You’re seeing fall out boy on a concert. Everyone is having a great time. Fall out boy seem a little excited. “We have a surprise for you guys.” Partick says. All of a sudden P!ATD come out and start singing “this is gospel.” When Brendon gets to the chorus, someone else starts singing…
“When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band.”
Lights flash everywhere, and you see FOB singing “this is gospel” along with P!ATD, while MCR is singing “Black parade”. Everyone in the crowd is going wild and crying. Then if things couldn’t get any better, Dan and Phil walk onto stage and kiss, holding the gay flag.
Summary: You and Sonar (Victor) have been hooking up for awhile, but one night... something different. Not a bad different. But he doesn't seem all that interested in the sex part, and more interested in... you?
Word count: 6k+ (6,200 smth)
Also - this fanfic is in second person and reader can be any gender ! (I was going to make this a female reader fic but I really liked the way I was writing it as gn) - and not proof read lol
WARNINGS: Mature themes, mentions of sex and sexually explicit topics, crude jokes, swearing (a lot), slight mentions of drug use, and I think a few other things but overall fluff since I haven't seen enough cute fics of Sonar !
It was just supposed to be another hangout. Or more specifically, another hookup.
You and Victor both knew that this was just a casual thing you two did outside of work. Hard day, shitty paperwork, even shittier coworkers... all of it was fixed by a good blunt and sex.
Of course, when this started, you were hesitant. One, you were somewhat aware of his addiction issues in the past, but, then again, one blunt every other week wouldn't kill either of you, right?
It was slow when you were getting used to being around him in a non-formal environment. Light making out, cuddling, weird reality TV he'd put on because, quote, "It's only funny when you're high, enjoy the stupid people".
After awhile though? It was more intense, to say the least. Frequently hooking up in your apartment (and once in the breakroom, which you both choose not to talk about), and it was honestly something you enjoyed more than you thought you would. Well, until-
It's been a few months of this. Six months. More than a few. And overtime, it looked like things were just getting better... but one night, on your couch, tongue in his mouth, him lying between your legs, arms wrapped around you in a way he usually doesn't because it's "cheesy", though you chop the strange behavior up to him being stressed and high, but even so...
He just seemed out of it. Which is odd, because he normally takes any and every chance to jump your bones (it honestly gets excessive sometimes), and yet, now? He's looking at you the way he looks at the HR complain paperwork he gets after getting in arguments with staff over the vending machine. Or at least, that's how you view this weird look in his eyes.
At some point a few minutes into this awkward making out like high-schoolers who clank teeth every kiss, you pull away to look at his face. He seems... very sober despite going through two blunts and a shot of vodka (he personally doesn't drink vodka, but it's all you drink, so he compromised)
"Vic," you start, cradling his face with both your hands as if looking at something complex and yet very simple. Which he is. "Are you..." there's a long pause as you try to think of any words that would some up "what the fuck is up with you" but in a polite, clear question.
Victor huffs, like a child, and sits up on his legs, hands resting on his thighs like a week ago he wasn't- okay, now is not the time to reminisce. "Are you having a stroke?" The words come out of your mouth so uncharacteristically you almost think he said them. That was definitely worse than asking what the fuck is wrong with him.
"Uh... last time I checked-" Victor starts, but in a weird impulsive panic, you cut off his would-be light-hearted joke with something that made you sound more flustered than socially acceptable in your eyes "N-no! Fuck! Why'd I think that was appropriate to say?? Obviously you aren't having a stroke." Another pause "...right?"
Victor sits there for a moment, just staring at you with glossy red eyes and a droopy smile. You almost think he has thoughts in that head of his until he decides to open his stupid snout again -- "I dunno... I'm just... thinking, yanno?"
Normally, you'd agree, but Victor actually thinking is a concerning thought on its own.
"Thinking?" You almost laugh out, like the idea in itself is absurd "And, if I may ask, dear Harvard graduate, what is it that thy is pondering?" You didn't expect a serious answer to that. You're too busy laughing your ass off at the wording you used (since you're also high as a kite), and so bust laughing that you almost miss his mumbling of;
"...What if I want more?"
