then he only does this for his own nostalgia of you and how similar this friend of hers and you sound alike). That seems to help get him on her good side though with how young he was when joining that helped as well, she now calls him “little brother”. It’s an affectionate term, one that he isn’t quite sure how he feels about when she messes up his hair and slaps him on the back.

He thinks it’s then that he realized he viewed you the same way Linlin does for him.

Little sibling. 

It’s always after someone is gone do you realize the true extent of their importance to you.

It’s only when they're gone do you feel their loss in the world and your life.

He thought he had prepared for loss, for mourning and grief.

But they still hit him harder than any bullet or attack. 

It’s perhaps a true testament to you and your affect on him. 

Linlin at some point has him try a strawberry shortcake once he says he’d never had strawberry before. She enthusiastically hands him a piece, it surprises both him and everyone else on board. She never shared her sweets, let alone with anyone on board besides maybe Stussy and Gloriosa when they were on those weird weeks where they smelled of blood and were moodier than usual.

So he tries it.

The small red berry with bits of white frosting stuck to it, it hits his taste buds with an onslaught of sweetness.

It’s as you described strawberries to taste, sweet and earthy, its juice pools in his mouth and leaks from the corner of his lips.

But at the same time it’s bitter and dull.

He swallows it down though, and eats the rest as Linlin grins in delight. 

She asks him how it was and he responds that it was fine.

She does not know of how it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth even after trying to wash it down with sake and whatever booze was offered that night.

Only Newgate seem notices of how he tried to wash out his mouth.

Thankfully he does not ask.

And Kaido luckily does not have to tell of how the too sweet taste of icing and lingering bitterness of fresh strawberry stains him.

(When Linlin sends shipments of strawberry shortcakes years later Kaido bitterly eats them just as they leave a bitter taste in his mouth. King asks him why he eats them despite his clear distaste for the sweet confection. He just says it’s because it’s a gift and because he values the bittersweet of strawberry. King raises an eyebrow at this, but does not comment on it. Instead he join in on finishing the many sweet confections even if like Kaido he prefers more savory dishes) 

===

In a lab many years later after gods valley Kaido finds a white haired boy chained up to a table. 

Red burning eyes stare to that of gold ones.

Kaido knows his eyes are not like yours, they do not burn with the same intensity of Starfire but they do burn.

They burn like the flames that eventually eat up the rest of the facility as shackles are broken. 

He learns the boy's name is Alber, a last surviving member of the Lunarian race that had been slaughtered much like his own. Unlike horns he possesses wings and an undying spark. Both of which weakly cling to life after years of poking and prodding by people in white coats that are now marred by ash and blood. 

Kaido was sure of it after he had bludgeoned enough of them with his own bare hands or let the collapsing building take care of the few stranglers.

Alber in the escape is reborn anew in the ashes of a burning lab as King.   

A fitting name for someone who would eventually come to rule this forsaken world at Kaido’s side.

As King looks up to him, with widen ruby red eyes Kaido notices how they look at him. He looks at Kaido as if he had hung the moon and stars, perhaps in a way Kaido had for the young Lunarain.

King does not remember much of his home besides the scent of burning wood of a giant bonfire and the subsequent burning of their homes.

Fire had been important to their people, it symbolized that of the blazing fires of the stars. The eternal fire of their spark hung just behind them like the star that was hung above the red line. It was said to have been given to them as a symbol of home no matter where they flew.

The star was placed there to always show them their way back home.

That the ones touched by their elusive god would have their sparks changed to immortalize that star.

It is ironic then that fire is used to burn away their land to bring forth Mary Geoise. 

What had used to be the land of winged people as free as the sky is reborn as the place where so called “celestials” harbor hundreds of thousands as slaves.

The lucky few lunarians had their wings tethered in chains before being dropped into the ocean to flail and drown or just properly slaughtered in the massacre as they were shot down from the sky.

The rest who don’t share that fate are privy to something much worse. Either shipped off to a lab or dismembered into exotic pieces to be kept as a part of a collection as are the remnants of their culture.

Black wings are hung up as mantle pieces above fireplaces that burn in a crude irony.

Moon White hair was cut off and woven into decorations for dresses.

Red eyes plucked from skulls to be turned into exotic centerpieces to long tables filled to the brim with imported foods.

Kaido knows that Oni horns are similarly used as decorations. 

The ivory carved into statues or used as the keys to piano’s that are played by slaves or the few lucky musicians that are deemed good enough to be in the presence of self acclaimed gods.

Like King, Kaido also knows little to none about his own culture as well.

Both their people slaughtered for decoration, leaving them clueless to their own traditions.

Yet another thing that makes him and King feel somewhat connected. 

They are both the last of their kind.

Shackled and chained like property before being broken free.

Two connected with a dream to change the world. 

Both were freed and were able to see the moon and stars once again on a beautiful night punctuated by the blood of their captures.

While King does not remember his people he does remember the stars, stars he now gets to see again.

So it’s no wonder he thinks Kaido hung them.

He looks at Kaido just as Kaido did to you.

Once more Kaido ponders if you watch him from the world beyond.

If you're proud of him for doing just as you did all those years ago.

Kaido hopes so.

===

For a good while in his life Kaido feels aimless.

