Pairing: Kentsis!Reader x Superfam, Kentsis!Reader x Jason Todd
Summary: A mission to an abandoned Kryptonian colony turns into a nightmare when you're stung by an extraterrestrial predator. What begins as a minor injury develops into a deadly Kryptonian virus, leaving the Justice League scrambling for a cure while your powers, and your life, slip away. (woah so emo)
CW: Violence, Grievers from the Maze Runner type shit, Scourge Virus from Invincible type shit, blood, hemorrhaging, description of wounds, penetrative trauma, disease, the whole shabang if any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read this.
WC: 3k
The colony should have been empty.
That was the whole reason the team had been sent.
The briefing room aboard the Watchtower was unusually crowded when you arrived. Tim stood at the front beside a holographic display while Batman remained near the back wall, silent as always.
A rotating image of a distant planet hovered above the table.
Tim tapped a control, the image zoomed inward, and an abandoned settlement appeared.
"Three days ago," Tim began, "a League deep-space probe detected artificial structures on an uncharted world near the edge of explored space."
The hologram shifted again to reveal rows of metallic buildings appeared, roadways, towers, an entire city.
Bart leaned forward.
"So we're doing archaeology now?"
"No," Tim replied. "We're investigating why a supposedly abandoned colony suddenly started transmitting power signatures."
That got everyone's attention.
Cassie frowned. "Someone's living there?"
"We don't know."
Jaime crossed his arms. "No distress signals?"
"None."
"No ships?"
"None."
"That's not suspicious at all."
Tim ignored him and continued, "The colony predates most modern galactic records. League databases couldn't even identify it."
You glanced up at the hologram, something about the architecture felt familiar, not enough to place it, just enough to make the back of your neck itch.
Batman finally spoke, "If anything appears unusual, report it immediately. Do not separate from the team."
Bart groaned. "Why does he always say that right before things go horribly wrong?"
The ride to the colony took several hours.
The Bio-Ship drifted silently through space while everyone occupied themselves, Bart was playing a game on his phone., Cassie was reading mission files, Jaime was arguing with Khaji-Da all while Tim was reviewing maps.
You sat near one of the observation windows, watching stars streak past, with Conner eventually dropping into the seat beside you.
"You've been quiet."
You shrugged.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"The colony."
Conner glanced toward the mission files,"You know something?"
"No."
You hesitated, "Maybe."
That earned his attention.
"The architecture looked familiar."
"How familiar?"
You frowned, "I don't know."
The answer bothered you.
Kryptonian memory wasn't perfect, but you usually remembered things your dad taught you. This felt like trying to remember a dream, close enough to touch, too far away to grasp. Before you could think about it further, Bio-Ship's voice echoed through the cabin.
"Approaching destination."
Everyone immediately sat up.
Tim stood, "Alright, team. Let's work. We don't need traditional oxygen masks because there's a breathable atmosphere, but the air's dense so keep your rebreathers on, Superboy, Supergirl, you're exempt."
The colony should have been empty, instead, it felt more like a graveyard.
The Bio-Ship landed in the centre of the settlement with a low hum, the ramp lowered and cold wind rushed inside, making you shiver.
Tim stepped out first, the rest of you followed, the only thing that greeted you was silence. The settlement stretched endlessly across the landscape, metallic structures rose from the dark terrain, dust drifted through empty streets. No lights, no movement, no signs of life.
Bart rubbed his hands together from the cold.
"Creepy."
"Very descriptive," Tim said.
"I'm serious. This place looks haunted."
You were about to make fun of him when your gaze landed on one of the nearby buildings. Then another, then another.
Your stomach dropped. "No way."
Cassie glanced over. "What?"
You pointed toward a series of symbols etched into a nearby wall, "I know that language." The team immediately turned toward you.
Jaime frowned. "You do?"
Slowly, you approached the markings. Your pulse quickened, you'd seen them before. Not in person, but your father had shown you enough Kryptonian texts growing up.
Stories, historical records, maps, lessons about a world that no longer existed. You recognised the symbols instantly.
"It's Kryptonian." The silence that followed was immediate.
Tim's expression sharpened. "You're sure?"
"Yeah." You swallowed. "I'm pretty sure. It's not Phaelosian, or from Planet Daxam, it could be another offshoot but I'm certain the origin is Kryptonian. "
Suddenly the colony felt much less abandoned, and much more personal.
The team spent the next hour investigating, most of the settlement appeared untouched, there were no signs of battle. No signs of evacuation, no signs of disaster.
Just...nothing.
Entire buildings stood frozen in time, equipment remained where it had been left, personal belongings sat abandoned, it looked as though everyone had vanished in the middle of their day. You found children's toys, family photographs, records written in Kryptonian, a civilisation preserved in a single moment.
The deeper you explored, the stranger things became, organic growths crawled across walls and ceilings, dark tendrils spread beneath metallic surfaces. Vein-like structures pulsed beneath the colony itself.
Alive, growing, watching.
Jaime scanned one of them, followed by his visor lighting up.
"Definitely biological."
"That's reassuring," Bart muttered.
"It wasn't meant to be."
The first scream echoed through the colony moments later.
Everyone froze.
Tim reacted instantly.
"Look out!"
The wall beside you exploded. Metal and debris erupted outward, and a massive creature burst through the structure.
Then another, then three more. The colony erupted into chaos, the creatures moved like predators, not animals but hunters.
Their bodies were covered in thick armoured plating, multiple eyes tracked movement simultaneously, their claws carved through metal like paper.
One lunged directly at Bart, he vanished in a yellow blur. Another slammed into Cassie. She caught it midair and hurled it through a building, with the impact shattering half the structure.
You launched yourself skyward, heat vision erupted from your eyes, the beam struck one creature directly in the chest. It barely slowed down.
"What?!"
The thing roared, then jumped, like actually jumped, thirty feet straight into the air.
Its claws scraped across your shoulder before Conner intercepted it, the two crashed through a nearby tower. The ground shook, everywhere you looked the fight intensified.
Jaime's cannons lit up the colony, Bart became a streak of yellow lightning. Cassie punched one creature hard enough to send it flying across the city. You grabbed another by the throat and drove it through three separate walls.
The creature shrieked, its tail whipping wildly, then another creature appeared behind you, too fast. Its claws raked across your side, whilst it didn't cut you, the force of it hurt like a bitch.
You retaliated immediately, your punch shattered its armoured skull. The body collapsed, yet more kept coming. They emerged from underground tunnels, from buildings, from hidden nests buried beneath the colony, dozens upon dozens.
The fight stretched on for nearly twenty minutes and by the end, the streets looked like a war zone. Broken structures, cracked pavement, creature corpses everywhere.
Eventually the battle turned, the creatures began falling one by one. Until only a single survivor remained, its body lay broken across the colony floor.
Breathing heavily, dying. You approached carefully.
Conner moved beside you.
"Think that's all of them?" Bart asked.
"Hopefully."
The creature twitched, then its tail lashed outward. Pain exploded through your calf, you screamed as the barb punched straight through your leg. For a split second it felt like molten metal had been driven into your flesh.
Then the tail ripped free, you stumbled backward, the world tilted.
Conner caught you before you hit the ground.
"Y/N!"
Your entire leg burned, not normal pain but something deeper. You looked down, the wound itself wasn't severe, just a puncture, already healing. At least, it should have been.
Instead the flesh around it remained red and raw and irritated. It was burning, like poison spreading beneath your skin.
"I'm fine," you managed.
Conner didn't believe you, neither did Tim.
"Let's head out, we've got our data, we know where the signatures were coming from. We're going to analyse the rest of the colony upon arrival at the Watch Tower, and if we ever come back, we'll need reinforcements."
So the team boarded the Bio-Ship and headed home.
For the first fifteen minutes everything seemed normal.
Then the pain returned. It started in your leg, a deep ache spreading upwards Your muscles felt heavy and your thoughts sluggish, a strange exhaustion settling over you. You sat down hard in one of the Bio-Ship seats.
Conner noticed immediately.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You don't sound okay."
"I'm fine."
Cassie appeared from her seat.
"You look awful."
"Wow. Thanks."
"No, seriously."
You frowned, something felt wrong. You stood, or tried to because your balance immediately wavered.
Conner grabbed your arm,"Easy."
"I'm okay." You pulled away.
Then you tried to fly,yet nothing happened, causing you to freeze.
Conner noticed. "What?"
You stared at him.
Then pushed off the floor again. Nothing.
No lift, no instinctive pull, no effortless weightlessness. Just fricking gravity. (insert Kenma's gravity speech lmaoooo)
Your stomach dropped. "No."
"What?"
You tried again, nothing. Panic began creeping into your chest. "No no no." (Obsession type shit lmao)
Cassie stood. "Y/N?"
"I can't fly."
Silence filled the cabin. You looked around, everyone stared, "I can't fly."
The words sounded ridiculous, impossible even. You were Kryptonian, flying wasn't something you thought about, It was like breathing, and suddenly it was gone.
Tim immediately moved closer. "What do you mean you can't fly?"
"I mean I can't fly."
Fear settled over the cabin, because powers didn't just disappear, not for Kryptonians, not without a reason. Slowly, you pulled up the leg of your suit. Dark silver veins stretched from the wound which had begun to fester, branching beneath your skin, moving upward, growing.
"What the hell?" Bart whispered, even Tim looked alarmed.
You stared at the veins, then watched them spread another centimetre.
Tim immediately opened a communications channel. "Robin to Watchtower."
Static crackled. Then Cyborg's voice answered.
"Go ahead."
Tim's eyes never left you. "We need medical personnel waiting in Hangar Three."
"What's the situation?"
Tim hesitated, for the first time all mission.
"Supergirl's injured."
The ride back felt endless.
The veins continued spreading, the pain only worsening.
Your hearing flickered occasionally, your strength felt inconsistent, your waterline grew teary and you began to sweat profusely, breathing got harder, holding your head up got harder. Every symptom made the cabin quieter, more tense.
Nobody joked anymore, nobody talked much.
Conner stayed beside you the entire trip, a hand resting around you as you laid your head on his shoulder, as though he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. By the time the Bio-Ship entered Watchtower airspace, standing felt difficult, like your body wasn't listening anymore.
The hangar doors opened before the ship had fully landed, heroes were already waiting.
Nightwing, Flash, Black Canary. Several League medics. Batman stood further back, cape draped around his shoulders.
And Jason.
You almost missed him.
Leaning against the far wall in his Red Hood gear, arms crossed.
"When does he ever come around here?" You think to yourself in a daze
The second he saw you being helped down the ramp, he straightened, every trace of casual indifference vanishing. The moment they saw you, concern spread through the crowd.
Conner helped you down the ramp. You hated that. You hated needing help. You took two steps, then your vision blurred. A violent cough tore through your chest. You doubled over.
Something warm splattered across your hand. For a second, your brain didn't process it. Then you looked down.
It was blood. Bright red blood.
The hangar went silent.
Another cough hit, harder this time, blood spraying across the floor.
"Y/N!" Someone shouted your name but you struggled to make out who.
Your nose started bleeding next, not a trickle or a drip, but a steady stream. Panic erupted instantly.
You felt your eyes getting teary again but instead of water, blood escaped your waterline. The throbbing pain in your calf was so concentrated that your next step had your leg giving out.
In your daze, you'd thought you'd pass out before you hit the floor, but someone caught you.
Jason.
One second he was across the hangar, the next he was kneeling in front of you. His hands cupped your face. "Hey. Hey, look at me."
You blinked through the dizziness.
"Jace..."
His expression was terrifying, the absence of his helmet makes him look so much less threatening in your opinion. He wasn't angry or annoyed. But he was scared, actually scared.
"Stay with me." Another cough wracked your body, blood stained the "S" symbol of your suit. Jason swore viciously.
"Move!" he barked at the crowd. The command snapped everyone into motion.
Nightwing reached your side, Flash disappeared and reappeared with medical equipment. Batman was already moving.
But Jason never let go of you.
One hand remained locked around yours, the other pressed against your shoulder. Grounding you, keeping you upright, as if sheer stubbornness could stop whatever was happening.
"You're okay," he said. The lie sounded desperate.
"You hear me? You're okay." Jason held you before your eyes shut.
The last thing you saw before everything went dark was him shouting for the medics.
When you woke again, to say you felt like shit would've been the understatement of the century.
Your mouth parched, your eyelids heavy with fatigue, the tightening in your chest was sharp, and combined with the tautness of your muscles, you could barely move. The throbbing, hot sensation in your calf felt stronger, and your head continued to pound.
Arguably, the worst part of it all was that this was so foreign to you.
Being half-Kryptonian, you had never experienced human illnesses, so you being so severely sick gutted you in a way you couldn't describe.
The way you felt wasn't the only difference, the room was different too.
White, quiet, contained. The first thing you noticed, after fighting a wave of nausea, was the glass, thick and reinforced.
The second was your mother. Lois sat beside your bed, her hand wrapped around yours. The relief on her face nearly made you cry.
"Mom?" Lois immediately stood to give you a hug.
"Hey, honey." Your throat felt raw.
"What happened?" Her smile faltered slightly.
The answer came from the observation glass. Clark stood on the opposite side alongside your little brother Jon, and Kara. All separated from you, unable to enter, then you noticed someone else. Jason, still there, like he'd never left.
"What happened?" This time your voice cracked.
Lois squeezed your hand. "You're sick baby."
"Doesn't answer my question." You joked
"That disease you contracted is Kryptonian." Silence.
"Meaning?" You didn't know why you even asked that, you knew what she meant.
"It only infects Kryptonians." Despite, knowing what she was going to say , the room suddenly felt colder.
Outside the glass, Clark looked helpless, and that scared you more than the virus ever could, because your dad always knew what to do. Except now, he couldn't even sit beside his daughter.
"Where's Conner?" You asked, noticing his absence.
"Bruce—Batman, suggested he be put on observation, he was in close contact with you and they still don't know how the disease spreads, they don't know if he could be infected, but from the looks of it he's okay."
"How long have you been here? You don't get off work till 6'oclock today—wait what time is it?"
"Only a couple hours baby, Perry let me go early after I told him you had an accident." Your mother responded
"You made me sound like a baby." You complained.
"You are my baby." She laughed
"They made me go through several decontamination chambers before coming in here, I'll probably have to go through those again eugh."
" Gonna ruin your hair?" You asked.
"You bet." You could hear the smile in her voice without even looking at her
The following days blurred together. Your powers began failing one by one. Flight disappeared first, your heat vision followed. Then your strength, then your hearing. The world grew quieter, smaller, scarier.
The hemorrhaging came and went. Some days it was nosebleeds, other days it was coughing up blood so severe the medical alarms went off. Every episode left the Watchtower and your family shake, and every single time, when you looked through the observation window afterward, Jason was there.
Sometimes standing beside Dick. Sometimes arguing with Bruce. Sometimes asleep in a chair because he refused to go home.
Outside your room, the Watchtower became a war room. Barry practically lived in the laboratory, with Bruce working beside him.
Dr. Leslie Thompkins joined the effort. Mr. Terrific, Cyborg, and every scientific mind available contributed.