There is an extreme awkward silence and even awkward-er eye contact after those words leave his mouth. For a second, you actually consider that he means more sex. Because what else would he be talking about? Surely not... a relationship?
You take a moment to catch your breathe after laughing so hard it felt like your kidney was going to fail, and after letting out about five shaky exhales mixed with small huffs of laughter, you speak.
"More what? God, and here I thought I was cryptic while high. Y'know, I can't believe-"
"You're right, you're too good for me anyway."
...Pardon? What just happened? Is he talking to the wall? Secretly asleep with his eyes open? You're pretty sure that very confusing line sobered you almost completely.
"Come again?" You sit up, hands propping yourself up behind your back by your sides, while your legs splay out on the side of the couch where the backrests meet the butt-indented ass cushions, which coincidentally is the part of the couch Victor isn't sitting on. Barely. "Actually, I think you've come enough on this couch."
You laugh again, apparently not completely sobered after all via your own joke, and Victor laughs with you... kind of? He more snorts and flops back down onto you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your lower stomach.
Instinctively, your hands go on top of his head, scratching his scalp. "Mm- aha- so... on a serious note, you gonna explain what any of that meant, batboy? I'm lost." You roll onto your side, moving him with you. You lie on the edge of the couch, but that's fine, because that means Victor gets to have the side of the couch he likes.
Victor props himself up on his arm, looking more out of it than usual, but even with that, he speaks. Clear. And surprisingly meaningful despite him being... an anthropomorphic bat creature that makes boob jokes and screeches in your ear in the mornings to wake you up for work. "You know I don't just care about the sex, right? Like- like you know I have more under me than just... that, right?"
For the first time in, ever, being around him, you're frozen. Uncomfortable with yourself, not him. Something occurs to you. Is that really all you reduced him to in your head? God, just that thought alone makes you feel like shit. And now knowing that this might be an insecurity of his? Even worse.
"I- well-..." You squeeze your eyes shut, and the realize how that must look to him, and then your eyes immediately fly open "Shit- no! no no no, of course not. I- I wasn't hesitating, I was just..."
"Thinking?"
"...fuck you."
"About that..." Of course this is his way of starting a serious conversation. How else would he?
Victor pushes himself up again, sitting with his legs slung off of the couch and his elbows resting on his knees while he cradles his head in his hands like he can feel the bad decisions coming to him. "Look- I... I really liked you. Seriously. And I just... I'm too pathetic to get hard when all I want is to hold you. Is this emotional manipulation? I feel tricked out of good pu-"
"Wait wait wait, slow down, you stupid stupid bat." You interrupt him. Maybe you should've just asked what the fuck was up early. "So, you like-like me?" The words come out in your natural teasing fashion. The "like-like" comment was a reference to when he mocked you for staring at Flambae for a few seconds too long while working out around him, to which you mocked him back saying he sounded like a middle schooler.
Victor looks up from between his hands, absolutely livid in the cutest, him way possible. "You- don't you dare use my words against me! Fuck, remind me why I like you again?"
You scoff "You haven't even explained that to me, dipshit!"
There's a ten second long silence before, like the couple of idiots you two are, burst out laughing again. This is going nowhere. But a good nowhere.
After a few minutes of ridiculous laughing and snorting at air like pigs on crack, everything calms down.
You two sit, sober, and have what Victor would call "an ultimate boner killer" conversation.
///
Soooo uh, I was planning on making this one part, but like, i'm way too lazy for that. If anyone actually reads this, I'll probably make a part two of this 😔... ANYWAYS, we love batboner :3 and thanks for reading, whoever did 😭👍
CH. TWO : TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY
[ wc. 3.1k ]
No, no, no, no.
Robert’s eyes were glued to his computer; the perp was the least of his worries, even as they funneled cash into their bag and made their escape. The corner store’s security feed was of the lowest quality known to man, yet the blood pooling beneath you still managed to crawl across his screen and swallow pixels with an unmistakable clarity.