To be fair, in a sense he’s always been slightly aimless. Going from place to place, adrift before he was recruited to Rock’s crew and then had to jump ship when that went up in smoke. 

He has his right hand.

He builds his crew.

Is proclaimed a Yonko and emperor of the seas.

Has a blood child.

But the hollowness in his chest does not get placated nor fade.

It only ever seems to feel worse.

The world feels like once more that it’s back to monochrome, only stray bits of color only ever appearing when he’s drunk enough to forget.  Even then the world does not feel as vibrant as it was before even when in inebriated color. 

Everything feels faded out and sullied.

Almost as if it were drowned and pulled back out from the water.

Theoretically he should be happy, but he isn’t.

There were only a few times in his life that he ever was and it started with you before going downhill from then on.

In the back of his mind he wants to blame you for this unhappiness.

You who brought him a world of light and color before having it ripped away by his own hands as a mercy to you. From then on it never seemed the same, its color began to fade as did his eventual want to live. Back when the broken neck was cradled in his hands he wanted to go with you, but surmised that you wanted better for him.

You always did.

Always put himself above you even if you were equally starving and cold.

Kaido doesn’t regret being alive, not when you fought so valiantly for him to do so and for having the opportunity in freeing King. but he does regret living to the point that he now considered it a prison in its own right.

Regrets that he now cannot look at the stars and when he does he wonders if they too are chained to their positions in the sky. 

perhaps you had known that as well.

The forlorn look you’d give when looking out to sea even in a fevered and hazy state. Eyes tracing the stars with a sadness that he could not place.

Perhaps you’d Known all of this, yet tried to keep Kaido in blissful ignorance knowing how miserable it would make him.

Even with all of this Kaido cannot hate you, nor have any ill will towards you.

Not even if he forced himself to try.

Never could he hate you.

He could hate the world and himself but never you.

Never because of the kindness you’d given.

And most importantly for the fact that he now believes you to be something else.

Kaido isn’t quite sure where exactly he first hears of the story of “Joyboy” but even with the scraps he is given it stays in his mind. It lingers and festers with curiosity. An itch that he cannot scratch until he finds more stories, then rinse and repeat.

Kaido thinks that in a way you were sent by Joyboy to him.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Or something else entirely but you brought to him the liberation he had dreamt of.

Caused within him the spark of a burning star to create change to the world for you (one that now does not care if that change is for the betterment of the world or the destruction of it in your long forgotten name that he hordes)

But this first starts off as a stray thought as he learns more and more about the god. The small bits of information he’s been able to collect is varied and old but what the legend tells him is enough to create more similarities. Most of the stories have been covered up or collected by marines, luckily they can’t do much when he raids their bases and takes what information he wants.

More information is learnt.

And eventually he comes to believe that maybe you truly were some envoy sent by the perpetual smiling god.

You died with a smile like he would.

(As does Oden and Roger)

More of his mind makes connections probably not there but ones he so desperately wants to be true.

Because if you were sent by him that means it validates how you're a shining beacon of sunspot in the dark expanse of his mind.

Like a star in the sky.

Like the stars that match the innermost depths of your eyes.

Maybe if you were sent by JoyBoy it’s a sign of breaking free of the chains of the living realm.

Maybe he will break Kaido free since he’s the only one worthy and strong enough to finally end this.

Maybe Kaido can see you again.

Maybe Kaido will see a night sky with stars that are unshackled.

Maybe your death will mean something other than a tragedy and the turning point of how things have become dull and pointless.

===

Kaido did not have the capability to love.

Respect, yes. But love? No.

It had long died in his chest as did his heart when he was born and raised to be a mindless weapon. Maybe it had had a chance of beating once more (and maybe it was revived momentarily when on that small ship adrift at sea before a sobering snap rang out into the night and a body fell limp in his hands) but that had long been buried in the past.

In his chest sits a dead heart that lays in its coffin within the ground (he does not acknowledge that he had to rebury it or that it was for a short period of time reanimated) .

Kaido cannot love even if he tries (not anymore at least).

Kaido wants to love Yamato but he cannot on account of who Kaido is as a person.

Weapons are not capable of love.

Neither are Yonko’s (the strong ones at least. Shanks and Newgate can hardly be considered that when they show weakness in pride)

When Kaido was just Kaido, an escaped bargaining chip ready to be sold he might have (and he did, he had the love of a friend but that died when they did).

But now he is the captain of the beast pirates.

A monster like him does not deserve love in the first place, he should not crave it. (But Even if that’s correct your words of “your my friend. I’ll always love you” reverberate like an echo chamber within his skull. He tries to bash his head against a wall yet nothing is able to make it stop echoing. He didn’t deserve what you had given yet you gave it anyways)

He has no time for love.

No time to coddle Yamato. 

Yamato has to be strong to face the world.

Has to be strong as to one day kill and not let it haunt him.

To not let the crack of a neck ring in his mind when he thinks he finally has peace.

To not see the dulling eyes that reflect the stars fade out and burn themselves instead into his head.

To not realize the world has color before it’s taken from him.

(But that happens anyways, and like it happened to Kaido it is set into motion when someone smiles in the face of death. For Yamato his spark for his dream boils in intensity and for Kaido it’s a spark that now wants to fizzle out) 

===

Onigashima feels different for some reason and Kaido can’t place a finger on it.