The virus had originated from the colony itself—an ancient Kryptonian pathogen. Something engineered long ago to target Kryptonian biology specifically (Thaedus vs Viltrum type shit ok im sorry i'll stop)
A weapon, one that should have stayed buried, and it was killing you from the inside out.
Jason took it worse than most people realised, maybe because nobody knew exactly what the two of you were, and ever since the fallout between you guys because you found out about his fling with Rose Wilson, of all people, he'd never had the chance to apologise, and it took you being on your deathbed for him to come to that conclusion (potential fic idea 👀 send me thoughts guys)
And every time your condition worsened, he looked like he was being torn apart. After a particularly bad hemorrhage that left you unconscious, he asked to enter your room.
He couldn't bare to see you sick, how you, once so full of life was now wasting on a hospital bed, but he had to see you. Sure, he saw blood every night in Gotham, but you were different.
He walked through several of the decontamination chambers to get to you, all while holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. The last time he bought you those were for your 15th birthday.
After sitting down beside you, he dropped the flowers by the bedside table, he never believed in any of that sentimental shit but he had a lot to say, but had no way to say it. All he could do, was be there, and hope and pray Barry would find a cure.
Although you weren't awake to see it, when Jason reached for your hand, this time, he didn't let go.
a/n: fire me from writing fanfics deaduzz what was that ending 🥀 this has been in my drafts for far too long but i hate it sm omg this is so bunda. There's like a million plot holes but a lot of room for me to write more fics yay! Go watch The Maze Runner cuz it's banger.
Katsuki has already turned seventeen by the time you wake up from your coma. Despite the late nights he spends at the hospital by your side, when you wake up, he is inevitably, at school. You wake up to Mitsuki Bakugo holding your hand.
Tags/CW: Bakugo x fem! Reader, high school sweethearts, estab! relationship, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, reader in a coma after the war, class 2-A is a soft menace, mom (in law lmao) Mitsuki is mothering, spoilers for season 8.
Despite it being hard to accept at the state you find yourself in, or even realise it at first, Mitsuki is the one by your bedside when you wake up.
For a second you’re convinced you’re dreaming. The room is too bright, the sheets too stiff, and Katsuki’s mom is sitting there like she fought her way past three nurses and a steel door just to sit and stare at you. Which, knowing her, she probably did.
Her arms are crossed, but her foot is tapping like she’s been waiting a long time. Like she’s been worried. And that solemn look on her face is screaming an apology you don’t recognise yet.
“’Bout time,” she mutters, voice sharp but thin around the edges. “You scared the hell out of us, kid.”
Your throat tightens as you glance, puzzled, around the room. It’s empty, aside from Mitsuki's chair, your bed, and the iv attached to the tender inside of your elbow. No friends, no parents, not a begrunting boyfriend… just Mitsuki and a hospital room you don’t recognise.
In a swift movement, she clasps your hand inside her palms. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Your parents couldn’t make it to Japan yet.” she says and you blink at her.
The lump in your throat starts bubbling in pain. Your lip quivers next, eyes watering at the fraction of a second. The moment you try to move, the dull ache in your ribs reminds you why you’re here in the first place.
“I’m so sorry,”
You try to speak, but find your lips feel like they’re glued together. It hurts when you pry them and it hurts even worse when you try to speak.
“Ka–”
Panic ensues at the sound of your voice. How long have you been here? You don’t even recognise your own voice. Where you could hear softness, you now hear raspiness, broken sounds that can’t form a word.
But still, you want to ask—The last thing you remember is watching Katsuki fall to the ground with his chest torn, you lurching towards Shigaraki with all you had and white hot pain everywhere in your body.
“Kats–Kaah–”
Mitsuki’s eyes flick to your abdomen, the monitors attached to you, then back to you again. Softer, barely “Katsuki? He usually doesn’t leave until he passes out sitting up. Brat’s got stubbornness.”
“Miss—Mitsuk—Mitsuki, my m—mom,”
The sound rips out of you like gravel dragged across concrete, and Mitsuki is already moving— one hand on your shoulder, the other hovering like she wants to fix something she can’t reach.
“Hey, hey— don’t force it,” she says, voice dropping into that hushed, frantic register only mothers have when something hurts their kid. Or a kid who might as well be theirs.
She reaches for the small cup of ice chips on the tray next to your bed, scooping a few with the spoon and pressing it gently to your lips. “Just this, sweetheart. Slow.”
The cold hits your tongue, sharp and clean, and for a moment it’s the only thing keeping you together. Everything else feels like it’s drifting —your memories, your breath, the distant echo of Nejire screaming your name before everything went dark.
Mitsuki watches you swallow, her jaw tight, eyes shining with things she will never say out loud.
“You’ve been out for a few months,” she adds quietly. “Masaru is trying to get ahold of your folks, along with the doctors but… you know how time zones are. And… circumstances.” Her mouth twists like she hates how uptight she’s being. Like practiced softness physically pains her. “We didn’t want you waking up alone.”
Your chest pulls tight. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does. But it does.
Your fingers clutch weakly at the blanket. “K–” The name falls apart in your throat again.
Mitsuki seems to understand anyway.
“He’s alive,” she says firmly. “He’s at school and he’s healing, but he’s alive. Stubborn little shit tried to pretend he wasn’t feeling okay just so they wouldn’t kick him out of your room last night. He’s been visiting everyday.”
Your breath shudders. Relief hits so hard you feel dizzy.
“And— just so you don’t freak out later—” Mitsuki adds, rubbing your hand with her thumb in a rare, almost guilty motion, “he might start crying a lot.”
That makes you freeze.
Mitsuki sighs, leaning back in the chair like the confession took something out of her. She stops herself from telling you the doctors had announced to everyone that you would probably not make it, not too long ago.
“Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll yell at both of us.”
She glances toward the door, then back at you. “He’s gonna be pissed you woke up without him here. Believe me. But, we’ll tell him after classes are over. You okay with that sweetheart?”
You nod, or at least you think you do. Your head barely moves, just a slow dip that makes the world tilt a little. You’re not sure if you’re agreeing or just reacting to the tenderness in her voice — something you’ve never quite heard directed at you like this, so softly, before.
“Good,” Mitsuki murmurs, like she was bracing for you to argue. Her hand squeezes yours gently, thumb brushing over the back in a slow, steady rhythm that feels like it’s meant to keep you anchored.
You swallow again, rough and painful. The word “classes” sticks in your mind like a burr. Katsuki is… at school. The school is alright if that’s the case, and maybe, your friends are too, your teachers, All Might. There’s so much you want to ask, but such little strength inside you.
Mitsuki watches your face carefully. “He wanted to skip,” she says, rolling her eyes as if the memory frustrates her. “Said he didn’t care about his damn education if you were—” She cuts herself off. Too sharp. Too honest.
Another small, guilty sigh. “Anyway. We made him go. The teachers insisted. Kid was a wreck. No sleep, no food… I swear he almost blew up a vending machine because someone told him to ‘keep his chin up.’”
Despite the pain, a weak ghost of a laugh bubbles in your chest — a tiny sound, but it pulls at your ribs like something tearing.
Mitsuki immediately notices. “Easy. Easy, sweetheart,” she whispers, leaning in, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to talk yet. You don’t have to do anything yet.”
But you want to. You want to ask what happened, how bad it was, whether Katsuki’s really okay or just putting on a front because that’s what he does when the world is falling apart around him.
You try again, voice scraping out of you like rough smoke: “H–how…?”
She shakes her head fast, stopping you before the sentence can hurt you more. “Later. When Katsuki’s here.” Her voice softens, unbearably so. “He deserves to hear you first.”
Your breath stutters, the weight of that landing somewhere deep and tender.
Mitsuki reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair from your forehead. The gesture is so gentle it barely feels real.
“We’ll tell him after school,” she repeats softly. “He’ll come running the second he hears. And he’s gonna be loud, and dramatic, and probably hug you too hard. But he needs this. He needs you.”
Her voice cracks just a little on that last word. Barely noticeable, unless you’re looking for it. And you are.
“Rest now,” she adds, settling back into her chair but not letting go of your hand.
______
Later that evening, the hallway outside your room is louder than it should be for a hospital — muffled bickering, restless footsteps, a sharp whisper that’s definitely Kaminari complaining he’s been standing too long. With your eyes barely opening from your earlier slumber, you can hear Kirishima gently shushing him. Someone — Mina, probably — keeps insisting they should “just peek in real quick because what if she’s awake?”
You also catch the hissed argument that’s delivered as a response “Dude, stop— she might be asleep again!” and “I’m not stopping, you stop!”
Their silhouettes shuffle under the doorframe’s faint light, shadows overlapping like they can’t decide whether to crowd closer or bolt down the hall.
You blink slow, the world tilting for a moment, and the ceiling swims into focus. Your throat is dry. Your body feels like it’s made of bandages and cement. But your brain? Your brain catches up just enough to realize:
They’re here. All of them. A soft exhale escapes you— barely a sound, but apparently loud enough for the enhanced senses of teens with superpowers.
Mitsuki nods her head towards the door and chuckles. “They can’t wait to see you,” The commotion outside stops all at once, like someone hit pause. Then—
“Did you hear that?!”
“Kaminari, shut up—”
“Wait, wait— I think she’s awake—”
“Katsuki’s gonna kill us if we go in—”
“Oh my god. Just. Check!”
Kirishima’s voice breaks through the chaos; firm, gentle, leader-of-the-chaos-crew mode “Guys. Calm down. We’ll knock first.”
There’s a beat of silence and then three different knuckles rap on the door at the exact same time. Your chest shakes with a tiny, pained laugh that’s followed by a thunderous cough. The whispering begins again immediately.
“Bro— I said one person should knock!”
“That wasn’t me!”
“You literally have the loudest knuckles, Sero!”
“How do you even know that—”
Someone sighs. Hard. You recognise the sound as Izuku, doing that tight little anxious inhale before he tries to be responsible.
“Should I… um… should I ask Recovery Girl if we’re allowed—?”
“No, if Kacchan shows up and we’re gone, he’ll blast us into space—”
“Oh he’s definitely gonna show up—”
You try shifting, just enough to look toward the door. A small movement, but enough to tug at something deep in your gut. You wince, which apparently sends the hallway into frenzy.
And before they manage to organize themselves, one brave soul reaches for the door handle.
Mina’s whisper—undoubtedly its hers—cuts through the noise “Okay, on three—”
You have exactly one second to process that, and tighten your hold around Mitsuki’s hand as hard as you can, before a hand curls around the knob and another, much sharper voice snaps from down the hall.
“Touch that door and I swear to god you’re dead.”
Every single voice outside vanishes. You don’t even need to see him to know who said it. Katsuki.
Last time you laid eyes on him he was in a puddle of his own blood, chest torn, right arm destroyed. The thought alone is making your jaw tremble.
Your stomach flips; your eyes do that stupid thing where they well up so much that they sting and your heart kicks into a frantic rhythm, strong enough that the monitor beside you responds with a panicked series of beeps.
For a fragment, you come to believe this is a dream. An afterlife experience. Some sick and twisted purgatory. Some strange, cruel limbo replaying the moments before everything went black.
Mitsuki reacts before you do. She leans in, her free hand hovering near your shoulder as if she can physically hold you together while the monitor continues its frantic beeping. “Easy,” she murmurs, voice low. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re fine.”
Her thumb presses gently into the back of your hand, grounding you.
The footsteps outside slow, the scrape of rubber soles against the linoleum deliberate now, controlled in that way Katsuki walks when he’s trying to stop himself from running. There’s a muffled scuffle—someone tripping over someone else during their attempt to scramble out of his path.
The doorknob turns. Not violently, but slowly. Carefully. Like he’s afraid the world behind it might shatter if he enters too fast.
The door opens halfway, and Katsuki steps inside.
He’s out of breath, but it's the kind where he’s trying very hard not to show. His hair, shorter than you remember, is a mess from whatever fight he had with the wind on the way here. His uniform shirt is wrinkled, sleeves pushed up his forearms in uneven rolls, and his tie is gone entirely.
But none of that is what gets you. It’s the way he stops actually. Abruptly.
And not because Mitsuki is in his way or because your friends are whisper-squabbling just outside the door. He stops because he sees you.
Awake.
His eyes widen first, a stunned flicker of disbelief that washes over his face before he can hide it. Then everything in him seems to go slack for a moment — shoulders dropping, jaw unclenching, the tension dissolving so suddenly it looks like his legs might give out.
“No fucking way,” he breathes, so quietly it barely reaches the room. His gaze flits across your face, ignoring his mother’s plea for decent language.
Whatever strength he had walked in with drains from his posture all at once. His breath catches on a sound too close to a sob, and he stumbles two steps forward before genuinely stopping himself, like he’s afraid he might do the wrong thing and make you hurt again.
The monitor chooses that exact moment to spike again, a sharp, accusing beep-beep-beep echoing through the walls.
Katsuki flinches, just barely. His eyes flash to the machine, then to your hand clutching Mitsuki’s, then back up to you. Something like guilt — real, aching guilt — tightens his expression. His head jerks toward yours and in the same instant he looks completely gutted—like the beeping is some damning confirmation that you’re in pain because of him, that all those months of him replaying the footage of you almost getting torn apart in half, ignoring every warning from people who told him not to, all led to this moment right here: you trembling, terrified, trying to hold yourself together.
He tries to say your name, but it dissolves into a choked gasp. Tears are already spilling, hot and unguarded, not even wiped away. Katsuki Bakugo—who never cries—can’t stop crying.
Instinct drags you forward. You try to sit up, to reach for him, anything to close the distance, but the muscles in your abdomen seize. A bolt of pain rips through you so sharply your vision whites out, and you collapse back into the bed with a strangled breath.
“Stay still!” Mitsuki catches your shoulder before you can tear something, her voice shaking now too. “Sweetheart, you can’t move—”
Your hand slips from hers anyway, desperate to get to him.
“Hey—” His voice cuts off, a sob and cracks, embarrassing him. He swallows hard, trying again. “Hey. Take it easy, you dummy.”
He says it softly. Too softly for it to be an insult.
Katsuki kneels swiftly beside the bed, and his scarred hand hovers over yours.
When he finally touches your hand, it’s feather-light, trembling with the same fear and relief burning in his eyes. He doesn’t grip, doesn’t hold too tight, doesn’t let go either. He rests his palm over yours, as if he’s anchoring himself to you while afraid that even the slightest pressure might hurt you.
You notice he’s holding a flower inside his other hand. Your eyes widen at the sight and he looks down at his hand too, muttering “It’s for you. A ‘get well soon’”
“Katsu–tsuk–ki” you breathe out, shakingly.
Your fingers twitch, wanting to wrap around his hand, to pull him closer, to fix the broken edges of him the way he’s holding onto you. You try to shift, to ease closer, but your abdomen flares with pain and you freeze, groaning softly.
He freezes too, instantly still, and looks at you with wide, frantic eyes. “Hey… hey, hey, I—I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking, almost pleading.
Then, slowly, he adjusts himself so he can lean against you without putting weight on your ribs. His hand over yours flexes, releases, flexes again, as if he can’t decide whether to grip or just stay connected to you.