He prayed to any universal power that this was an extensive hazing ritual; that you would sit up from the mess of chips, blood, and soda with a smile and reassure him that everything was fine. His fingers flew across his keyboard to check, double-check, and triple-check every camera angle.
The fourth time came around and you still weren’t moving.
“Fuck.” He ripped off his headset, his heart pounding out of his chest.
He’s so getting fired.
/
The cries of your ambulance drew near. Robert launched himself from his chair, barely making it a step past his desk before Blazer shot past him. He pressed himself against the wall of his cubicle to avoid getting bulldozed, papers coating the ground in terms and conditions after being kicked up by her sudden flight.
Chase peeked above the partition. “Man, you fucked up.”
Robert ignored the old timer, sprinting down the stairs and stopping right at Blazer’s side. His burning lungs reminded him of his coma’s consequences, but he welcomed the pain as punishment.
“Blazer, I’m—”
She held her hand up to quiet him. “Robert.”
“Is— is she okay?” He peered around her body as the automatic doors opened. Warm air blasted into the corridor along with the stench of sweat and blood.
Blazer gave him an odd look and Robert shut his mouth. Is she okay? Now, why would he go and ask something dumb like that? Maybe Prism’s words held a bit of truth.
Blazer’s eyes were stuck on your gurney, stepping forward as the paramedics started the handoff with SDN’s doctors. Your vitals were listed off in a hurry, but the medical jargon faded to the background when she brushed the sweat-slick hair from your face. She frowned at your unfocused stare.
Robert had seen a lot of blood in his day. He was practically immune to it, and yet, the sight of white sheets turning crimson underneath you was something he knew would haunt him tonight. Your words echoed in his mind, begging him to believe me. I’m not kidding, Robert, I promise.
“Bullet hit the curve of her shoulder,” a paramedic informed Blazer. “Lost a lot of blood, but she’s lucky.”
“Luck is her specialty.” She inhaled deeply, collecting her thoughts. She rolled her shoulders back and nodded to the medical team. “Do everything you can, don’t worry about the costs.”
The doctors acknowledged her order and dragged your gurney deeper into the med wing.
Robert’s gaze followed the SDN’s doctors as they rushed past him. Suddenly, it felt wrong to speak; it felt disgusting to attempt excuses. He was the one who pushed you. He was the one who failed to help you. His gut grew heavy with unease, his focus tunneling around the flurry of white coats flocking to your bedside.
“Robert.”
Blazer’s voice shocked him out of his panic. “Blazer, I don’t even know where to begin—”
“Hey.” She held her hand up again, and this time, it dropped onto his shoulder with a soothing squeeze. “This is on me. I was so excited to see you work with the team as a complete unit, I forgot to brief you on her condition.”
Forgot about memory issues… Robert would find amusement in the irony if he weren’t so focused on the blood on his hands.
“Her file didn’t mention anything about memory problems. I thought they were fucking with me.” He envisioned the Z-team slideshow in his mind, lingering on your page. In fact, if he was remembering correctly, your file actually didn’t mention much of anything at all.
“A lot of her details are on a need-to-know basis.”
He stared at her dumbly. Need-to-know basis? You’d think he would’ve been the first person on that list.
“Her neuropsychologist didn’t clear her for field work today. She was supposed to be observing.” Blazer offered a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “If they’re not working, they’re not allowed to be connected to the dispatch channel for this exact reason; you’d be surprised how often people who weren’t cleared for the field got dispatched. That was before we made the comms strictly professional… ish.” Her gaze drifted above Robert’s head. “The bottom line is, I’m disappointed in the outcome, not in you. You didn’t know, it’s not your fault, and you’re not going anywhere. Both of you are going to be okay.”
She left him behind with that final sentiment, hurrying to your bedside. Robert caught a glimpse of gloved hands ripping your blood-stained clothes apart—civilian clothes, fuck, you weren’t even in uniform.