Maybe not a bad type of different per say but it’s one that he notices in time as things progress.

It started off with Black Maria seeming more chipper than usual. The normally malicious smile hidden behind a careful mask momentarily satiated. Red painted lips genuinely up turned as she talks of her newest edition of a letter deliverer. A “cute little thing” her workers picked up from the streets battered and cold. 

Maria always had a soft spot for kids, evident from how she even coddled Yamato even when Kaido told her it would make the child soft. So it doesn’t make Kaido too surprised that she picked up one out of the many strays that wander the streets. Though, how a lone child ended up in Onigashima is beyond him.

She talks fondly of them, her “little messenger” that has seemingly captured the favor of the black widow.

Somehow getting caught in her web yet navigating it and the rest of lions den with ease.

She seems to be having custom kimono and Yukata made for her messenger. Something she occasionally mentions with a rogue tinged smile as her nails dance across Kaido’s bicep. She seems happy, genuinely. He respects her enough to nod along, content in that she is also content.

Next is seemingly Sasaki and Who’s-Who, there’s been less of their demanding fights with Queen, Jack and especially King. 

The two had seemingly befriended the young messenger Black Maria had employed (much to her displeasure because now their apparently “hogging” them from her).

This then extended to Ulti and eventually Page one as well. Apparently they had somehow worked their way onto her good side, even being able to somewhat calm her down which was a godsend for many of the other beast pirates. God knows the amount of times she’s sent a good chuck in grunts to the ER from a small spot of anger. 

But then surprisingly enough even Queen and King seem to take interest in this messenger.

For Queen it’s loud but transactional interest.

Kaido can hear the concerts he puts on but now with added guitar riffs and solos. The crowds cheer with such vigor that almost all of Onigashima shakes with excitement.

For King it’s quiet but personal. 

Kaido knows that his right hand has never trusted nor legitimately liked anyone but himself.

King has never formed friendships beyond that of Kaido and that was fine. 

King was a grown man, he could make his own decisions in life and that included who he (or in this case who he didn’t) talk to. But seeing his right hand for once actually made happy, well it created in kaido an inkling of relief.

For so long King had wallowed in a similar sadness to Kaido.

King had not enjoyed anything, even when partaking in activities such as drinking or partying he only did it for Kaido.

At first Kaido could understand. He finds no point in living, and can’t find enjoyment in much anymore. But Kaido had things, he had Onigashima and the love of thrill for battle and booze and the longing embrace of death.

But later he came to notice that King had nothing besides Kaido. 

King had no people he legitimately talked to beside Kaido.

He never attended parties if Kaido was not there.

He never even took enjoyment in fights.

He never walked with purpose unless Kaido gave him a task to achieve.

King had nothing.

Nothing but the belief that Kaido would bring change and his goal was to just solely help him achieve that change.

And while Kaido saw life to be a prison he wanted King to not see it that way.

He wanted King to live.

To soar just as his people once proudly did.

Wanted to give him what he had gained from his time with you.

To paint the bleak world in color for someone he broke from chains.

To make the bars of life not visible nor matter.

To never realize the stars were collard and held in place.

So hearing he was happy for once.

That he found someone besides Kaido to help fill the emptiness of his life.

Well it piqued his interest, especially since this same messenger had seemingly done the same for his Tobiroppo and one two thirds of his all stars.

(In the back of his mind he bitterly chuckles that it reminds him of you but he brushes it off. Your dead and gone, he’s the reason for that) 

So he arranges for the next meeting to have this messenger included. 

King seems almost eager for this. Wanting to introduce whoever this is to him.

For once Kaido hears King talk about his day in detail rather than simply stating that “it was fine” and leaving it at that.

(Kaido does not hear the small utterance of a name he hadn’t heard in so so long, too caught up in his drink to catch it. It slips through his fingers and he does not realize it, even if he did compute it he’d assume it was a sad coincidence)

===

Days go by as per usual though Kaido does have something to perhaps look forward to now with this meeting.

It’s not easy to thrive in Onigashima even as a decent fighter.

So a literal child somehow making allies with some of his top commanders is certainly something that has some amusement to look forwards to.

So he waits.

And drinks.

And waits.

And shoo’s away the weird crows that have made their home in Onigashima recently.

Something also seemingly attributed to this messenger. King had told him that apparently these were their crows, one they had raised themselves after finding the murder half dead. 

Could be useful for communication, less chance of having the den den mushi tapped or curriers intercepted. Plus…he didn’t mind the bird’s presence.

Something about them was odd, but not in a particular bad way. 

They sometimes circled the sky in a spiral, swirling in a mass of black feathers similar to King.

It was a sight to see.

What's even more of a sight to see was that one of them was bold enough to join Kaido in drinking. The small feathered fiend joining in on partaking in the enjoyment of booze. Its beak dipping down in the large sake cup, then incessantly squawking when Kaido had interrupted its sips when he too wanted to enjoy in the clear liquid.

A large scar paints over its wing, leaving a trail that the little thing seemed to take pride in.

Much like Kaido’s scar that he too takes pride in.

The little thing’s name is “Nobu” , something he learned from King. Apparently along with this messenger her also befriended their little feathered fiends as well.