His tears fall freely now, soaking your fingers, and the sound of him crying forces tears to come out of your eyes too.
All you can do is squeeze his hand back, as much as your pain will allow, and whisper his name again.
He takes it, eve though his own hand aches like it’s being pierced, because the touch is not just an ember that you’re alive. It’s the undeniable fact that you’re awake.
And Katsuki is just so, so happy that this one good thing happens to him, he doesn’t even mind that the rest of the class storms inside minutes later and everyone sees him crying.
Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3
the heart pirates makes law answer to a love test to see if he's in love with you and how much
a/n: at first I did it with a fem!reader bc I mistook the request, so if you read she/her somewhere it’s bc of this and I skipped it by mistake, so I’ll be glad if you can leave a comment and make me correct it asap! oh and for the test I used one online lmao so the questions are from there eheh
law m.list || anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi || requests list
The Polar Tang is quiet for about five seconds.
Then Penguin slams a newspaper onto the table “CAPTAIN!”
Law does not look up from the medical reports in front of him “No.”
“I didn’t even ask anything.”
“You yelled. Whatever follows is a problem.”
Shachi appears from nowhere and drops into the seat beside Penguin.
“It’s not a problem, it’s actually a solution!”
“It’s absolutely a problem.” Law says.
Bepo walks in carrying tea “What happened?”
Penguin points dramatically at the newspaper “We found science.”
Law already hates where this is going “Leave.”
“No.”
“That’s not a request.”
Penguin ignores him completely “Look at this.”
He shoves the paper into Law’s face.
Law glances at it, then glances again… then slowly lowers the newspaper… then he says “...Is this a love quiz?”
“It’s in the lifestyle section.” Shachi says seriously “As all important science is.”
Law pinches the bridge of his nose and sarcastically says “I became a pirate for this.”
Bepo leans over to read and his eyes widen “Oh.”
“Oh?” Law repeats.
“Oh.”
“Stop saying oh.”
Penguin suddenly stands on a chair “Today’s experiment is simple.”
“No.”
“We determine whether Captain is in love.”
“No.”
“With a certain person.”
“No.”
“Who definitely is our dear crewmate y/n.”
Law glares.
Shachi gasps dramatically “He didn’t deny that part!”
“I literally denied everything.”
“Not strongly enough.”
Law stands “I’m leaving.”
Penguin points at him “RUNNING FROM THE TRUTH.”
“I’m running from you idiots.”
Before Law can escape, Bepo gently grabs his sleeve “Captain…”
Law looks down.
Bepo gives him the saddest eyes imaginable “...Please?”
Law stares.
Bepo stares back.
Penguin and Shachi are holding their breath.
Finally Law sighs… a long, defeated sigh “One question.”
The room explodes.
“YES!”
“HE AGREED!”
“SCIENCE WINS!”
Five minutes later Law finds himself trapped at the table.
Penguin has a pen.
Shachi has the newspaper.
Bepo has become the official emotional support bear.
The rest of the crew around are pretending not to listen. Pretending very badly.
Shachi clears his throat “Question one.”
Law already regrets everything.
Shachi reads dramatically “First of all, do you have a specific person in mind before starting this test?”
Penguin immediately checks a box “Yes.”
Law blinks “You didn’t even let me answer.”
Penguin looks offended “Captain.”
“What?”
“We’re doing this for a reason.”
Shachi nods “It would be weird if you didn’t have y/n in mind.”
“You don’t know if I do.”
The entire room stares at him.
Penguin marks the answer harder “Definitely yes.”
Law considers murder… just a little.
“Question two.”
Shachi sits up straighter “Could you spend six months on an isolated island with no one else but them?”
Law immediately frowns “What kind of question is that?”
“A powerful one.”
“There are options.”
Penguin points at the paper “Option one: Yes, and I would enjoy it. Option two: It would be difficult, but I could do it. Option three: I don’t think I could survive that with anyone.”
Law doesn’t answer immediately, which is already suspicious.
Shachi notices first “Oh?”
Law ignores him.
He taps his fingers against the table.
An isolated island.
Six months.
No crew.
No pirates.
No newspaper.
Just…
His thoughts stop before THEM reach your name, but unfortunately his silence lasts too long.
Penguin checks the first option “Yes, and I would enjoy it.”
Law immediately points at the paper “I didn’t say I’d enjoy it.”
“Oh?”
“I just said yes.”
Shachi leans forward “You’d spend six months alone with them.”
“Yes.”
“In a tiny hut on an isolated island.”
“Yes.”
“No books.”
“Yes.”
“No one else.”
“Yes.”
Shachi raises an eyebrow “You’d hate it.”
Law opens his mouth, then pauses for a second too long “...No.”
The word is almost a whisper.
The room freezes.
Bepo’s jaw drops.
Penguin drops the pen.
Someone at the other side of the room chokes on water.
Law realizes what he said.
Shachi slowly places both hands on the table “Captain.”
“No.”
“You would enjoy it.”
“No.”
“You literally just—”
“No.”
Penguin checks the answer anyway, very aggressively.
“This quiz is stupid.”
“Question three!”
Law groans.
Shachi reads “Imagine your partner became wildly successful and always had a lot of attention on them, comparatively making you constantly in their shadow.”
Law already hates the wording.
“How would you feel?”
Penguin reads the options “Option A: Incredibly proud. Option B: Proud, for sure, but maybe a little inadequate with myself, too. Option C: I think, in all honesty, I wouldn’t like that sense of inequality.”
Law stands “I’m leaving.”
“Nope.”
“I’m serious.”
“So are we.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Bepo looks up from the paper “Captain?”
“What?”
“If, for example, y/n would defeat some big pirate…”
Law freezes for a moment, but everyone sees it.
Bepo smiles “Captain would be proud.”
The room becomes silent.
Law looks at the door, then at the table, then at Bepo… then away.
But he doesn’t leave.
Penguin slowly reaches for the answer sheet “Silence means yes.”
Law doesn’t argue, because somehow arguing right now feels worse.
Shachi points dramatically “Option one!”
The box gets checked.
Law immediately grabs the newspaper “How many questions are left?”
Penguin grins “A lot.”
Law’s eye twitches “A lot?”
“A terrifying amount.”
“I hate this test.”
Shachi leans back in his chair “Oh, Captain.”
“What?”
“We’re only getting started.”
From somewtheme behind them, a familiar voice speaks “Getting started with what?”
The entire crew freezes.
Law nearly drops the newspaper.
Because standing in the doorway is you, looking confused and holding a stack of supplies.
Penguin slowly covers the answer sheet with both hands.
Shachi smiles far too brightly “Nothing.”
You narrow your eyes “Why does it feel like you’re lying?”
Law immediately stands “Good question.”
You look at him, he stops and you smile at him “I’m going back into my shopping, do you need something? Any clothes? Books?”
Shachi speaks first “Why are you only asking him?? We might need something too.”
You look at him with disgust “You can go get them yourself if you need something.”
He gasps “Captain could go himself as well, you’re being unfair!”
You fight back “Or maybe he has Captain things to do? You are useless so what do you even have to do—”
You two fight for a while then Law tells you “I don’t need anything, don’t worry.”
You nod and leave after punching Shachi, too soft to hurt but Shachi is dramatic, so that was enough.
The door closes behind you.
Silence.
Then someone says… or better yells “CAPTAIN IS SO IN LOVE.”
Law closes his eyes “I hate all of you.”
Penguin looks down at the newspaper “No time for hate.”
“There is always time to hate you.”
“Question four!”
Shachi clears his throat dramatically “Do you think this person is special?”
He reads the answers.
“Option A: Yes, I feel lucky to know them. Option B: Yeah, to me. Option C: Maybe not ‘special’, but they’re definitely a good person.”
Now, he fastly add “To be honest I don’t understand, they’re annoying and stupid. They’re not special at all…”
Law looks at Shachi with disgust “You’re the annoying and stupid one.”
Shachi gasps and adds “Defensive, aren’t we??”
Law looks at the wall, the wall is suddenly fascinating.
“Captain?” Penguin asks.
Law sighs… a long sigh.
Finally he speaks “they're…”
The room waits.
“...Y/N.”
Silence.
The crew stare.
Law frowns “What?”
Nobody answers.
Penguin slowly turns toward Shachi, who slowly turns toward Penguin. Then both look back at Law.
Penguin nods “Yeah.”
Shachi nods too “Definitely.”
Law narrows his eyes “Definitely what?”
Penguin checks a box “‘Yeah, to me.’”
“What?”
“That’s what that means.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It absolutely is.”
“You asked if they're special.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“And you answered by saying that they're Y/N… which means they're special to you.”
Shachi says “Yeah, or you would have said they're annoying, like you do with us.”
Law's eye twitches.
Shachi points at him “Special.”
Law decides silence is safer.
Unfortunately, silence is apparently an answer today.
“Next question!”
Law regrets staying.
Penguin reads “How does the idea of… sleeping with them, and only them, for the rest of your life make you feel?”
The room becomes very quiet.
Very, very quiet.
Even Shachi stops smiling.
Bepo coughs.
Clione, whose silence in the room, nearly falls off a chair.
Law immediately says “I ain’t answering this.”
His answer comes so fast everyone starts laughing.
“Captain’s ears are red.”
“They are not.”
“They are.”
“They absolutely are.”
Law pulls his hat lower, but unfortunately it does nothing for his ears.
Shachi looks at the options and reads them “A: I should be so lucky!! B: I’d rather only sleep with them than not sleep with them at all. B: I’d rather only sleep with one person than potentially not sleep with anyone at all. C: I don’t think I could do that, to be honest.”
Nobody knows what to do or say, so the room falls into deep thoughts.
“But,” Shachi repeats, “he’s obviously completely gone for Y/N.”
“I’m not.”
Nobody listens.
“So…”
The whole crew think. Penguin thinks. Bepo thinks. Jean Bart somehow thinks.
Then “Oh.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“That makes sense.”
Everybody nods together.
Penguin checks the first answer “I should be so lucky!!”
Law stares at the paper, then at them.
He sighs… a very tired sigh.
But he doesn’t leave.
“Next question!”
“Please stop.”
“Can you name their favourite food, book, and music?”
The room immediately turns toward Law.
Law blinks “What?”
Shachi lowers the newspaper “Captain.”
“What?”
“You know all of them, don’t you?”
Law answers without thinking “their favourite food changes every few months and depends on their mood, but currently it’s—”
The room erupts “HE STARTED ANSWERING.”
“He actually knows!”
“Current favourite food?!”
Law immediately stops talking and looks at the wall, but it’s way too late.
Penguin is already checking the box “I don’t need to hear more.”
Law buries his face in one hand.
The quiz continues.
Shachi reads the next one “Do you think that this relationship is special and unreplicable? Yes, definitely. Or… I think it's a good relationship, but ultimately there are many people with whom I could have a good relationship.”
Shachi doesn't even finish reading that he checks the first box “There.”
Law looks up “You didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t need to.”
“You absolutely did.”
Shachi points at him “Same logic as before.”
“That isn’t logic.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
Penguin joins him “You only care about Y/N.”
Law looks offended “You’re all here and alive, aren’t you.”
The room immediately becomes emotional.
“Aww.”
“Captain.”
“He cares.”
Law immediately regrets speaking.
“But.” Sahchi raises a finger “Not like he cares about Y/N.”
The emotional moment dies instantly.
Law wishes for a sea king attack “Last question on this page.”
“Thank God.”
Penguin reads “they got a new job offer that meant they’d have to be in a totally different part of the world for eighteen months.”
Law already hates this.
“What would you do?”
He reads the answers.
"A: We’d do long distance, or maybe I'd even move with them. We’d make it work. B: I would give long distance a go, maybe reassess in due course. C: I would ask them not to do it. D: I wouldn’t stop them from going, but we’d probably break up."
Law immediately frowns.
"We’re pirates in the same crew, they works with me."
The room freezes.
Penguin's grin slowly grows dangerously.
“We’re pirates in the same crew…” he repeats.
Law is confused, because isn’t that obvious?
So he answers “Yes.”
“Same crew.”
“Yes.”
“Working together.”
“Yes.”
“Every day.”
“Yes.”
“WITH you.”
Law closes his eyes and the room explodes.
“HE SAID WITH ME.”
“NOT FOR ME.”
“WITH ME.”
“THAT’S SO CUTE.”
Law seriously considers jumping into the ocean.
Bepo smiles “I think the second answer is better in our case.”
Everyone pauses and then nods.
“Yeah.”
“That's reasonable.”
“Very healthy.”
Penguin checks the box.
Law doesn't even bother arguing anymore. He has lost control of this situation completely.
Shachi looks down at the end of the page, then he slowly smiles “Oh.”
Law immediately doesn't like that smile “What?”
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“There are more questions.”
Law stands “I’m leaving.”
“Captain—”
“I'm leaving.”
“Captain, wait.”
“No.”
“Just two! And then there’s a result section.”
Law stops.
“Don't you want to know your score?”
Law stares “...Maybe.”
The crew immediately scream.
After a few minutes… Law should have left. That is the only thought running through his head. He should have left after the first question.
Or the second.
Or when Shachi and Penguin started answering for him.
Instead he’s still here, sitting at the table. Watching his dignity sink deeper and deeper into the ocean.
Penguin clears his throat “Second-to-last question.”
“Thank God.”
“Do you find yourself daydreaming about them and smiling?”
Penguin reads the answers “Literally all the time! Or… Definitely when we first met; less now but it still happens on occasion, especially when they're away. C: No, I’m too busy. D: That's lame as hell.”
Law immediately answers “No. I’m too busy.”
The answer comes so fast that nobody even finishes reading the options.
The room falls silent, then—“Bullshit.”
Law points at Penguin “Oi.”
“Bullshit.”
“Shachi.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bepo?”
Bepo looks guilty “...Maybe a little? …Sorry.”
Law stares.
Bepo immediately looks away.
Shachi suddenly points “Question. When Y/N goes on supply runs alone, what do you do?”
Law frowns “What?”
“What do you do?”
“Work.”
“Liar.”
“I work.”
“You stand near the window.”
Law opens his mouth and closes it.
“Aha!”
“I stand near the window because it's a window.”
The room explodes with laughter.
Penguin wipes tears from his eyes “Captain.”
“What?”
“Last month Y/N was gone for three hours.”
“So?”
“You checked the time seventeen times.”
Law freezes “...Who counted?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I was curious. Plus, when they were back you totally stopped. And I tried to see if you do the same when it’s someone else going alone. You checked three times for Bepo and ZERO for the rest.”
“That’s disturbing of you.”
“Not as disturbing as staring out the window for three hours.”
Bepo scratches his cheek “And you smile when they bring you books.”
Law immediately looks at him “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You really do.”
“I don’t.”
“You get a little smile.”
‘I don’t.”
“A tiny one.”
“I don’t.”
“A really tiny one.”
Law looks around and sees that nobody is agreeing with him, not even a single person.
Shachi checks the first answer “Literally all the time.”
Law drops his forehead onto the table.
“Last question!”
“Please let it end.”
Penguin reads “Is they your best friend?”
Law immediately regrets staying again.
“A: yes, absolutely. B: they're one of my best friends. C: no, someone else is my best friend.”