He dropped into a seat in the waiting room, his knee bobbing in time with his heartbeat. The past hour was stuck in a loop in his mind, and he picked apart more mistakes every time it played through.
To make matters worse, the Z-team flooded the med wing—three of them, anyway. Robert wasn’t spared from Invisigal’s nasty look, but contrary to his initial opinion, he was thankful he hadn’t met the rest of the team before the shift. Malevola and Sonar didn’t spare him a glance, oblivious that their dispatcher sat three feet away from them.
Invisigal took a step towards him, fists balled at her sides. He didn’t shrink—he knew he deserved whatever she was about to say.
“Her room’s this way.” Malevola’s fingers dug into Invisigal’s shoulder, throwing her through her portal before stepping through herself. The ruby gateway closed behind Sonar after he trailed behind.
Robert released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Saved by the bell. Whenever he decided to step into your hospital room, however, he wasn’t sure he’d be spared a second time.
/
I hate luck. Runs out on me. But you’re here to stay, aren’t you?
Your eyes flew open.
“She’s up.”
“Ms. Blazer, I say we go ahead and scrap this bitch right now.” Prism. “Get someone who maybe gives a shit about our wellbeing when we’re out there.”
“For the last time, he’s not going anywhere.”
“I care about your well-being,” Robert shot back. “This is the last thing I wanted to happen.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty fucking clear right now, Bobbo.” Flambae snorted.
Your eyes fluttered, adjusting to the glaring overhead light. Your shoulder throbbed. The pain wasn’t unlike what you’ve experienced before—you think—so the muted ache didn’t bother you. Fragments of the last few hours drifted back to you one by one: new dispatcher, mission, gunshot.
“You know I was held at gunpoint today? Zero help from the guy in the chair.” Invisigal folded her arms over your bed, the tips of her hair brushing against your legs.
“Guys, she’s up,” Malevola repeated, poking her head into your field of view. Sonar stood behind her, assessing you silently over her head.
“Someone get her doctor.” Blazer peered down from the other side of your bed. Prism got up to heed her request, dragging Flambae along with her. “How are you feeling, Angel?”
Your brows furrowed. Your throat felt like someone had wiped it down with a paper towel, leaving behind the faint urge to gag. Disinfectant. Again. It assaulted your nostrils, like it always did when you woke up.
A man rushed to your bedside and Blazer made room for him to lean over you. “Hey, Angel. I’m your dispatcher, Robert Robertson.”
You squinted at him. Brown hair, brown eyes, freckles, a little rough around the edges. Based on his voice, you expected someone less… basic-looking? He was panicked—his body language apologized profusely before a ‘sorry’ even left his lips. You almost felt bad; your last encounter happened to be during something he clearly didn’t have much experience with.
If he was affected by your gawking, he didn’t show it. He shifted closer still. “I’m sorry. I broke your trust, but I assure you, I will work my ass off to get it back. I don’t—”
You shook your head, cutting him off. “It’s fine.”
“No—what? No, it’s not.” Sonar scolded you, incredulous that you’d pardon the man so quickly. He redirected his biting glare at Robert.
“He didn’t know, and it could’ve been a lot worse.” You shifted higher up on the pillows behind you, resting against the headboard. “I don’t want this to be a thing, just… believe me next time?”
Robert blinked. Four pairs of eyes picked him apart. Three of which drilled into him with malicious intentions, yet his attention was captured by you alone. Your eyes were lucid, your tone direct and firm, your question holding a clear warning; you’re okay, I’m okay. Move on. It was a startling contrast to the floater that had fallen a few hours ago, and it made him wonder—what about your past life warranted an empty file?
He swallowed thickly, nodding curtly. “Yes. Yes, I’m— I know now. I’m sorry.”
Invisigal’s eyebrows knitted, turning to face you. “Really? You know you’re allowed to be a bitch about this, right?”
You shook your head again and attempted to stretch, hissing at the sharp tug of pain from your shoulder.