Kaido jokes that it has something to do with bird intuition.

King rolls his eyes though through the creasing of leather it’s clear that beneath his mask he smiles. 

Not like King can say much anyways when on his shoulders perches several of the birds. All of which linger around his flame, seemingly trying to use it as a source of warmth and equally captivated by it.

Nobu beside him pecks at his arm, making Kaido look down at the twilight coloured bird.

“Caw!” 

Kaido’s eyes drift down to it, before the bird pecks at the now empty sake cup. It was not empty last Kaido touched it…did this small bird really finish the last two thirds of the cup that most of his beast pirates could never stomach. 

Hell, the sake cup Kaido used was custom sized to be bigger than just about any other sake cup. 

Well fuck. Looks like he had a drinking buddy? Bird? 

“I’ll give you this you little shit, your a good drinker”

“Caw!”

“Another round?”

The bird nods, pecking the cup again as if to say ‘hurry up and refill you slow bastard’. 

Kaido chuckles.

Now he feels even more curiosity as to who this messenger was.

Good thing for him that meeting was soon.

===

Typically Kaido did not care much for the meetings, not unless it was something really important or led to him possibly fighting someone (and then being disappointed that they didn’t meet expectations).

But for this one the curiosity curling in his gut is enough to satiate him of relying on the presence of Black Maria at his side and a few dozen gourds of sake to get him through. 

He wonders what this messenger will be like.

Will they be a cunning child? The one who spies the people with well made clothes and awaits to pick their pockets.

Are they scrappy? The child who rustles a raccoon on the street for stealing their food and isn’t afraid to play dirty. 

Or Are they perhaps the opposite?

(In some very distant part of his mind, perhaps buried in the cold grave that contains his heart a thought bubbles out. Like undead clawing out from a grave before being buried once more. That part of him wonders if their maybe like you) 

It swirls in his mind because the thought of a child (just a random child) that would be able to befriend his top confidants.

Worm their way into the hearts of someone like King or even Ulti and Who’s-Who. 

Well…It leaves an impression.

And a all consuming question.

Especially since before even meeting this messenger Kaido can’t help but feel somewhat charmed by them.

Them who has made King more happy and content than Kaido has ever possibly seen the man and create within the vicious Maria a kindness.

They who calms down Ulti’s violent temper tantrums and apparently party with Sasaki.

His thoughts whirl.

And then Kaido Freezes.

The unbeatable monster known for ransacking villages and crumbling a nation that he now uses as a den freezes.

He knows those eyes better than he knows the scars that mar his body.

For a moment Kaido thinks he’s piss drunk or having a hallucination when he sees you there.

He had some before, when tired enough or drunk enough he could swear to see or hear you.

Sometimes you’d sit atop his shoulder (in the corner of his eyes, never fully in focus)

Other times he’d hear your voice like a small whisper of encouragement (even though your voice feels almost unrecognizable from what it once was)

And there you are, sitting in content beside Maria who dressed you in silk. The woman’s usually cruel red smile is replaced by one of adoration and warmth instead of her biting cold.

Laughing at Sasaki and Who’s-Who as the two argue over some contrived bet they made when likely drunk.

Somehow calming down Ulti who nearly blows a gasket at Sasaki who accidentally bumps into her due to his fight with Who’s-who.

Having a paper slid over to you by Queen who looks all too pleased with himself before King burns it in front of him.

And most surprisingly of all King, his right hand also holding that familiar look of comfort and content that Kaido is too familiar with when associated with you.

And then of course there’s just you on your own.

You who sits there completely the same as when you met him in that jail cell and died by his hands minus the bruises. 

The same star speckled eyes.

Same smile.

Same calm and mild mannered disposition despite being in a room infested with monsters.

Kaido thinks back to the times he had pondered what would happen if you had lived, if he had been able to find a doctor or if you somehow miraculously healed from those infectious wounds. If the rusted blunt swords used on your flesh and slashed at by guards had impossibly not led to the discolored wounds that leaked with a disgusting mixture of blood and other fluids.

Maybe you would have joined him on Rock’s crew.

Would’ve met Linlin and Newgate.

Could have helped him Break King out of that cell just as you had for him.

If you’d get along with some of the few on his crew he had some likability for (which he now knows is possibly).

If like all those years ago despite all he’s done you’d still consider him friend.

And seeing you again he realizes that all of that could have happened.

That the future he dreamed of in the few uncrushed bits of optimism that lingers in the corner of his soul could have happened.

The life he longed for on those dark nights where memories haunted him like screaming banshees.

It could have happened.

And it didn’t.

Kaido without thinking says your name, it echoes out and reverberates. The room quiets down, so much so that it feels as if his call to you was the only thing ever spoken between the 4 walls.

Starry eyes look to him.

They feel as if they peer into his very soul. Golden burning embers searching the now dull yellow pits of his eyes.

Searching and searching for something.

Anything.

But there’s nothing. 

Not even an inkling of recognition slithers its way onto your face nor into your mind. Instead horror fills it.

Perhaps just as horrified as Kaido that you forgot. 

And like before, on that night all those years ago Kaido feels something in him break.

He lost you once, perhaps in a way you’ve even lost yourself.