Before Law can speak, Shachi shouts “Obviously not!”
Penguin gasps “What do you mean obviously not?”
“I’m his best friend.”
Bepo calmly says “I’m his best friend.”
“No, me.”
“No, me.”
“No, me.”
The room descends into chaos and everyone starts arguing.
At some point Jean Bart claims he’s Law’s best friend. At another point someone says Law doesn’t have friends and Law says that’s the most accurate thing he’s heard all day.
Nobody listens.
“Captain likes me more.”
“No, me.”
“He trusted me with medical supplies once.”
“He asked me to close the door.”
“He told me good job.”
“He also told you to stop talking.”
“That’s basically affection from him.”
The argument somehow lasts five whole minutes.
Law sits there, dead inside.
Finally Bepo raises both paws “Okay!”
The room quiets.
Bepo looks at the newspaper, then at Law.
Then back at the paper “I think we should just put the second answer.”
Everyone pauses, then nods.
“Fair.”
“Yeah.”
“Reasonable.”
“I can live with that.”
Law isn't even asked.
The box gets checked.
And finally.
Finally.
The questions are over.
The crew stare at the paper.
Shachi rubs his hands together “Oh boy.”
Penguin grabs a pencil “We have to calculate the score.”
Law immediately stands “I’ll stop here.”
Bepo gently pushes him back into his chair “Captain, we’ve come this far.”
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I really haven’t.”
“You have.”
For several minutes the crew add points.
Then argue about points.
Then add more points.
Then argue again.
Law has absolutely no idea what they’re doing, he isn't sure they know either.
Finally.
Penguin slams both hands onto the table “WE HAVE THE RESULTS.”
The entire submarine goes quiet.
Even people who weren't involved are now listening.
Shachi clears his throat.
Bepo looks excited.
Law looks like he's preparing for execution.
Penguin stands, unfolds the newspaper dramatically and then he reads “YES, YOU’RE MADLY IN LOVE!”
The room explodes.
“YOU ARE DEEP IN THE THROES OF LOVE.”
“WHAT YOU HAVE IS VERY SPECIAL AND NEEDS NURTURING.”
“WHICH YOU HAPPILY GIVE IT.”
Silence.
Then—“CAPTAIN’S IN LOVE!”
“CAPTAIN’S IN LOVE!”
“CAPTAIN’S IN LOVE!”
Law’s face goes completely blank.
“Congratulations, Captain.”
“Shut up.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Shut up.”
“Can I be the best man?”
“Shut up.”
“I called it months ago.”
“Shut up.”
Bepo is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt “You really love Y/N, Captain.”
The room quiets a little, because unlike everyone else, Bepo says it sincerely, without any teasing.
Law opens his mouth, ready to deny it, but this time the words don't come, because suddenly he remembers you asking if he needed anything, you bringing him books without him asking, the way you always save a seat for him, the way you smile when he actually takes a break, the way the submarine feels different whenever you're not there.
“...Captain?” Bepo asks softly.
Law looks away and pulls his hat down a little lower and mutters “...It’s a stupid quiz.”
The crew scream.
Because that is not a denial.
“I KNEW IT.”
“THAT COUNTS.”
“CAPTAIN’S IN LOVE.”
Law gets up and the crew immediately start running, and as chaos fills the Polar Tang, the newspaper remains forgotten on the table.
The result still visible, with a big circle around the final answer.
YES, YOU’RE MADLY IN LOVE.
Law says nothing for about ten seconds, then he snatches the newspaper from Penguin's hands.
The room goes silent.
Penguin blinks “Captain?”
Law flips back to the first page “I’m doing it again.”
Silence.
Then the entire crew bursts out laughing “YOU CAN'T RETAKE LOVE.”
“I CAN RETAKE A STUPID QUIZ.”
Shachi falls to the floor dramatically “He's in denial!”
“I'm not.”
“You literally got the highest score possible!”
“The questions and your answers were biased.”
“They weren't!”
“They absolutely were.”
Law slams the paper on the table “Ask.”
Penguin is crying “Oh my God, he's serious.”
“I'm serious.”
Bepo looks hesitant “Captain…”
“Ask.”
Shachi wipes tears from his eyes “Fine.”
He clears his throat dramatically.
“Question one. Do you have a specific person in mind before starting this test?”
Law immediately says, “No.”
The room gasps, then Penguin points at him “You answered too quickly.”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“I didn't.”
Shachi narrows his eyes “Captain.”
“What?”
“Who were you thinking about while waiting for me to read the question?”
Law opens his mouth and closes it.
Penguin aggressively checks the box.
Law glares “This is stupid.”
The second question somehow goes worse “Could you spend six months alone on an isolated island with this person?”
“No.”
Everyone stares.
Law crosses his arms “No.”
Shachi leans forward “You wouldn't miss Y/N?”
“No.”
“You wouldn't want to hear their voice?”
“No.”
“You wouldn't like having them all to yourself?”
Law freezes and here the room goes completely silent.
“...That's not what the question says”
Penguin slowly lowers his head onto the table.
Bepo covers his mouth.
Shachi starts screaming “CHECK THE ANSWER.”
Someone says “CHECK IT TWICE.”
“I HATE ALL OF YOU.”
After a few more questions, the answers barely change.
Actually… they get worse.
Because now Law is answering himself, and unfortunately, he's honest.
Ten minutes later Penguin finishes counting.
Law crosses his arms “Well?”
Penguin is shaking.
Shachi is on the floor again.
Bepo looks apologetic “...Captain.”
“What.”
“You scored…”
He flips the page.
YES, YOU'RE MADLY IN LOVE.
And underneath one of the idiots wrote:
YOU ARE EVEN MORE IN LOVE THAN BEFORE, YOU GOT A 100/100!
Silence.
Law stares, then grabs the newspaper and flips it upside down, as if maybe the result will change.
Law stares at the page a little longer, then quietly mutters, “...This quiz is a scam.”
“THAT'S NOT A DENIAL.”
“SHUT UP.”
By now there are papers everywhere.
Crossed-out answers.
Ink circles.
Notes.
Arguments.
At one point Shachi has written: HE’S IN LOVE
Across an entire page.
Law immediately threw that page away, but unfortunately someone picked it back up.
Penguin dramatically points at the final score.
But before he can even say something, the door opens.
“Oh. You’re all still here?” your voice echoes through the room.
Everybody freezes.
You stand in the doorway carrying several shopping bags.
Your eyes travel across the disaster in the room.
“...Should I ask?”
Nobody answers.
You slowly walk into the room, looking around. More confused with every step.
Law immediately speaks “It’s nothing.”
You look at him, then at the room and then back at him.
“It’s clearly something.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
You look at the others “What’s going on?”
The entire crew suddenly becomes very interested in the ceiling… but also the walls, the floor… literally anything except you.
You narrow your eyes and give them the kind of look that has made grown pirates confess crimes they didn't even commit.
“What. Did. You. Do.”
Shachi breaks first, predictably “IT WAS PENGUIN’S IDEA.”
“TRAITOR!”
And suddenly everyone starts talking.
“There was a quiz.”
“A love quiz.”
“He got full points!”
Law closes his eyes. The headache is becoming physical.
You blink. Then reach for the newspaper.
Nobody stops you.
You pick it up, look at the title, look at the answers, look at the circles and look at the notes.
Your eyes move quickly until you reach the result.
You stare at it for a few seconds.
The room is silent.
Then you look up, confused “...Who is in love with me?”
Silence.
Nobody moves.
Nobody breathes.
Nobody blinks.
Even Law freezes.
You look around, waiting.
Then Shachi suddenly points at you “You’re so full of yourself that you assume it’s about you?”
You slowly turn toward him.
The room collectively prepares for his funeral.
“Idiot.”
Shachi immediately regrets everything.
You point at the newspaper “There’s literally a note near the results.”
Everyone looks down and written in messy handwriting there’s:
HE LOVES Y/N AWWW
Shachi slowly lowers his head “Ah.”
You look back at the crew “So?”
Pause.
“Who is it?”
Nobody answers. Which is an answer by itself, because suddenly, every single person in that room looks at Law.
You follow their gaze and find Law staring at the floor.
The pieces connect.
Your eyes widen a little.
Law notices and his soul immediately leaves his body.
For a moment nobody speaks.
Then, unexpectedly, you relax. The tension leaves your shoulders. The surprise leaves your face and something softer appears instead.
You look at Law for a second, then you smile and tell him “I bought you a necklace.”
The room freezes again.
“What?” Penguin blurts.
You continue like nothing happened “It’s really cool.”
Law blinks.
You point at him “It’s totally your style.”
Nobody understands what's happening, not even Law.
“And don’t worry.” you raise a hand “I didn’t use the crew’s money.”
Shachi immediately nods “Good.”
“I used mine.”
“Even better.”
You smile proudly, then start backing toward the door “I have it somewhere between all my new clothes.”
Law is still staring, completely lost.
“So…” you point toward the hallway “I’ll give it to you later.”
A pause, then you smile at him again.
A little brighter this time “Bye!”
And before anyone can answer, you rush out.
The door slams shut.
Absolute silence.
The crew slowly turn toward Law.
Law is still staring at the door.
Penguin speaks first, very carefully “...Captain.”
No answer.
“Captain…”
Still nothing.
“Captain.”
Law finally blinks then quietly asks “...Do you think they figured it out?”
The room explodes.
“HE ASKED IF they FIGURED IT OUT.”
“they DEFINITELY FIGURED IT OUT.”
“they BOUGHT YOU A GIFT.”
“A PERSONAL GIFT.”
“A NECKLACE.”
“they CHANGED THE SUBJECT TO SAVE YOU.”
“CAPTAIN YOU ARE SO DONE.”
Law drops his face into his hands and sighs, regretting all his life’s choices.
The moment you close your bedroom door behind you, your brain starts screaming.
“Oh my God.”
You pace.
“Oh my God.”
Turn.
“Oh my God.”
Turn again.
You bury your face in your hands “What was that?”
You groan loudly and fall face-first onto your bed.
Then immediately sit back up, because that doesn't solve anything.
“He likes me.”
Pause.
“No.”
Pause.
“Maybe.”
Pause.
“Definitely.”
Pause.
“Maybe?”
You scream into your pillow.
A few minutes later you're still pacing.
The necklace sits on your bed, mocking you.
You stare at it and then at the wall, and back at the necklace again.
Finally, Ikkaku enters the room.
“Ikkaku, you’re here!”
“Oh no.” She says.
You stop pacing “What do you mean, ‘oh no’?”
“You're using your emergency tone.”
“...”
“What’s wrong?”
Five minutes later Ikkaku knows everything, the quiz, the results, the notes, the staring, the necklace and the panic.
There is a concerning silence on the other end “Just confess to him.”
You nearly choke “WHAT?”
“Confess.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“No.”
“Good argument.”
You throw yourself onto your bed “I can’t just confess.”
Ikkaku watches you and sits on the edge of your bed, “Why not?”
“Because.”
“Excellent point.”
You groan “Ikkaku.”
“What?”
“What if I’m wrong?”
A pause to judge your stupidity, then “Y/N.”
“What?”
“The entire crew practically pointed at him. He didn't deny it. And according to you, he looked ready to die when you figured it out.”
“...”
“He likes you.”
You cover your face “I hate this.”
‘No, you don’t.”
You hate how right she is.
Hours pass.
Dinner comes and goes.
You barely remember eating.
The necklace remains on your bed. Waiting.
Eventually, very late at night, when most of the submarine is quiet, you finally pick it up.
Your hands shake a little “Okay.”
You take a deep breath “Okay.”
Another deep breath and you leave your room.
Your heart is trying to kill you. Every step feels heavier than the last.
Eventually you stop in front of a familiar door.
Light still shines from underneath, of course he's awake.
You knock and he answers immediately “Come in.”
You open the door.
Law is sitting at his desk. Several books are spread around him. The usual.
He looks up and freezes.
You almost turn around and run.
“Y/N?”
“Hi.”
Brilliant.
Amazing.
A true master of conversation.
Law sets his pen down.
You walk forward slowly, but your eyes never leave the floor.
You stop in front of the desk and hold out the small box “The necklace.”
Law blinks, and then takes it “...Thank you.”
You nod, still staring at the floor.
The silence stretches.
Law notices and then he sighs softly… a tired sigh.
And says “Don’t worry about all that.”
Your stomach drops.
“It was just a stupid test they forced me to do.”
You don't move.
“They answered all the questions for me.” Law leans back in his chair “I didn’t even have a say in it.”
The words hit harder than they should.
You stare at the floor.
Law opens the box, inside rests the necklace. Simple dark metal, exactly his style.
A small smile appears on his face “Thank you for this.”
Your throat tightens.
You don't care about the necklace anymore.
Instead, very quietly, you ask “So the test…”
Law looks up.
“The results and everything…” Your voice gets smaller “Were just for their fun?”
The room suddenly feels too warm.
“So…” You swallow “It’s not true.”
Law's expression changes immediately, because now he's really looking at you and finally notices the tears gathering in your eyes.
The way you’re refusing to blink and the way your hands are shaking.
His heart sinks “Oh.”
For the first time all evening, Law understands.
He stands up quickly “Y/N—”
You immediately step back and his chest tightens.
You look down, still refusing to blink… trying so hard not to cry.
“I thought…” Your voice cracks.
You hate that it cracks but you continue, “I thought I had a chance.”
Law freezes.
Your fingers curl around your sleeves “But it was all just fun and games for the other idiots?”
The room becomes silent.
Law stares, for once, completely speechless.
Because somehow… you wanted there to be a chance… with him.
His heart pounds.
Then slowly, carefully, he takes a step forward and this time you don't move.
His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it, almost gentle “I agree with all the answers they gave in my stead.”
You finally blink and a tear escapes.
Law’s chest aches “And…”
He swallows, his eyes never leave yours “I agree with the results, Y/N.”
The world stops.
You stare and he stares back.
“I didn't say anything because… you know me, I was… embarrassed.”
A tiny smile appears.
“And because I was trying to figure out how they managed to know before I did.”
Another tear slips down your cheek.
Law reaches out slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you don't, his thumb brushes beneath your eye and wipes it away.
“You had a chance. You have a chance. Actually I’m the one who needs a chance.” his voice is barely above a whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly “Apparently I was just the last person on the submarine to realize it.”
You stare at him.
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it.
“So…” your voice is small “So you really…”
Law lets out a quiet breath. For someone who always seems to have an answer, he suddenly looks almost nervous “I really do.”
You laugh weakly through your tears, then cover your face “Oh my God.”
Law actually smiles, small and soft, but real.
“Oh my God.” you repeat.
“That’s your response?”
“I’ve been panicking for six hours.”
“Fair.”
You laugh again.
Then neither of you says anything, you just look at each other, and somehow that feels even more dangerous, because now there is nothing left to misunderstand and nothing left to hide behind.
The silence stretches, then Law sighs softly as if he can finally breathe normally.
And before he can think too much about it, he reaches for your wrist and gently pulls you closer.
Your breath catches as his hand slides to your cheek.
For a moment he just looks at you, like he’s still making sure this is real.