Blazer’s gaze flipped to Robert. He didn’t look at her or anyone else—he stepped back with mild confusion, excusing himself from the room. The tension remained in the room even after he was gone.
Blazer shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips. “You’re sure you’re okay? What year is it? Do you know where you are?” She flattened her hand over your forehead.
“Blazer,” you laughed softly, “I’m fine. GSW, not a fever.”
“I know, sorry...” She retracted her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You just gave us a scare.”
“I know you want to prove yourself,” Malevola poked your hip, lips pursed. “But you need to remember your limits.”
Remember, remember, remember. You forced an appeasing hum. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you later.”
Sonar was quick to butt in, shoving Malevola away to make room at your side. “I also found it very cruel.”
You gave him a knowing look. “I’ll make it up to you, too.”
“I also also found it was cruel,” Invisigal added, earning pointed glares from Mal and Sonar. Blazer shook her head and left with a quickness. She already planned to stay back to complete hours of paperwork—she did not want to add HR violations to the pile of papers waiting for her.
/
“LA continues to be overrun by the Red Ring. The crime syndicate has always been a recurring issue for the city, but reports indicate a decrease in activity—that is, aside from the tragic attack on Mecha Man earlier this year…”
“Someone turn that shit off.” Chase barked at the office. Someone scrambled for the remote, abruptly cutting the news chatter short.
Robert’s mouse hovered over your file’s refresh button for the fifth time.
“Pressing that damn button over ‘nd over again isn’t gonna make anything appear.” Chase scoffed, leaning over the cubicle. “Dumbass.”
“Thanks for those words of wisdom,” Robert deadpanned.
“Happy to help.” Chase rounded the desk, slinging an arm around Robert’s chair. “You’re not gonna find anything about Angel from your system. You’re an entry-level bitch, now. Gotta talk to Blazer for that shit.”
“She said her details are on a ‘need to know’ basis.” Robert glanced up at his old friend with hope. “You’ve been around. Heard anything?”
Chase whistled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fuck no. I don’t touch this Z-team bullshit. Frankly, they annoy the fuck outta me. If it was up to me, I would send all their asses back to jail.”
“Yeah…” Robert grumbled, reluctantly signing out of his computer. “Figured.”
“Everything I’ve heard about that damn group has been against my will,” Chase continued. “And they always got something to say about us dispatchers. One mistake on our part and they get up on their fucking high horse as if they’re not the biggest fuckin mistakes I’ve seen in my entire life. I swear they all fuckin hate each other except for when they got a common enemy.”
“That common enemy being me.” Robert’s shoulders slumped.
“Bingo, motherfucker. You gotta make sure they know they’re not here to make friends. They’re here to rehabilitate their sorry fucking lives.” Chase crossed his arms with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately for everyone, Blazer is soft for losers of all kinds—including you—and especially that one you got shot.”
Even after your explicit reassurance, Robert still winced at the blunt reminder. “What’s up with that? They all seem to love her.”
“Too damn much.” Chase huffed. “Too damn much. Aside from the entire fuckin team being horny enough to flirt every damn second, she doesn’t directly compete with any of them. Not to mention it’s quite literally in her nature to make them more powerful. You’d want that kinda person on your side, wouldn’t you?”
Robert hummed affirmatively. The Z-team was rehabilitated villains. What villain did he know had powers of luck and good fortune?
The sun cast LA in a soft, warm glow as it reunited with the horizon. Over the final hour of his horrible shift, Z-teamers cycled from the break room to the infirmary to check on you. He heard the med staff had to kick Golem from the ambulance bay because he had the bright idea to park his big ass where the ambulances offloaded their patients to get an update on your condition.
For how disorganized and crass they were, the Z-team was surprisingly unified… for the most part. Bickering here and there couldn’t be helped. One Z-teamer never made her way downstairs, however—Coupe.
He caught her before she left for the night.
“Hey, Coop.” Robert adjusted his backpack on his shoulder as he approached the assassin. “You did good out there today.”