But Kaido will not let you slip away again.

Will not grant mercy as he did all those years ago when he was a naive boy.

Maybe it’s because of his Zoan tendencies or because of his fear (the world feels foreign in his mouth let alone to feel anymore. Because Kaido did not fear anything, not even death) but Kaido feels something swirling in him.

Protectiveness.

And then possession.

He does not want to let you free of his grasp again, will not let you lose yourself once more. 

Even if he knows how hypocritical it is to lock you by his side when you had freed him of such a fate of a cage.

But the world is not kind and neither is Kaido.

All those years ago you lit a spark in him that grew to become an inferno.

He swore that he would create change in this world even if you wouldn’t see it.

He would create change in this world for you now with you to watch.

…He’s hardly surprised when you run.

===

He finds you when it’s too late, already crumpled up and bloody in Maria’s palm. King is overhead still in the air, though the flame behind him is less of a burning red mixed with oranges and yellows but now a blindingly shining gold that scorches the sky.

Broken and bloody you clutch something.

It shines through hands that clasp at it tightly.

Light slipping through your fingers as you clutch it closely to your chest. 

Sparks are sent off roaring as it collides against the bloodied cloth of your kimono.

It sinks through the material and into a kind and compassionate heart.

A heart that cracks into golden dust he can only aquaint to that of stardust, your body is painted in cracks. It’s reminiscent of old statues, crack lining stone though now it bleeds a glittering gold instead of cancerous white lead dust.

The words that fall from your mouth like all those years ago come out like a pained whisper.

It’s almost lost to the sobs of Maria.

But Kaido heard it like thunderclap roaring in the sky.

“Oden?” 

And finally the cracks strain and you quite literally break into pieces. Becoming the stardust that leaked into the endless oblivion of the night.

In that flurry of dust momentarily you reform, if only for a moment. You're in different attire, much better for seafaring as well as a familiar captain's coat atop your world carrying shoulders. The kimono once worn now lays on the barren ground, blood also disappearing into the fine golden powder that drifts upwards.

And then there is someone else there in that dust.

For the slightest of seconds Oden lingers.

His form made up of that dust as you drift up past him, an outreached hand reaches to your own and you grab it. Eyes for the first time opening while in this form, staring into that of the man who was born to boil.

Golden eyes shine intently as a smile stretches across both yours and his face.

And then the dust settles into the night leaving nothing of proof of your existence if not for onlookers who mourn, a kimono and hairpin meant as gifts yet you never knew were and the burning flames of a star ignited over midnight black wings. 

The air settles and the silence echoes for several minutes on end.

It’s only broken when King finally descends down, feet numbly hitting the ground as the starlit flame on his back burns oh so brightly.

The shape of a four pointed star hung upon his back.

It’s then that Kaido realizes that perhaps you were never an envoy of JoyBoy at all but your own entity.

Perhaps one more elusive than the titular liberator. Someone mentioned in those tales yet he ignored in favour of JoyBoy more.

But in the end that’s fine.

Because Kaido now knows better.

But does not know better than to try and catch a shooting star or rope one from the sky.

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 V Part I Part II Part III Part IV Mmm, 5-ish months and I finally finished. I was really on a roll with these stories but work really took a bunch of time out of my schedule. It did get to the point that I didn't really want to finish this. But I can't have another story that was scraped right before the end again XD (I'll finish that UA fic at some point--) Also, this isn't a bunch of bullet notes for once. Wowie. Another thing, there'll be a part VI focused on Bruce. I was gonna merge him with Damian but I realized it just wouldn't work. I wanted to sort of wrap this story up so I can move on to my other interests. But I got back into reading other people's yandere batfam stories and got me interested again. Hopefully this keeps me motivated to finish this story. And who knows, maybe I'll go back and update the last few parts Tag: @redkarmakai @erikasurfer @szapizzapanda @kore-of-the-underworld @imhere2dosomething @pastel-mouse @cooki3dough @naina326 @peptox @ladylupuscrow @confused-they @megasweetbones @1-800-crazy @lillian-morningstar @butterflycardigann @senhoritaapple @lunayaps @sirenetheblogger @ferchu0406 @caged-birdies-blog

CW: Mention of past kidnapping, bar fight, blood, and lab testing. "Death"(Impaled). Fighting. Explosions.  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

It’s been a few days since you’ve decided to return to the manor. You were sort of numb for the first few days, not entirely sure if you made the right choice. Being used in a lab doesn't sound appealing, but who says your “family” isn't going to do the same thing? It's scary how they know how your body works better than you do. But how do they even know all this? 

Yes, you were “friends” with Dick for a while but you don't think you were ever injured around him. Probably a small paper cut or scraped knee but that’s it. You’ve only met Jason once and it was during that bar fight. That whole thing was quite violent, you ended up dead in an alleyway. Maybe that's how they studied your “powers”.

Honestly, the biggest reason you decided to return to the manor is for the chance to see your mom. If Tim was telling the truth, your mom is still out there. Suffering. This is your chance to save and be with her again. There may be some questions on why your “family” is suddenly interested in you and wants you back at the manor, but you don’t think too much about it. You just want your mom.

Plus, if you’re gonna be tested on, at least you're treated decently here. Dick gives you full range of his apartment, Jason delivers whatever food you’re craving and Tim gives you space.