Then he murmurs “You know…”
“What?”
“For someone who basically read it, you’re the last one to find out…” a tiny smirk appears "You were pretty slow too.”
Your jaw drops “Excuse me?!”
Law chuckles.
The unfair bastard.
You barely have time to complain before he leans down and kisses you.
The argument dies instantly… your brain dies instantly too.
The kiss is soft and careful, like he's still giving you a chance to pull away… as if that's going to happen.
You grab the front of his shirt and kiss him back immediately. That earns a quiet laugh against your lips.
When you finally separate, both of you are breathing a little harder.
Neither of you lets go.
You rest your forehead against his chest “...The quiz was really accurate. It was basically science.”
Law groans “It wasn’t.”
You start laughing “It literally was.”
“It was a stupid quiz.”
“It was an accurate stupid quiz.”
“It was not.”
“It predicted your feelings.”
Law drops his forehead onto the top of your head “I’m never hearing the end of this.”
“Nope.”
“Penguin is going to be unbearable.”
“Yep.”
“Shachi is going to tell everyone he’s a doctor.”
“Absolutely.”
Law closes his eyes “Maybe I should just throw them both into the ocean.”
You grin, then tilt your head up and steal another quick kiss.
His expression softens instantly and suddenly neither of you cares very much about what the crew will say tomorrow.
Eplogue:
The relationship lasts exactly three days before the crew figures it out.
Which is honestly impressive (negatively) considering everyone was involved in that love test.
You don’t announce it and you don’t hold hands in public. You don’t suddenly become disgustingly affectionate.
At least that's what the two of you think.
Unfortunately, everyone else has functioning eyes and they’re nosy.
It starts at breakfast.
Law sits down first and a few minutes later, you walk into the mess hall.
There are at least twenty empty seats, but without thinking, you sit beside him.
Nobody says anything at first, because it's not the first time you sit next to him, but it's weird enough after that love test day.
So Penguin slowly lowers his coffee “...Interesting.”
The next day is somehow worse… you pass Law in the hallway and either of you stop or speak.
But your fingers brush for half a second.
HALF A SECOND but Bepo sees it… Bepo, who is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets.
His eyes become huge and yells”CAPTAIN HELD Y/N’S HAND!”
Law kinda panics “I DID NOT!”
“You totally did!”
“It was an accident!”
You panic as well “IT LASTED ONE SECOND!”
“SO IT WAS THERE!”
By the third day, the entire submarine knows, including people who weren't even involved in the original quiz.
The problem is that nobody tells you they know, they just become weird… weirder than usual.
Penguin starts making kissing noises at you everytime Law enters a room.
Shachi somehow becomes worse, like one morning he walks into the mess hall with his chest puffed out “Good morning.”
You look at him with disgust and ask “...Why are you smiling like that?”
Shachi places a hand dramatically over his heart “Please.”
You already don’t like where this is going.
“Address me properly.”
“Never, but go on. I want to see where you’re trying to get to.”
“That’s Doctor Shachi to you.”
“No.”
“The Love Doctor.”
You stare.
Law, who is drinking coffee nearby, slowly lowers his cup.
“You can’t just call yourself that.”
“I absolutely can.”
“No.”
“I literally united two souls.”
“You found a newspaper.”
“Details.” Shachi points dramatically at himself “I saw the truth before anyone else.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You literally thought Law was in love with his sword three months ago.”
The room explodes.
“I WAS GOING THROUGH A THEORY PHASE!”
A week later things somehow get even worse.
You walk into the mess hall and immediately spot Shachi waiting near the entrance and the second he sees you, he points dramatically “How’s married life?”
You freeze.
Law freezes.
The room freezes.
Then you grab the nearest thing you could find… “Oh, you’re dead.”
Shachi immediately runs “CAPTAIN!”
You jump over a chair to follow him “COME BACK HERE!”
“CAPTAIN, YOUR LOVER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!”
“That’s not my problem”
“IT SHOULD BE!”
The chase lasts almost thirty seconds before a hand catches the back of your shirt.
You stop and you turn around. Law is holding your shirt.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Law.”
“No.”
“Law.”
“No.”
You point at Shachi, who is currently hiding behind Bepo “His head is empty anyway.”
“I know.”
“Then let me hit it.”
“No.”
“Just two times.”
“No.”
“Once?”
“No.”
You cross your arms and Law sighs.
Then he pulls you a step backward before you can launch yourself at Shachi again.
The crew immediately loses their minds.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?”
“HE JUST DRAGGED THEM AWAY.”
“THAT WAS SO DOMESTIC.”
“I’M GOING TO THROW UP.”
Law's eye twitches.
You point at Penguin “You’re next.”
“THE LOVE DOCTOR WILL PROTECT ME!”
“NONE OF YOU IDIOTS IS A LOVE DOCTOR!”
Shachi gasps dramatically “Excuse me? I’m the greatest romantic genius of our generation.”
“No.”
“I diagnosed Captain.”
You narrow your eyes “You bullied him.”
“I guided him.”
“You harassed him.”
“I enlightened him.”
“You gave him a headache.”
The room is laughing so hard people are crying.
Even Law looks like he’s trying not to smile.
Then Shachi points triumphantly toward a wall.
Everyone turns, and you immediately regret it, because somehow… some way… the original newspaper quiz has been framed.
Under the final result someone (guess who) has written:
LOVE DOCTOR SACHI WAS RIGHT
You immediately grab something else near you again “Oh, now you’re definitely dead.”
“CAPTAIN!”
This time Law catches you before you even take two steps “Stop trying to assault my crew now.”
“I’m trying to improve your crew.”
“By hitting them?”
“Maybe it will make them smart.”
Law pinches the bridge of his nose.
You smile innocently, but nobody is fooled, especially not him.
A few minutes later the chaos settles down.
You end up sitting beside Law while the crew keeps talking, teasing, and generally making everyone's life worse.
Shachi is currently explaining his future plans “The Love Doctor’s Guide to Romance.”
“No one is reading that.”
“I’ll make Captain read it.”
“No.”
“I’ll dedicate the first chapter to you two. My first success.”
Law looks ready to slice him.
You laugh and lean your head against his shoulder without even thinking about it and of course the room immediately explodes again.
“OH MY GOD.”
“THEM'RE SO CUTE.”
“DOMESTIC.”
Law groans and you laugh harder, but despite all the noise, all the teasing, all the comments that you'll never hear the end of… his arm quietly settles around your shoulders.
The crew starts screaming again.
And somewhere in the corner, Shachi wipes away a fake tear “My work here is done.”
I just want you to know I have so much stuff to do tomorrow but stayed up anyways waiting for your request to open anyway bc you’re an amazing writer and I love every single fic you write, bc you’re genuinely so talented and so nice <3.
Can I request platonic Strawhats where reader is having a couple bad days and the crew notice the change on her mood and how tired and sad she’s been lately so they decide to cheer her up? Sanji bakes her a cake, Robin and Nami take her shopping. Also Law is there too and even he is being super nice to reader? Just something cute and wholesome, it can be short if you want
A Day For You
strawhat crew (+ law) x fem!reader (platonic)
a/n: sorry for the wait. since you didn't say much about the plot is came a but shorter than my usual but I hope you'll like it
words count: 1.6k
tags: platonic, fluff, comfort, found family, law is there too, emotional comfort
request reader who acts as a healer for the team, and their ability on paper [and seemingly in practice] is just that they can heal anybody, no matter the damage or cause, except their power actually works by stealing the wound and inflicting it upon themselves. they can take any pain, mental, chronic, sometimes even emotional depending on circumstances and the degree of it. no one knows until they take on something far too bad: losing a limb, breaking their spine, guts spilling out, etc.
content gn! reader x tim drake, healer! reader, reader gets hurt, severe injury, poisoning/neurotoxin, seizures, medical trauma, blood, pain transfer, self-sacrificial healing, guilt, panic, emotional distress, chronic exhaustion, consent issues around healing, angst with hurt/comfort
masterlist | word count 10.9k
Tim Drake noticed things. That was his gift. Also his curse. Also, according to Kon, “the reason nobody can surprise you with a birthday cake without involving at least three alternate dimensions and possibly a minor felony.”
Tim noticed when people lied. Not always because their pulse changed, or their eyes flicked left, or their voice rose half a register. Those were useful details, sure, but people were more complicated than tells and textbooks. Lies had texture. Weight. Repetition.
Bruce lied like a locked door. Dick lied like a spotlight. Jason lied like a loaded gun. Damian lied like he was offended the truth had failed to meet his standards.
You lied like someone offering a blanket. Softly. Kindly. Like the lie was not meant to deceive so much as comfort.
That made it harder.
The first time Tim met you, you were healing Bart Allen’s broken arm in the middle of a ruined parking garage while three League members argued with a sentient weather machine above your heads. Bart had taken the hit saving a child from a collapsing stairwell. He was vibrating too hard from pain and adrenaline, his words blurring into one long stream of panic.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, I mean it is super not fine but it’s fine because bones are supposed to be inside and this one is mostly still inside, which is a win, right? That’s a win. I’m calling that a win—”
You knelt in front of him, calm as moonlight.
“Bart,” you said. He stopped talking. Tim, who had known Bart long enough to understand what a miracle that was, immediately became suspicious. You held your hands a few inches away from Bart’s arm. “Can I help?”
Bart blinked fast. “Yes, please, because I’m trying very hard not to look and I looked three times already because my eyes are traitors.”
“Okay,” you said. “Look at me instead.”
You placed both hands around the break. Tim watched from ten feet away with a half-functional tablet tucked under one arm, blood drying at his temple and smoke staining his cape.
Warm light flickered beneath your fingers. Bart’s breathing steadied. His arm straightened. The swelling vanished. The bone shifted back into place with no visible incision, no external force, no residual damage.
Tim’s brain immediately began screaming. Because that was not possible. Or, more accurately, it was possible in at least nineteen different ways, and Tim hated not knowing which one he was looking at. Magic. Metagene. Divine intervention. Alien biology. Sympathetic energy transfer. Reality manipulation. Accelerated cellular repair. Time displacement. Wish magic. Lazarus-adjacent biofield reconstruction.
He made a list in his head. He always made lists.
Bart flexed his healed hand.
“Oh,” Bart said softly. “Whoa.”
You smiled. “Better?”
“Way better. Like, extremely better. Like, can-I-hug-you better? Is that weird? That might be weird.”
You laughed. “It’s not weird.”
Bart hugged you. You hugged him back. For one second, your face changed over Bart’s shoulder.
Only one.
Your eyes squeezed shut. Your jaw tightened. Your right hand trembled where it rested against Bart’s back. Then Bart pulled away, and you were smiling again.
Tim noticed. He did not know what it meant yet. That part came later.
At first, you were simply a variable. That was how Tim thought of you in the beginning, which he would later admit was objectively terrible and emotionally avoidant. But in his defence, he was seventeen, sleep-deprived, and had once tried to categorise his grief responses by operational impact.
So. A variable. A healer with inconsistent output cost, undefined limitations, and an alarming tendency to run toward active injury sites with no armour beyond stubbornness and a jacket with too many pockets.
You worked with everyone. Justice League emergencies. Titans fallout. Outlaws extractions. Young Justice chaos, which was its own category of medical nonsense because Kon, Bart, and Cassie could turn “reconnaissance” into “whoops, we angered a subterranean crystal cult” before lunch.
You were not officially assigned to Young Justice. You just kept showing up. Tim assumed Batman had coordinated it. Then he asked Bruce, and Bruce said, “I assumed you had.”
That was the first red flag. The second was that you never filed complete medical reports. They were accurate where it mattered: injury type, patient status, treatment applied, recovery expectations. But the sections on energetic cost, healer strain, and post-treatment symptoms were vague enough to qualify as modern art.
Fatigue. Mild drain. Temporary side effects. Resolved with rest.
Tim hated vague. Vague got people killed.
He started watching you more carefully. Not in a creepy way. Probably.
Mostly probably.
“You’re staring,” Cassie said one night in the Mount Justice kitchen.
Tim blinked and looked down at his laptop. “No, I’m not.”
“You were staring at the wall.”
“I was thinking.”
“You were thinking at the wall?”
“Yes.”
She leaned over his shoulder. “Is this about the healer?”
“No.”
His screen was open to a spreadsheet titled HEALING INCIDENT CORRELATION. Cassie stared at it.
Kon walked in, took one look, and grinned. “Oh, it is definitely about the healer.”
Tim closed the laptop. Too late.
Bart appeared beside him in a blur, cereal bowl in hand. “Are we talking about our magic doctor? I like them. They have very chill vibes. Like if a weighted blanket became a person.”
“They are not a magic doctor,” Tim said automatically.
Kon leaned against the counter. “So you admit you’ve thought about it.”
“I think about everything.”
“Yeah, but you think about them in italics.”
Tim frowned. “That sentence has no meaning.”
Cassie patted his shoulder. “It has a lot of meaning.”
“It really does,” Bart added.
Tim stood. “I’m leaving.”
Kon pointed at the laptop. “Take your totally normal crush spreadsheet.”
“It is not a crush spreadsheet.”
“It has colour coding,” Cassie said.
“For incident severity.” Tim left.
He kept the spreadsheet. Obviously.
The problem was that the data did not fit. When you healed minor injuries, you seemed tired. Normal enough. Energy expenditure was expected. When you healed severe injuries, you disappeared.
After Bart’s arm, you missed two days of check-ins and returned wearing long sleeves despite the heat. After Cassie took a magical blade through the shoulder and you closed the wound, you did not use your left arm normally for twenty-six hours. After Kon was exposed to red solar radiation and you stabilised his cellular damage, you spent the next three days avoiding bright light and loud sound. After Tim himself got hit with a concussion grenade in Prague and you pressed your fingers to his temples until the world stopped spinning, you looked almost sick afterwards.
He remembered that one too well. He had been sitting on the floor of a safehouse bathroom, back against the tub, trying to convince himself that two of everything was better than zero of everything. His head throbbed so badly he could feel his pulse behind his eyes.
You crouched in front of him.
“Tim,” you said softly. He focused on your voice because your face would not stop doubling. “You need a scan.”
“Did one.”
“You tried to scan yourself with a cracked domino mask and a toaster.”
“It was a modified toaster.”
You looked at him for a long second. Then, inexplicably, laughed. The sound went through him like warm tea.
Tim blinked at you. “You think I’m concussed.”
“I know you’re concussed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You tried to weaponise breakfast technology.”
He considered this. Then nodded, which was a mistake because the bathroom tilted. You caught his shoulder before he could slump sideways. His breath hitched. Your hand went still.
“Is this okay?” you asked.
Tim looked at your hand. Then at your face. You had already healed Cassie that night. You looked tired, shadows under your eyes, mouth pale. He should have said no.
He said, “Yes.”
Your thumb moved slightly against his shoulder. “I can help with the concussion,” you said.
“Risk?”
“Minimal.”
He would think about that word later. For months.
Minimal. Not none.
Minimal to whom?
But at the time, his head hurt and your hand was warm and he was so tired of being another thing the team had to worry about.
“Okay,” he said.
You touched his temples. Warmth spread through his skull.