“Hm.” Her amber eyes scrutinized Robert. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
“Me too.” Robert’s gaze dropped to the ground momentarily. “Speaking of… Angel’s doing fine, in case you wanted to know.”
“Why would I want to know?”
Robert cocked his head. “I just… I didn’t see you visit the med wing.”
Coop’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Unlike my teammates, I’m not enamoured by weakness.”
Robert took a moment to digest her negative sentiment. Not once had he heard a bad word about you until now; it caught him off guard. “And Angel’s weak?”
“The weakest.” Coop’s dry smile turned bitter. “The idea of someone having the power to sway the odds without any real work or talent is a disgrace. The fact that she’s on this team at all is a disgrace.”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like she chose what powers she was born with. I’m sure she earned her spot on the team, just like the rest of you.”
“Earned is a stretch.” Coupe kept her hands busy with one of her knives, effortlessly passing the blade through her fingers. “Forced, maybe.”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Forced, as in they’re forced to keep her on the team?”
Coupe’s eyes darted to Robert’s, her lips parting. He could tell her desire to vent was at war with professionalism, though Robert had no doubt there was something else at play. Something related to whatever details a chosen few ‘needed to know.’ Which begged another question: out of everyone, why was Coupe the one to give him a hint?
She shook her head and pressed her lips shut. “Forget it. Just don’t waste everyone’s time with a fuck-up like that tomorrow and send someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
Robert watched her float gracefully down the stairs, catching her flying into the night through the office windows no less than a minute later.
His eyes drifted down to the car park. Your shoulder was supported by a sling. Sonar’s suit jacket hung off your body, dropping to the concrete below as you wrestled with your car. OPPORTUNITY flashed bright and bold in his mind, and he raced out to the parking lot to meet you.
/
You were very close to kicking your car over. It didn’t matter that you might lose balance and fall on your bad shoulder—you could probably manage it with all the pent-up frustration at your disposal. Your vehicle insisted on locking you out, uncaring that you stood less than a foot away with the keys in hand.
“You probably have this situation handled,” a deep voice surfaced behind you. “But just in case you need any help, I’m available.”
You spun, smiling sheepishly at your dispatcher. Robert. “Thanks for offering. Funny enough, I'm having some trouble with my car.”
Robert bit back an amused smile, scooping the jacket from the ground and offering it to you. “Really? No way, hadn’t noticed.”
“I have it mostly under control, but just for context, it won’t unlock.” You explained, exchanging the keys for the jacket. “And I don’t know about you, but home sounds good right now.”
“I hear that.” Robert fiddled with your keys, rapidly slamming his thumb on the unlock button. He pulled insistently on the door handles, basically brute forcing it until a connection clicked together. To your delight, it swung open, and you thanked him with a bright smile.
He should’ve been more receptive to your happiness, but a frown tugged on his lips. As you got settled into the driver’s seat, he rested an arm against the roof of your car, planning his next words carefully.
“Look, I know we talked earlier, but I just want to apologize again.” He cleared his throat.
You give him a passing glance, tossing your phone into the center compartment. “I forgive you.”
“Thanks.” Robert grimaced, steeling himself for rejection. “I know home is tempting, but can I interest you in dinner?”
Your brows creased. “Robert, I really appreciate your dedication, but it’s seriously okay. Something like this always happens with our new dispatchers.”
“I’m not trying to be like your other dispatchers.” His eyes hardened. “I’m here to stay. So… I’d like to understand you better.”
You stared at him, searching for guilt in his expression. It persisted through your affirmations, though you supposed that was to be expected. This man had a big heart despite his miserable exterior, and nothing you said would deter him from seeing this through. Seeing you through.
“Okay. Dinner sounds nice.” You smiled, swiftly disembarking from the driver’s seat. “You’re driving, though. And paying.”
Robert smiled triumphantly, holding your gaze over his shoulder as you passed around him on your way to the passenger’s seat. He just hoped the 20 bucks in his wallet would be enough for the night.
(I.) the taglist is closed! thank you for all the love on the first chapter, it makes me so excited for the rest of the story!!