Speaking of which, you haven't actually been taken to the manor yet. Your “brothers” won't give you the details but they just tell you to wait a bit. You can’t decide if it’s a blessing to not go to that dreaded place or a curse. That manor will undoubtedly bring the loneliest memories but this apartment is filled with the people that made those memories.

Not only that, but Dick apparently had a pet dog. Of course, no hate to the sweet puppy, but you did not want to be anywhere near her. You thought you’d be okay with the small pitbull but the memories of Damian using his pets to attack you just came flooding in. Curse him for ruining your love for animals. At least you don’t mind watching Haley when she’s on the other side of the room. Though, you end up not seeing her at all since you primarily lock yourself in the bedroom.

While waiting to go back to Gotham, your “brothers” took turns staying at the apartment with you. Dick is fairly respectful of your need for space. He stays outside of the bedroom but he acts like a dog pawing and sitting at the door until it gets open. Constantly rambling and talking, trying to hold a conversation while you tune him out. Sometimes you can hear him commentating while playing with Haley. Just the thought of the dog happily chasing a ball warms your heart while also making you shiver at the thought of her chasing you. She may not be as big as Titus but your brain apparently can’t tell the difference. Unlike your other two “brothers”,  you let Dick in the room at times. It is his after all and he usually just grabs whatever before leaving.

Jason is a little more tolerable. You don't know how but he always finds a way into the room even though you were sure that the door was locked. No matter where you look, you can’t find out how he’s able to get in the room. He just pops in and jumpscares you every time. Jason mainly comes inside to give you food or some book to entertain yourself. You’ve asked for your laptop a few times but Jason wouldn’t hand it over. To avoid the constant surprise visits, you told him that you’d open the door for him if he was only delivering food or a book. Guess who still refuses to use the door.

Tim…You refuse to even acknowledge him. It’s possible that the rest of your “family” is just as, if not more, crazy than him, but Tim was the first to show his true colors. Immediately making him drop on your list of trusted individuals. Even though he wasn’t that high to begin with. Just that he was willing to sell you out to some lab for a power you didn’t know you even had until recently! It’s just unnerving to be anywhere near him and Tim, you think, knows this. While Dick and Jason are always talking or interacting with you, Tim hasn’t bothered you too much. It makes you wonder why he went through all the trouble of cornering you like this if he doesn’t even seem to care.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

You lay diagonally on the large, blue and black bed. Your head closest to the lamp on its nightstand with a book at arm's length. Honest, you’ve lost the motivation to continue reading for a while now but also don’t have anything else better to do. Reading just gets boring when that’s all you can do all day. Can’t believe it’s only been about a week and you’re already getting Cabin Fever. You glance out the window and release a tired sigh. The sun is only just going down. While you could sleep the days away, you got a bad headache once from constantly sleeping so you tried to stay awake in the morning. 

You asked Dick about going out at one point and he said it was too dangerous. Or just rambled about how happy he was that you actually said something to him…After staring at the window for a couple more seconds, you slowly pulled yourself up and made your way to the over. Your hands reach for the window’s lift but hesitate with opening it. There’s a high chance that the lab group hunting you down is still out there. Just the thought of getting found out just because you wanted fresh air sent a shiver down your spine. Plus, you were still being watched by your “brothers”. Dick and Jason would definitely notice if you opened the window. Maybe Tim wouldn’t mind…right?

While they never told you this specifically, there was definitely an order your “brothers” took for who watched over you for the day. It was Dick, Jason, Tim, then repeat. You did your best to remember this because you didn’t want to get caught opening the window. You may not have completely wrapped your head around why your “family" is suddenly interested in you but don’t want to get on their bad side. Not when you know they’re capable of sending you to that lab group. Dick says how the family wants to fix their errors and to make amends with you. But how could you ever trust them? How can you trust your “family” that left you to die all that time ago and then threaten your life? What could you have done to make them do this to you…

The moment you were sure that it was only Tim and you in the apartment, you carefully opened the window and allowed the sun in. Feeling the warm light touch your skin almost made you melt and take a nap. Which you did. You even took one of the books Jason gave you and sat on the windowsill. There wasn’t really a way to get completely comfortable but the outdoor air was enough for you to give you the energy to read your book. When it started getting late, you dropped your book on a nearby surface in the room before turning your body to face outside. You swing your legs lazily while staring at the few stars that peek out of the sky. Even as the cold air makes you shiver, you don’t want to go back into the apartment. No way are you going to cut your time short when you barely get to go outside. 

Well, it seems it’s gonna be cut short anyways because a sudden creaking sound reached your ear. Jumping in surprise, you quickly grab the edge of the window to stop yourself from falling several floors. You may not die but it’d still hurt. Your eyes do a quick scan around you for the source of the sound before landing on a nearby fire escape. Just a window away, Tim stands there with two steaming mugs. Weak eyes looking directly at you with a blank expression. You can feel your heart sink as you debate on explaining yourself or being annoyed. While you’ve made plans to let Tim know how much hate you have for him, it was all in your head. Seeing him now after so long and being the one in a bad position, you didn’t have the confidence to start an argument. 