The pain dissolved. Tim inhaled sharply. His vision cleared. The nausea vanished. The world clicked back into alignment, sharp and bright.
You pulled your hands away. Your lips parted. For half a second, you looked lost. Then you smiled. “Better?”
Tim stared. “Yes.”
“Good.”
You stood too quickly. He caught your wrist.
You froze. Tim let go immediately. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re pale.”
“I just healed a concussion.”
“Do you have a concussion?”
Your expression changed. Small. Almost invisible. There. That was the moment, though Tim did not know it yet. The first piece of the puzzle turning over.
“No,” you said.
Lie. Soft as a blanket.
Tim’s eyes narrowed.
You smiled again. “Rest, Red Robin.”
Then you left.
He slept for fourteen hours. You missed the morning briefing. When you came back, you wore sunglasses indoors.
Tim noticed.
The first real conversation between you happened at 4:13 in the morning in the Mount Justice medbay, because apparently nobody in the hero community had ever heard of normal social timing.
Tim was awake. This was not unusual. Tim being awake at 4:13 in the morning was so common that Bart once put a sticky note on the coffee machine reading: Good morning, Tim! Or good night? Or please sleep? Circle one. Tim had circled written no underneath.
You found him sitting on a medbay cot with three open tablets, two empty coffee cups, and a self-applied bandage around his upper arm that was objectively bad.
You stopped in the doorway. Tim looked up. You looked at the bandage. He looked at the bandage.
You said, “Absolutely not.”
“It’s functional.”
“It is offensive.”
“To who?”
“Medicine.”
You crossed the room and stood in front of him with your hands on your hips.
Tim lifted his chin. “It stopped bleeding.”
“That is the lowest possible bar.”
“It’s a practical bar.”
“It’s a basement bar.”
“Still a bar.”
You stared at him. Tim stared back. Then your mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By everyone?”
“Statistically likely.”
You held out your hand. Tim hesitated. Your expression softened. “May I fix the bandage? Not heal it. Just fix the crime scene you made with gauze.”
Tim looked down at his arm. Then back at you. “Yes.”
You sat beside him and began unwrapping the bandage. Your fingers were gentle. Tim hated noticing that. Not because he disliked gentleness.
Because he liked it. That was worse.
“That needs stitches,” you said.
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“I can do them.”
“I’m sure you can. I can also cut my own hair. That doesn’t mean anyone should let me.”
Tim looked at you. “Do you cut your own hair?”
“Not the point.”
“It explains some things.”
You gasped. “Rude.” His mouth twitched. You smiled triumphantly. “There. Almost a laugh.”
“It was not.”
“It wanted to be.”
“You’re projecting.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“That was abrupt.”
“Useful redirect.”
He studied you while you cleaned the wound. “You do that often.”
“What?”
“Redirect.”
Your hands paused for less than a second. Tim logged it. You resumed. “Only when people ask annoying questions.”
“I haven’t asked one.”
“You were about to.”
Correct. That was annoying.
He watched you thread a suture needle. “What happens to you after you heal someone?”
You did not look up. “Fatigue.”
“Always?”
“Usually.”
“What else?”
“Tim.”
He liked the way you said his name. That was inconvenient.
“Is there pain?” he asked.
You pulled the first stitch through his skin. He did not flinch. You did. Barely. But you did.
Tim’s gaze sharpened.
“Sometimes,” you said.
“What kind?”
“The kind that happens when powers get used.”
“That is not specific.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“You should document it.”
Your mouth curved, but your eyes stayed serious. “And you should sleep.”
“I document things while sleep-deprived all the time.”
“I’m aware. I’ve seen your handwriting after hour thirty-six.”
“My handwriting is efficient.”
“Your handwriting looks like a spider had a panic attack.”
Tim looked offended. You laughed.
He should have continued the interrogation. Instead, he watched you smile.
Bad. Very bad.
By the time you finished stitching him up, the medbay had gone quiet around you both. You taped gauze over the wound and sat back.
“There,” you said. “Less criminal.”
“Thank you.”
You blinked, like gratitude still surprised you. Then your face softened. “You’re welcome.”
Tim looked down at his arm. Your stitches were neat. Better than his would have been, probably.
Definitely. Annoying.
“Why are you awake?” he asked.
You leaned back on your hands. “Why are you?”
“Work.”
“Same.”
“You don’t have work right now.”
“Neither do you.”
“I always have work.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
You were quiet for a moment. Then you said, “Do you know how to stop?”
Tim looked at you. Your voice had changed. Still light. Still gentle. But there was something under it. Recognition.
He answered honestly, which surprised him. “No.”
You nodded like you had expected that. “Me neither.”
That was the first time Tim realised you were not just kind. You were familiar. Not because you were like him exactly. You were warmer. Softer around the edges. Better at making people feel held. But underneath that, there was the same engine. The same terrible logic.
If you could help, you had to. If you could endure, you should. If pain had to go somewhere, better you than someone else.
Tim did not know the whole truth yet. But some part of him understood the shape of you before the facts arrived.
That was dangerous too. Facts could be managed. Feelings were rude.
Your relationship with Tim developed in increments so small neither of you noticed until Kon started making gagging noises whenever you entered the same room.
There was coffee first. Tim had terrible coffee habits. This was not news. This was an established international problem. You discovered that he took coffee so strong it could reasonably be used to strip paint, then started replacing every third cup with tea.
Tim noticed immediately. He drank it anyway.
The next week, he modified the medbay kettle so it boiled water twenty-three per cent faster.
You stared at it. “Did you optimise my tea?”
“No.”
The kettle beeped. Tim looked at it. You looked at Tim.
“It was inefficient,” he said.
Your smile was slow and bright. Tim looked away.
Then there were the notes.
You left reminders on his laptop.
Eat something with protein.
Your wrist brace is in the left drawer.
Stop clenching your jaw. Yes, you.
If this is still open after 2 a.m., I’m telling Cassie.
Tim responded with notes of his own.
Hydrate.
Rest after major healing.
Your supply cabinet inventory system was objectively chaotic. Fixed.
Painkillers are not a personality trait.
You wrote beneath that one: Neither is detective work, beloved hypocrite.
Tim stared at the word beloved for nine full minutes. Kon found him like that.
“Oh my God,” Kon said. “You’re buffering.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are. Do you need to reboot? Should I call Oracle?”
Tim closed the laptop. “Leave.”
“You’re red.”
“Out.”
Kon floated out backward, grinning. “Buffering!”
After notes came field coordination.
You were good in a crisis. Not just good at healing. Good. You knew how to read a battlefield by sound. You could tell the difference between fear and shock, between a civilian hiding and an enemy waiting. You listened to comms like they were music and found the one thread of pain in the static.
Tim trusted competence before he trusted almost anything else. So he started trusting you. That was where the problem became terminal. Because once Tim trusted someone, truly trusted them, he wanted to know everything that could hurt them. And you were hiding something that hurt you.
His spreadsheet grew. He told himself it was for safety.
It was. Mostly.
He tracked healing events, reported severity, your visible symptoms, absence durations, wardrobe changes, gait irregularities, medication requests, light sensitivity, hand tremors, appetite shifts, mission proximity, and what Bart called “vibe anomalies.”
Tim did not name the file CRUSH SPREADSHEET. He was not a monster. He named it MEDICAL POWER COST ANALYSIS. Kon renamed it CRUSH SPREADSHEET once when Tim left his laptop unlocked for eight seconds.
Tim changed it back. And added a password.
The first time you caught him staring at the data, you did not get angry. That would have been easier.
Instead, you looked tired.
“Tim,” you said from the doorway of the medbay office.
He froze. Slowly, he turned. You stood there with your arms folded, one shoulder leaned against the doorframe. There was a bruise fading along your jaw that had appeared after you healed a civilian from blunt-force trauma two days earlier.
Tim’s screen displayed a timeline of your symptoms. Colour-coded. Because apparently he was determined to be both invasive and aesthetically organised. You looked at the screen. Then at him.
“That’s a lot,” you said.
Tim closed the laptop. “Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I am sorry you found it like this.” Your eyebrow lifted. He winced. “That was not better.”
“No, it was honest.”
You came into the office and sat across from him. The room felt smaller. Tim could hear the Mount’s ventilation system. The distant sound of Bart laughing at something in the common area. His own heartbeat.
“I’m trying to understand your limitations,” he said.
“I know.”
“For mission safety.”
“I know.”
“For your safety.”
Your expression shifted.
Tim leaned forward. “You’re hiding symptoms.”
You looked down at your hands. “Sometimes.”
“Why?”
A small smile. “Do you want the heroic answer or the honest one?”
“Honest.”
“I don’t always know how to stop helping.”
Tim had expected evasion. Not a confession shaped like a mirror.
He sat back. You looked up at him.
“People come to me when they’re in pain,” you said. “And I can take it away. How do I say no to that?”
Tim’s throat tightened. The answer should have been easy. Consent. Safety. Sustainable limits. Medical boundaries. Team protocols. All correct. All useless in the face of your voice.
“You have to,” he said anyway.
You smiled sadly. “So do you.”
He looked away. “What are you not telling me?”
Your smile faded. For a moment, something open and frightened appeared in your eyes.
Then it vanished. Soft blanket lie incoming. “Nothing that changes the outcome.”
Tim stared. “That is the most suspicious sentence anyone has ever said to me.”
That startled a laugh out of you. He wanted to keep that laugh. He wanted to solve you. He wanted, increasingly, to kiss you, which was not helpful.
“Tim,” you said gently, “there are things I’m not ready to explain.”
He hated that. He respected it. He hated that he respected it.
“Are you in danger?” he asked.
You were quiet too long. Then you said, “No more than anyone else.”
Lie. He knew it. You knew he knew it. But he nodded. Because trust meant not forcing a locked door just because you knew how to pick it. Even if your hands were itching.
“Okay,” he said.
You blinked. “Okay?”
“For now.”
A smile touched your mouth. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
“Romantic.”
Tim froze. You froze. The word sat there.
Bart blurred into the doorway at exactly the wrong moment. “Hey, does anyone know why Kon is yelling that Tim’s crush spreadsheet has become sentient?”
Tim closed his eyes. You made a small sound. Laughter. Tim wanted the floor to open.
Bart looked between you both.
“Oh,” he said, delighted. “Am I interrupting tension?”
Tim stood. “Yes.”
“Cool, cool, I’ll tell everyone.”
“Bart.” But Bart was already gone.
You were laughing fully now, one hand pressed to your mouth. Tim looked at you. Despite himself, he smiled. Very slightly.
Your laughter softened into something warm. “There it is,” you said.
“What?”
“The smile.”
“I smile.”
“You smirk strategically.”
“That is different.”
“It is.”
Your eyes held his. For a moment, the hidden thing between you did not feel like danger. It felt like possibility.
Then the emergency alarm sounded. Because the universe had poor comedic timing.
The mission was supposed to be contained. Tim hated that word. Contained meant “currently not on fire.” It did not mean safe. A group of biochemists working with stolen LexCorp and H.I.V.E. materials had developed a neurotoxin designed specifically to target enhanced nervous systems. The League handled the main facility. Young Justice was assigned evacuation and containment at an auxiliary lab outside Metropolis.
Simple. Contained. Terrible words.
You came with them.
Tim objected immediately. “You’re still recovering from the last mission.”
You stared at him across the hangar. “That was three days ago.”
“You had a tremor yesterday.”
“I had too much coffee.”
“You hate coffee.”
“I was holding yours.”
“You shouldn’t have been holding mine. My coffee is a controlled substance.”
Bart nodded gravely. “It once made my molecules sing.”
Kon pointed at him. “You drank six cups.”
“I heard colours.”
Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please focus?”
Tim did not look away from you. “You are not cleared.”
You tilted your head. “By who?”
“Me.”
“Cute.”
Kon whispered, “Dangerous word choice.”
Tim ignored him. You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “People are going to be hurt.”
“And you are going to hurt yourself helping them.”
Your expression flickered. Tim saw it. His chest tightened.
“You don’t know that,” you said.
“I know enough.”
“Not everything.”
“No,” he agreed. “Because you won’t tell me.”
Your face closed. Immediate regret hit him. Cassie shifted uncomfortably. Kon suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. Bart vibrated in place with the desperate energy of someone watching emotional land mines blink red.
You looked away first. “I’m going,” you said.
Tim wanted to stop you. He did not. Because he had no right. Because you were not his to command. Because somewhere along the way, he had started caring enough to become unreasonable, and that was a him problem.
“Stay behind the second line,” he said.
You looked back. “Tim.”
“Please.”
That did it. Your expression softened, even though your eyes stayed sad.
“I’ll be careful,” you said.
Not a promise. Not enough. But all he got.
The auxiliary lab was already half-evacuated when they arrived. Smoke rolled from the east wing. Security alarms flashed red. Automated doors opened and closed in broken loops. Scientists stumbled through emergency exits, coughing and terrified, while local authorities tried to keep the perimeter intact. Tim’s mask display lit with toxin warnings.
“Rebreathers on,” he ordered.
Kon grimaced. “Hate when air gets spicy.”
Bart zipped through the entrance, evacuating three scientists before Tim finished saying, “Bart, wait for—”
He sighed. Cassie clapped him on the shoulder. “He heard you in spirit.”
“He absolutely didn’t.”
You moved to the triage zone, already kneeling beside a woman convulsing on the pavement. Her pupils were blown wide, veins dark beneath her skin.
Tim’s attention caught. You looked up at him. For one second, your eyes met. Then you placed your hand over the woman’s chest. Her convulsions stopped. Her breathing evened. You exhaled, sharp and controlled. Tim saw your fingers twitch. A cold thread wound through his stomach.
Inside the lab, things got worse. The toxin had not just leaked. It had been weaponised. Drones moved through the corridors, releasing bursts of aerosolised neurotoxin whenever they detected motion. Tim hacked the building’s ventilation while Cassie took out the larger drones, Kon shielded trapped civilians from falling debris, and Bart ran antidote injectors to anyone already exposed.
It almost worked. Then Tim found the server room. And the trap.
The door sealed behind him with a hiss. His mask display flashed. TOXIN DETECTED. Concentration climbing.
Tim switched filters. One second too late.
The first breath burned.
Not in his lungs. In his nerves. Pain flashed white through his body, sudden and total. His fingers spasmed. The staff clattered from his hand. The server racks blurred. He stumbled to the access panel. His hand would not obey.
“Red Robin?” Cassie’s voice crackled through comms.
Tim tried to answer. His jaw locked. The toxin crawled through his nervous system like static with teeth. Every muscle tightened. His heart hammered too fast, then stuttered. Vision fractured into overlapping panes of light.
He hit the floor. A seizure warning flashed across his mask display. Then another. Then another.
Tim’s body arched. The world became pain and code. He could hear comms, but distantly.
“Tim?” “Red Robin, respond.” “Rob?”
Kon’s voice changed. “Tim!”
Tim tried to breathe. Couldn’t. His lungs spasmed. His limbs jerked against the floor. Foam touched the corner of his mouth beneath the mask. His thoughts, usually so fast, so sharp, scattered like birds startled from a wire. He thought, absurdly, of your notes.
Eat something with protein. Stop clenching your jaw. Yes, you. Rest after major healing.
Then the door exploded inward. You stumbled through the smoke wearing a rebreather and a look of pure terror. Tim wanted to tell you to leave. His mouth would not move.
You dropped beside him. “Tim.”
He could not focus. Your hands hovered over his chest, his face, helpless for one horrible second. Then you pulled off a glove.
No. Panic cut through the toxin. No.
You touched his face. “Tim, can you hear me?” He heard you. He could not answer. Your voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
He hated those words. He hated that he understood them now.
Your hands pressed to his temples. Warmth flared. The toxin vanished. Tim’s body unlocked with a violent gasp. His heart steadied. His lungs opened. The seizure stopped so suddenly he collapsed boneless against the floor.
For three seconds, all he could do was breathe.
Then you made a sound. Small. Wrong.
Tim turned his head. You were still kneeling beside him. Your hand was pressed to your mouth. Your eyes were wide. Then your body jerked. Once. Twice. Your back arched.
A seizure tore through you. Tim’s blood went cold.
“No,” he rasped. Your body hit the floor. The rebreather slipped sideways. Your limbs spasmed against the tile. The same toxin pattern bloomed across your veins, dark and webbing under the skin.
Tim scrambled toward you. His hands shook, but they were obeying now. Yours were not.
“No, no, no.” He reached for your mask, fixed the seal, checked your airway. His training took over because if his feelings got one hand on the wheel, he would crash. “Kon!” he shouted. His voice cracked across comms. “Server room! Now!”
Static. Then Kon, panicked, “On my way!”
Your body convulsed again. Tim held you on your side, one hand braced at your shoulder, the other at your jaw.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Stay with me, please.”
Your eyes opened for half a second. They were unfocused. Terrified. But when they found him, somehow, impossibly, you looked relieved.
Tim understood then. Not as a theory. Not as a data point.
As horror.
You had taken it. The toxin. The seizure. The damage. His nervous system was clear because yours was burning.
Kon arrived in a blur, ripping the doorframe wider to fit through. He froze. “Oh, my God.”
“Get them out,” Tim ordered. Kon did not move. “Kon!”
That snapped him into motion. He lifted you with terrified care while Tim grabbed his staff and staggered after him. His legs worked. His lungs worked. His brain worked.
Because yours didn’t. The realisation nearly dropped him to his knees.
Outside, chaos blurred. Cassie shouted for medevac. Bart appeared and vanished and reappeared with medical kits, antidotes, three paramedics, and a blanket he had absolutely stolen from somewhere. You convulsed again in Kon’s arms, and Kon looked like someone had ripped his heart out.
Tim took your hand. It spasmed in his grip. “Don’t heal them,” he told the medics.
One of them stared at him. “What?”
Tim’s voice sharpened. “Don’t use energy-based healing. Don’t use magic. Stabilise only. The wound may transfer unpredictably.”
He did not know that. Not scientifically. But he knew enough to be afraid.
Bart looked at him, eyes wide. “Tim?”
Tim looked down at you. The toxin pattern was spreading. His toxin pattern. “I know what their power does."
Silence fell around them. Even the alarms seemed quieter.
Cassie’s face went pale. “What does that mean?”
Tim swallowed. Your hand jerked in his. He held on. “It means,” Tim said, voice hollow, “they don’t erase injuries.” Tim forced the words out. “They take them.”
Mount Justice had a medbay. The Watchtower had a better one. Batman insisted. Tim did not argue. That was how everyone knew it was bad. You were transported to the Watchtower within seven minutes. The toxin had burned through your body faster than it had through his, maybe because your power accelerated the transfer, maybe because your nervous system was already overloaded from previous healings, maybe because the universe was cruel and data did not matter when someone you loved was seizing on a medbay table.
Tim stood outside the glass wall and watched doctors stabilise you. Kon stood beside him, silent for once. Bart was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, vibrating so finely he looked blurred at the edges. Cassie paced. Bruce was in the corner speaking quietly with Dr Mid-Nite, expression grim enough to bend the room around it.
Tim had your medical files open on three tablets. Not the official ones. His. The spreadsheet. The timeline. The pattern. It was all there. It had always been there. Bruise after blunt-force trauma healing. Limp after fractures. Photosensitivity after concussions. Tremors after nerve damage. Fever after infection transfers. Vomiting after poisoning cases. Emotional withdrawal after psychic trauma. Absence durations proportional to injury severity.
He should have known. He had known.
Kon finally spoke. “So every time they healed us…”
Tim did not look up. “Yes.”
Bart made a tiny sound. Cassie stopped pacing.
Kon’s fists clenched. “They felt it?”
“Yes,” he said. “They felt it.”
Kon turned away, one hand over his mouth.
Bart’s voice came thin. “My arm?”
Tim closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Cassie’s shoulder?”
“Yes.”
“Your concussion?”
Tim opened his eyes and looked through the glass. You lay too still beneath the lights. “Yes.”
Bruce came to stand beside him. Tim did not look at him.
“You found evidence,” Bruce said.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“For how long?”
Tim’s hand tightened around the tablet. “Months.” Silence. That was worse than judgment. Tim looked up sharply. “If you’re going to say I should have told someone—”
“I’m not.” Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on you. “You were respecting a boundary.”
Tim let out a humourless laugh. “Was I? Or was I afraid they’d stop trusting me if I pushed?”
Bruce said nothing. Tim hated when silence was an answer.
Behind them, Bart whispered, “They asked every time.” Everyone looked at him. Bart’s eyes were wet. “Before healing. They always asked. But they didn’t tell us what yes meant.”
Cassie’s face crumpled. Kon sat down hard on a bench. Tim looked back at you. Bart had found the centre of it without any spreadsheets. You asked permission to touch. Not for consequence.
The doctors worked for another hour. The toxin ran its course differently in your body. Faster in some ways, worse in others. Your healing factor fought it like a fever trying to burn down its own house. Finally, Dr Mid-Nite came out. Tim stood immediately.
“You can see them,” he said. "They are stable. Exhausted. Their neurological activity is normalising. They’ll need rest, monitoring, and no power use.”
“For how long?”
“At minimum? Weeks.” Tim almost laughed. As if anyone here knew how to rest for weeks. Bruce’s gaze sharpened, probably because he had the same thought. Dr. Mid-Nite looked between them. “I mean it. Their system is overloaded. Another major transfer could kill them.”
Kill them.
Tim nodded once. Then he walked into the medbay.
You were asleep. Pale, dark veins fading slowly beneath your skin. Electrodes at your temples. IV lines in both arms. Your hands rested on top of the blanket, still except for the occasional twitch.
Tim sat beside your bed. For a long time, he did not touch you. He wanted to. Badly. But every touch between you had become suddenly complicated by the knowledge of what your hands could do. What they had done. What you had hidden inside gentleness.
Finally, he placed two fingers lightly against your wrist. Pulse. Steady. Alive.
His shoulders dropped.
Kon appeared in the doorway. “You okay?” Tim glanced at him. Kon grimaced. “Yeah, I heard it.”
“I’m not okay.” Kon nodded and came inside, leaning against the wall. For once, he did not joke. Tim looked back at you. “They saved my life.”
“Yeah.”
“They took neurotoxin into their own nervous system.”
“Yeah.”
“I should be grateful.”
Kon’s expression tightened. “You are.”
“I’m angry.”
“You can be both.”
Tim did not answer. Kon looked at him for a long moment. “They love you,” he said. Tim froze. Kon’s eyes widened slightly. “You didn’t know?”
Tim stared at him.
Kon rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. Uh. Never mind?”
“Kon.”
“Look, I’m not exactly Sherlock, and even I noticed.”
Tim’s brain stalled. Not helpful. Not now. Absolutely not now. But the words entered anyway.
They love you.
As a variable, it was catastrophic. As a possibility, it was worse.
Tim looked at your face. Your closed eyes. The exhaustion written into every line. The body that had chosen his life at the expense of yours.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
Kon frowned. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t make that romantic.” Kon’s face sobered. Tim’s voice shook. “They lied. They almost died. They took my choice away.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want love if it looks like this.” The words scraped out of him.
Kon was quiet. Then he said, “Then tell them what you want it to look like.” Tim looked up. Kon shrugged, expression sad. “What?”
“Nothing,” Tim said.
“No, that was a look.”
“You said something emotionally useful.”
Kon snorted. “Rude.”
“Unexpected.”
“Very rude.” Despite everything, Tim’s mouth twitched. Kon smiled faintly, then nodded toward you. “They’re gonna wake up and feel terrible.”
“Yes.”
“Physically and emotionally.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re gonna do the Tim thing.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “What is the Tim thing?”
“Act like if you explain the pain precisely enough, it’ll stop hurting.” Tim looked away. Kon pushed off the wall. “Just, like… maybe don’t forget they’re scared too.”
Then he left.
Tim hated how often his friends were right. It was deeply inconvenient.
You woke six hours later. Tim was running a model on his tablet when your heart rate changed. He noticed before your eyes opened.
He set the tablet down. Your eyelids fluttered once. Twice. Then you looked at him. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your gaze moved over his face slowly, like you were checking him for damage.
Then you whispered, “Did it work?”
Tim’s heart broke with surgical precision. He leaned forward. “Yes,” he said.
Your eyes closed in relief. He almost lost his temper right there.
Instead, he inhaled slowly. Count four. Hold four. Out six. Bruce would be proud. Insufferably.
You opened your eyes again. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
Your brow furrowed. “Did the toxin—”
“The toxin is gone.”
“Then—”
“I’m not okay because you took it from me and nearly died.”
Your mouth closed. The monitors filled the silence. You looked down at your hands. “I’m sorry,” you said.
Tim had imagined this conversation many times. In every version, he was calmer. More precise. Less seventeen different kinds of devastated. He had bullet points. A structure. Ethical concerns. Medical concerns. Consent framework. Risk disclosure protocol. Then you said sorry like you meant it, and all the bullet points burned.
“How long?” he asked. Your eyes flicked up. “How long has your power worked like that?”
You swallowed. “Always.”
Tim went still. He had expected that. It did not help. “Always,” he repeated. You nodded. “So every time.”
Your eyes shone. “Yes.”
“Bart’s arm, Cassie’s shoulder, Kon’s solar damage.”
“Yes.”
“My concussion.”
You closed your eyes. “Yes.”
He stood and turned away. The movement was too abrupt. He heard your breath catch behind him.
Good. No. Not good. He did not want to scare you. He wanted to scream. He wanted to go back to every moment you had smiled afterwards and rip the lie out of the air. He wanted to hate you.
He could not. That made him angrier.
“Tim,” you said softly.
He turned back. “You said minimal risk.” Your face twisted. “When you healed my concussion,” he said. “You said minimal.”
“It was.”
“To you?” You were silent. His laugh was sharp and horrible. “That’s the entire problem, isn’t it?”
“I knew I could handle it.”
“You didn’t know that today.” Your gaze dropped. He stepped closer. “You did not know you could survive that toxin.”
“I knew you couldn’t.”
The room went silent. Tim’s mouth parted.
There it was. The logic of you.
Terrible. Simple. I knew you couldn’t. As if that ended the equation. As if his life on one side and yours on the other could be balanced without asking what the equals sign cost. He sat down slowly because his knees felt untrustworthy.
“That isn’t enough,” he said.
Your eyes lifted. “To justify it?”
“To survive on.” Your expression broke. Tim leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You can’t build a life out of taking whatever other people can’t survive.”
You laughed once, weak and wet. “That’s rich coming from you.”
He flinched.
“I know,” he said. That seemed to surprise you. He looked at his hands. “I know I’m a hypocrite. I know I run on caffeine and denial and contingency plans. I know I treat my body like an inconvenient transportation system for my brain.” A faint, unwilling smile touched your mouth. “I know,” he continued, “that if our positions were reversed, I’d be trying to justify the exact same thing.” Your smile vanished. He looked up. “That’s how I know it’s wrong.”
A tear slipped down your temple into your hair. You whispered, “I didn’t want you to die.”
Tim’s face crumpled despite himself. “I know.”
“I saw you seizing. I couldn’t—” Your voice broke. “Tim, I couldn’t watch that happen to you.”
He leaned closer. “And I woke up watching it happen to you.”
You closed your eyes. His anger shook. Not because it was fading. Because grief was moving underneath it.
“I thought I lost you,” he said. Your eyes opened. Something changed in your face. Softened. Tim swallowed hard. “I didn’t know if I had the right to feel that way.”
Your brow furrowed. “What?”
“Like losing you would—” He stopped, because the sentence had teeth. “Like it would break something important.”
You stared at him. Tim looked away. He had meant to say it better. Later. Maybe never. Probably never.
“Tim,” you whispered.
He shook his head once. “No. I’m not saying this because you got hurt. I’m not saying it to make this moment easier. It doesn’t make it easier.”
Your hand shifted weakly on the blanket. He looked at it. Then at you.
“May I?” he asked.
Your eyes filled again. You nodded. Tim took your hand. Your fingers were colder than normal. He hated that his first instinct was to log it. He hated that his second was to warm them between both of his. He did both.
“I care about you,” he said. Your breath hitched. “A lot. In a way that is… inconvenient.” A watery laugh escaped you. His mouth twitched. “Deeply inconvenient,” he added. “Operationally disastrous. Kon has been unbearable.”
“He knows?”
“Apparently, everyone knows.”
Your lips curved faintly. “Except us?”
“I knew.” You raised an eyebrow weakly. “I had data,” Tim corrected.
“That is different from knowing.”
“Unfortunately.”
Your smile faded. You looked at your joined hands. “I care about you, too,” you said. Tim stopped breathing. “A lot,” you continued. “In a way that is also inconvenient.”
His thumb stilled on your knuckles.
“I think,” you whispered, “I love you.”
Tim closed his eyes. He wished the words did not hurt. They should have been soft. They should have been a sunrise. A hand held in a kitchen. A confession under a quiet sky. Instead, they arrived in a medbay with toxin still fading from your veins. But they were still true. That was the worst, best part.
He opened his eyes. “I think I love you too,” he said. Your face folded with relief and grief at once. Tim leaned closer. “But I need you to understand something.” You nodded, tears bright in your eyes. “If love means you decide my life matters more than yours, I can’t accept it.” Your mouth trembled. He held your hand tighter. “I won’t.”
“I don’t think my life matters less.”
“You act like it does.” You started to answer. Stopped. The silence was answer enough. Tim continued, gentler now. “I know why. I do. You’re surrounded by people who choose pain before help. You probably learned very quickly that if you told the truth, everyone would refuse healing unless they were unconscious.”
You looked away.
“And you couldn’t stand that.”
“No,” you whispered.
“So you made the choice for us.”
Your face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”
Tim nodded. “I know.”
“I really am... I don’t know how to not help.”
His chest ached. “I know that too.”
“What if someone dies because I ask first?”
Tim’s throat tightened.
There it was. The fear underneath everything.
Not pain. Not death.
Failure. A world where your hands could save someone and you chose not to use them fast enough.
He did not have an easy answer. He refused to offer a fake one.
“Then we make emergency protocols,” he said.
Your lips twitched through tears. “Of course you have protocols.”