Before you can even think of what to say, Tim casually steps forward and holds one mug out to you. You hesitate but carefully take the mug. When you accept the mug, a smile suddenly spreads across Tim’s face but remains silent. Just taking a sip of his mug while waiting for you to do the same. It takes you a moment to register what exactly Tim put in your cup. You considered throwing the cup at him but you’re still a little frazzled and his staring doesn’t help. You eventually take a sip, allowing the warm and sweet flavor of chocolate to make you relax. Hot chocolate is always nice when it’s cold out. 

“...You know you shouldn’t be out here” His words immediately replace the warmth your body just had from the hot chocolate with a cold chill. Without meeting his eyes, you try to appear unphased. Just swirling the liquid in your mug while letting it keep your hands warm. “So? It’s not like I actually left. Plus, I’ve kept an eye out. I don’t always need you and your brothers watching over me” You keep your head high, wanting to make it clear that you still have no interest in being involved in this family.

A small laugh escapes the other party before a soft thud. When you steal a glance, Tim has an elbow resting on the railing of the fire escape and his head in his palm. “If Dick found you out here, he’d board up all the windows” Hearing this instantly makes you look at Tim in confusion. Would Dick actually do that? Tim’s smile doesn’t fade as he continues while bringing his mug to his lips. “Jason may chain your ankle to the bed frame” What the heck is with this family?? For several years, you’ve wished to learn about your “family” so you can bond with them. But this is too much

“And do you know what I’d do?” The question catches you off guard. A part of you just wants to throw a snarky remark but another part is still baffled by the possibility of having a barred window or a chain to your bed. You aren’t even sure if you’re supposed to answer the question until Tim speaks up. “I’d get you a cup of hot chocolate and tell you to come back inside. It is getting late, don’t want to Dick or Jason to find you when they return.” With that, Tim lifts himself from the railing and steps back inside the apartment. You remain seated while trying to process what Tim said. So, you weren’t gonna get in trouble? Your thoughts get caught off by the sound of a door opening behind you. When you turn around, you see Tim in the doorway and motioning you into the living area. 

You carefully get off the windowsill, not wanting to spill your hot chocolate, before stepping back into the warm apartment. Tim holds the door open for you and whispers as you cautiously pass him “I also won’t tell your brothers if you play some games with me” This immediately makes you turn around and glare at Tim. Of course there was a catch to his “kindness”. Maybe that is why you were so willing to listen to him. Tim may act normal but he’s from a family that doesn’t know what’s normal.

Reluctantly, you play a few games with Tim in the living room. Luckily Haley’s out with Dick or you would have been really distracted while playing. You loved any ranking game so you could beat Tim, so it was great not being paranoid about being jumped by the small dog. Though, you don’t feel as victorious when he seems just as happy as you are with your wins. You’d dump your hot chocolate on him but you ran out. Also Dick and Jason had returned. When Dick saw you out of the bedroom, he nearly broke your eardrums as he hugged you like a favorite plushie. You worried that Haley would come over to you since her owner was holding you, but Tim picked her up before she got too close. Also Jason made dinner.

 — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Today is the day. Finally taking the dreadful ride back to Gotham. It literally is only around a 30 minute drive but you couldn’t help but feel like it’d be hours. Dick tried to cheer you up by saying what a fun family road trip this’ll be. As if you hadn’t been stuck with these three idiots for several days already. With Jason’s and Tim’s help, your stuff from your apartment are put in the car and it’s time to get on the road. Dick gets into the driver seat, Jason in the passenger seat, and you and Tim sit in the back. Ever since Tim found you sitting on the windowsill, you’ve slowly become more tolerant. You probably just feel a little obligated to spend a little time with him since he didn’t tell Dick or Jason about what happened. Or the other times that you opened the window again. Tim also helps get Haley tired so she sleeps while you go into the living room to play another game. 

Your gaze is focused on the window as the car starts up and begins moving. There’s some chatter between Dick, Jason and Tim but you don’t bother with listening. That is until Tim gets your attention with an open bag of chips. You all share the large bag while bantering with one another. Every time the opportunity arises, you make sure to tell them all the things you hate about them. It makes you happy to see them grimace but they always try to turn things around. Dick and Tim waves off your words, telling you to look to the future where you’ll be happier and safer now with your “family”. Jason would only scoff and redirect the conversation.

Arriving into Gotham, it’s as depressing as ever. Feels like it was only yesterday that you were on a bus to escape this city. Now you’re back for reasons you still aren’t completely sure about. When you looked at the time at the front of the car, you were surprised to see that a whole hour had passed. “What the hell?? It is not that long of a drive to get from Blüdhaven to Gotham” You look to Dick for an answer as he just releases a small laugh. Before he can answer, however, his phone rings. Jason picks up the device before you can see who the caller is and brings it to his ear. “What?” You and Tim watch Jason until he ends the call with a groan. He massages his forehead before finally speaking up. “There’s an outbreak”

This news immediately frightens you but Dick and Tim appear to be ready. The car is pulled over and hidden near an abandoned building. As they gear up, they formulate a plan to handle the situation and get you to safety. You honestly get a little distracted as you remember that your “family” are a bunch of vigilantes that fight crime. Wait, what if you’re being brought back to become one too? Before you can ponder on the thought though, Nightwing grabs your attention. “Okay, so I’m going to take you to the closest safehouse. You’ll stay with the other civilians until this all settles down. At the same time, Red Hood and Red Robin are going to their posts and handle the situation. Once I drop you off, I’ll be doing the same. Do not leave that safehouse.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard Nightwing so serious. Just as you all are about to split, however, a voice is heard from overhead

“I’ll take them back” It takes your brain a bit to process what is happening as a figure jumps down from a high ledge. Robin stands in front of you all before immediately walking towards you. “I can get them back to the manor if you three idiots can hold your ground” Without another word, he grabs your arm and quickly pulls you with him. You can hear Nightwing call out to you both but it quickly fades away.

You’re basically being dragged around like a ragdoll as Robin takes you through various turns. Trying not to trip and fall on your face, you still don’t have time to figure out that this Robin was Damian. That sick kid who had no problem with physically and mentally harming you. He definitely has the same arrogant attitude and him not properly worrying about how you’re tripping over yourself from how fast he was going checks out. At least he hasn’t forced you to climb buildings or do some impossible jump. 

So far, no trouble crossed your path as Robin continued to pull you behind him. Not once does he let go of your arm. It’s honestly hard to run when he’s holding you like this, but at least you won’t fall behind. Of course, all good things come to an end in Gotham. Robin and you are just about to cross a street when a loud explosion is heard a couple of blocks away from you two. He leads you to hide behind a flipped car to get away from flying debris. Your senses are suddenly overwhelmed with the sound of more explosions and the smell of smoke and metal. In your confused state, Robin takes off his cap and lets you use it as a mask of sorts. Trying to stop any more fumes from your system. You aren’t able to fully comprehend what he is saying if he suddenly stands up and leaves.

Obviously confused, your eyes follow Robin as you continue to hold his cap to your face. Your vision takes a moment to focus on the path ahead of him to see a group of villains creating havoc. You can’t quite see what or hear what is happening but you hope that everything is okay. As you sit behind a car and slowly clear your head, you piecing things together. Such as how much younger Robin is to you and how you just watched him get up and go fight those villains with explosives. You may hate Damian but he’s still a kid, right? You’ve wished plenty of misfortunes on him but you didn’t want it to be like this. It could be that you're actually still hazy from the smoke but you force yourself to figure out how to help Robin. 

You peek over the car again to look for something helpful but immediately find the opposite. There’s another villain nearby that is tearing down buildings and cars. There’s still time before they reach you so you try figuring out a plan. Looking inside the car next to you, you find a toolbox. You rummage inside of it until you find a decently sized hammer. This won’t be of any use against that broad villain that is destroying the city, but it could possibly be useful for Robin in his fight. As carefully as you can, you hide behind large debris as you step closer to where Robin was fighting. He’s doing well but by the time he’s done, the next villain will be here. You watch for an opening before throwing your hammer as hard as you can. It doesn’t do as much damage as you hoped but it gives Robin a chance to quickly knock the villain down.

Once the villain is taken care of, Robin yells and scolds you for getting involved. “I told you to say where you were! What could have possibly happened to give you the idea that I was in need of any help? I am fully capable and trained to handle these enemies while you can’t even follow simple instructions! Are you asking to die out here?!” Hearing his harsh words after so long almost makes you fall back. But no, you refuse to let this kid look down on you “I literally can’t die! Don’t fucking act like you I need your protection when I am capable of handling myself! Plus, there’s another monster thing coming this way. We need to get out of here before—” Your words get cut off as a loud roar is heard and more debris is being thrown around.

Robin quickly grabs your arm and begins pulling you both away. There’s no time to pick up the hammer you threw and you accidentally drop Robin’s cape. You stumble behind him while turning your head behind you, looking towards the large monster that appears to have just noticed you two. The villain easily pulls a lamppost up from the ground and throws it, with the top of the post pointing directly at Robin and you. The sight of the metal beam causes you to quickly grab onto Robin’s wrist and force him to let you go. Once he releases his grip, he turns to scold you again but you quickly shove him to the side. You’re suddenly launched forward a few feet as a sharp pain pierces through your body. The point of a lamppost suddenly appears at your front as your body quickly registers this new wound. The pain is so overwhelming that your brain doesn’t register the sound of someone calling your name. Eventually it all becomes too much and everything goes black.

— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊  — ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𓆩𓆪 ࿐⋆⁺₊ —

Great. Just great. You were just speared right before Robin’s eyes. From the extensive research made by Bruce and Tim, you should still be alive. But this sight of you dying was still an unpleasant sight. It fills him with an unfathomable amount of rage at you, himself, and the villain that was after you both. Robin uses a great amount of force to defeat the monster as soon as possible. Wanting to get this over with so he can take your body back to the manor.

Once the final guy has fallen, Robin slowly approaches your body that still hangs limb on the lamppost. He picks up his cape on the way, seeing as you dropped it when you two were making your escape. Robin cleans as much of the dirt off before finding himself faced with your body. With careful hands, he pulls your body off and gently lays you on the ground. He lifts up his cap and immediately wraps it around your torso, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Robin then carefully picks you and continues the journey to the manor. Being extra sure to avoid any more casualties so you can receive medical assistance sooner.