“I am who I am.”
“Unfortunately, attracted to that.”
Tim blinked. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
Tiny. Disbelieving.
You smiled weakly. The room softened around the edges.
Then he sobered.
“We make consent directives,” he said. “Everyone decides in advance what they consent to under different circumstances. Minor injury. Severe injury. Fatal injury. Mental pain. Chronic pain. Magical effects. All of it.”
Your eyes widened. “You already thought about this.”
“I’ve had six hours and trauma.”
“Dangerous combo.”
“Very.”
You squeezed his hand weakly. “What if they all say no?”
“Then we respect that.”
Your face went pale.
Tim leaned in. “Even when it’s hard.”
A tear slid down your cheek.
“Especially then,” he added.
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
“I really hate that.”
“I know.”
“I might not be good at it.”
“I know.”
Your eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re saying that a lot.”
“Statistically, I know many things.”
There. A smile. Small, but real. Tim cherished it and then pretended he wasn’t the kind of person who cherished things.
Too late. You already knew.
“What about you?” you asked.
His smile faded. “My directive?”
You nodded.
Tim looked down at your hand in his.
This was the question.
Not theoretical. Not medical. His life. Your power. The line between them.
“If I am awake and able to consent, you ask.” You nodded. “If I say no, you don’t heal me.”
Your fingers tensed.
He waited. Slowly, you nodded again.
“If I am unconscious or unable to consent,” he continued, “and the injury is fatal or permanently disabling, I consent to transfer only if the projected risk to you is survivable.”
Your brow furrowed. “Projected by who?”
“You, if conscious. Team medic if available. Otherwise designated field lead.”
“That’s very precise.”
“I’m very precise.”
“You also put ‘permanently disabling’ in there.”
Tim looked up. Your eyes searched his. He knew what you were asking. Spine. Brain damage. Hands. Eyes. Things that could alter the life he had built around intellect and motion and the ability to protect people from the shadows.
“I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for a broken wrist,” he said.
“Tim.”
“But I won’t pretend I would handle permanent neurological damage gracefully.”
Your face softened.
“I’m allowed to be honest too,” he said quietly.
You nodded. “Yes.”
He breathed in.
“And if the risk to you is fatal,” he said, “you do not transfer. No exceptions.”
Your eyes filled. “Tim—”
“No exceptions.”
“What if—”
“No.”
Your mouth closed. His grip tightened.
“I need you alive,” he said.
Your breath caught.
Tim’s voice broke around the truth. “Not useful. Not healing. Alive.”
You started crying then. Silent at first, then not.
Tim stood carefully, giving you time to refuse, then leaned over the bed and wrapped his arms around you as gently as he could.
You clung to him weakly.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his shirt.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
Tim closed his eyes. His hand cradled the back of your head. “I love you too.”
The words hurt less the second time.
Maybe they always would hurt a little. Maybe love was not painless. Maybe the point was not to make it painless, but to stop using pain as proof.
Recovery, for you, was not simple.
Tim hated simple anyway. Simple usually meant missing variables.
You developed tremors in your right hand for the first three days. Light sensitivity for five. Nerve pain that made your legs jerk at random. Migraines. Exhaustion so heavy that walking from the bed to the bathroom felt like a mission report no one wanted to file.
Tim tracked all of it. You tolerated this for thirty-six hours before threatening to throw his tablet into space.
“You need objective monitoring,” he said.
“I need you to stop looking at my nervous system like it owes you money.”
“It kind of does.”
“Tim.”
He looked up. You were sitting propped against the pillows, pale but increasingly alive, wearing one of his hoodies because Kon had brought it from the Mount with a look so smug Tim considered treason.
“What?”
You held out your hand. “Come here.”
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
He stood from the chair and moved to the bedside.
You looked at the tablet. He looked at you.
“No,” he said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You have a face.”
“You have many charts.”
“They are medically relevant.”
“You have a bar graph titled ‘Tremor Severity Over Time.’”
“It’s a line graph.” You stared at him. “Not the point,” he conceded.
Your mouth twitched. He set the tablet aside.
“Happy?”
“Getting there.”
You took his hand and tugged lightly.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Carefully. Always carefully now.
Not because he thought you were fragile. Because he knew you were hurt.
You leaned your head against his shoulder. Tim went very still.
“You can breathe,” you murmured.
“I am breathing.”
“Barely.”
He exhaled. You smiled against his shoulder.
“I’m okay,” you said.
He tensed.
You lifted your head.
“No. Wait. That’s not what I mean.” You took a careful breath. “I mean, I am in pain. I am scared everyone hates me. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I feel like my spine is full of bees.”
Tim blinked. “Bees?”
“Neurological bees.”
“Concerning.”
“Very.” Your thumb moved across his hand. “But I am alive. And I am telling you the truth.”
Tim looked at you. Something in his chest loosened.
“Thank you,” he said.
Your eyes softened. “You’re welcome.”
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “May I kiss you?”
Your entire expression changed. Hope, surprise, tenderness, all at once. It almost knocked him flat.
“You’re asking now?” you whispered.
His face warmed. “Timing has been difficult.”
“You confessed in a medbay after I nearly died.”
“Yes. Poor timing.”
“Classic hero romance, honestly.”
“I would prefer our first kiss not be medically supervised.”
You glanced toward the observation window where Bart was absolutely pretending not to watch. “Too late.”
Tim turned. Bart vanished in a blur.
Tim sighed. You laughed, then winced.
He looked back immediately. “Pain?”
“Worth it.” His expression sharpened. You grimaced. “Bad phrasing?”
“Extremely.”
“I’m learning.”
“So am I.”
Your hand tightened around his.
“Yes,” you said softly. “You may kiss me.”
Tim leaned in slowly. There was a strange moment before it happened where all his thoughts went quiet.
Rare. Precious.
Then his mouth touched yours.
Gentle. Careful. Warm.
Your lips were dry from medication, and your hand trembled in his, and someone outside the room made a muffled squeaking sound that was probably Bart being physically restrained by Kon.
It was perfect anyway.
When Tim pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for one extra second.
His heart performed an extremely inconvenient manoeuvre.
“Good?” he asked.
Your eyes opened. “Very good.”
“I can improve with more data.”
You laughed softly. “Did you just flirt with me using research methodology?”
“Maybe.”
“Nerd.”
“You knew that already.”
“I did.”
Your smile faded into something tender.
“I love you,” you said.
Tim pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you too.”
This time, the words did not feel like a wound. They felt like a promise being written carefully, with room in the margins for revisions.
The team meeting happened two days later. You hated it. Tim knew because you said, “I hate this,” exactly eleven times.
“It’s necessary,” he said.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to explain everything alone.”
“I know.”
“Everyone already knows the core mechanism.”
“I know.”
“You can stop saying I know if you want.”
You looked at him. He smiled faintly. Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
Young Justice gathered in the conference room. Cassie sat at the head of the table but looked like she would rather be fighting a hydra. Kon hovered instead of sitting, arms crossed, expression worried. Bart had three snacks and no appetite. Cissie had come in after hearing the truth and looked quietly furious in the way only archers and older sisters could manage.
Bruce stood in the corner. Tim had told him he did not need to attend. Bruce had stared at him. Tim had moved on.
You sat beside Tim with a blanket around your shoulders and your hands wrapped around a mug of tea.
Your hands shook. Everyone noticed.
Nobody commented.
Progress.
You explained the power. No evasions this time. No soft blanket lies.
“It doesn’t heal by erasing damage,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “It transfers the damage to me. Physical injuries are the easiest. Poison, burns, broken bones, internal trauma. Mental and emotional pain are harder and less predictable. I can’t always take those, and I shouldn’t have done it without asking.”
Raven was not there, but the weight of that truth was.
Bart’s eyes glistened. Cassie looked down at the table. Kon’s jaw flexed.
You swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I told myself I was helping. I was helping, sometimes. But I also took choices away from you. You deserved to know what yes meant.”
Silence.
Then Bart appeared beside you and hugged you very carefully.
“I’m still mad,” he said into your shoulder.
You closed your eyes. “I know.”
“But I don’t hate you.”
Your face crumpled.
“Nobody hates you,” Cassie said, voice thick.
Kon looked at Tim. Tim nodded once.
Kon came closer, not touching yet.
“You scared us,” Kon said.
“I know.”
“And you’re banned from secret martyr crap.”
A tiny laugh escaped you. “Is that the official wording?”
“Yeah. I checked with management.”
Cassie nodded solemnly. “As management, yes.”
Tim slid a document across the table.
Kon stared. “Oh my God, is that paperwork?”
“Consent directives,” Tim said.
Bart leaned over. “There are checkboxes.”
“Of course, there are checkboxes.”
Cissie picked up a copy, scanning. “Minor injury, severe injury, permanent disability risk, fatal injury, psychic distress, chronic pain flare-ups, magical curse exposure…” She looked up. “This is actually good.”
Tim tried not to look pleased. You looked at him with soft amusement.
Kon groaned. “Do not encourage him.”
“This is helpful,” Cassie said.
“It is,” you agreed.
Tim’s ears went warm.
Bruce’s mouth twitched in the corner. Traitor.
The team spent two hours filling out directives. It was not easy. Bart said no to almost everything at first, then changed fatal injuries to yes if the risk to you was low. Cassie allowed severe injury transfers only if she was incapacitated and you had backup. Kon struggled with red sun and kryptonite exposure, jaw tight, before quietly asking if partial transfers were possible.
You answered honestly every time. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes I don’t know.
Tim watched the team learn to ask better questions. He watched you learn not to carry every answer alone.
It was painful. It was necessary.
When the meeting ended, Bruce lingered. Tim braced himself.
Bruce looked at the forms. Then at Tim. “This is good work.”
Tim blinked. Praise from Bruce was rare enough that it should have come with atmospheric warnings.
“Thanks,” he said.
Bruce’s gaze shifted to you. “You did the right thing telling them.”
You looked down. “Eventually.”
Bruce nodded. “Eventually matters.”
Then he left.
Kon stared after him. “Was that Batman being emotionally supportive?”
Cassie nodded slowly. “I think so.”
Bart whispered, “I’m scared.”
You laughed. Tim smiled.
For the first time since the lab, the room felt breathable.
You recovered at Mount Justice because the team outvoted you, Bruce, and your very bad argument that your apartment was “probably fine if no one looked too closely at the mould.”
Tim privately inspected your apartment. The mould was not fine. Neither was the lock. Or the window. Or the fact that your pantry contained tea, crackers, and what appeared to be three emergency protein bars from 2018.
He made a list.
You found it. “Tim.”
“Yes?”
“Why is there a spreadsheet called Apartment Crimes?”
“Because your apartment is committing crimes.”
“You broke into my home.”
“I used a key.”
“I did not give you a key.”
“Your landlord’s lock was insulting.”
“That does not improve your case.”
“I also fixed the lock.”
You stared at him. He stared back.
Finally, you sighed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Still invasive.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m learning.”
You softened.
“Okay,” you said.
That became the shape of things.
Mistake. Correction.
Apology. Learning.
Again.
Tim over-monitored. You called him on it. You downplayed pain. Tim called you on it. Neither of you liked being perceived accurately. Both of you endured it for the greater good, which was apparently each other.
Some nights were harder. One night, three weeks after the lab, Tim found you in the training room. You were sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, one hand pressed to your chest, breathing through what looked like a panic attack.
He stopped in the doorway. Everything in him wanted to rush forward.
He did not.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
You looked up. Your face was wet.
After a moment, you nodded.
Tim entered and sat beside you, leaving space between your bodies.
“Touch?” he asked.
You shook your head.
His chest hurt, but he nodded. “Okay.”
You rubbed both hands over your face.
“I wanted to heal someone today,” you said. Tim went still. “In the city. There was an accident. A civilian. Broken leg, maybe ribs. Paramedics were there. It wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t even… I knew they’d survive.” Your voice shook. “But I could feel it. Not literally. Just—” You swallowed. “I knew I could make it stop.”
Tim listened.
“I didn’t,” you whispered. His heart clenched. “I didn’t because of the rules. Because they couldn’t consent. Because I’m not cleared. Because it wasn’t necessary.” Your breath hitched. “And I feel horrible.”
Tim wanted to tell you that you did the right thing.
You had. But sometimes the right thing was not comfort.
So he said, “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him.
He meant it. Not sorry as correction. Sorry as witness.
Your face crumpled.
“I hate it,” you said.
“I know.”
“They were in pain.”
“Yes.”
“And I walked away.”
“You let trained medics help them.”
“I could have done it faster.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not supposed to agree with that.”
“It’s true.”
You gave a broken laugh. Tim leaned his head back against the wall.
“I watched someone get shot when I was thirteen,” he said. You went still. “I was on patrol. Before Bruce knew. Before anyone knew. I could have intervened earlier, maybe. But I froze. Then I didn’t. I helped. They survived… I still think about the seconds before I moved,” he said. “All the time. Even though they lived. Even though I was a child. Even though I didn’t cause it.”
You looked at him. Tim turned his head.
“I think helping people can become addictive when not helping feels like guilt.”
Your mouth trembled.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“I don’t know how to fix that.”
“That’s unlike you.”
“I know. Very unsettling.”
A faint smile touched your face.
Tim held out his hand, palm up, resting on the floor between you.
No pressure. No expectation. After a moment, your fingers slid into his.
“Does it get easier?” you asked.
“Not quickly.”
“Honest.”
“You asked.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder. This time, touch was chosen. Tim let himself lean back.
“You did well today,” he said softly.
You cried harder. He held your hand through it.
No healing. No transfer. No solving. Just pain, staying where it was and somehow becoming survivable because someone else sat beside it.
Tim had never trusted that kind of math before.
He was learning.
Your first date happened at a bookstore café because Kon threatened to plan it himself if Tim did not stop “hovering romantically in a medically depressing way.”
Tim objected to the phrasing. Not the substance.
You were still recovering, but strong enough for short outings. Tim chose a quiet place with accessible seating, low lighting, and a menu that included actual food because he had learned, under duress, that coffee did not count as a meal.
You arrived wearing a soft sweater and a look of suspicious amusement.
“This is very planned,” you said.
Tim stood. “Is that bad?”
“No. It’s very you.”
“I can be spontaneous.”
“You sent me a calendar invite.”
“It had the address.”
“It had a weather contingency.”
“It might rain.”
“It has a section titled Emotional Expectations.”
Tim paused.
You smiled. “I liked that part.”
He relaxed slightly. “Oh.”
You sat across from him.
For a while, it was almost normal.
No medbay. No alarms. No poison. Just tea, coffee, bookshelves, and your foot brushing his under the table.
Tim told you about a mystery novel with three plot holes in the first chapter. You argued that sometimes vibes mattered more than forensic accuracy. Tim reacted to this like you had insulted his ancestors.
You laughed.
He loved you so much in that moment it almost scared him. Not the dramatic kind of love from the medbay. Not the desperate kind forged under alarms and toxin warnings.
This was quieter.
You with foam on your upper lip. You stealing one of his fries. You making fun of his annotated reading list. You alive in afternoon light.
Tim reached across the table and touched your hand.
You looked down. Then up.
“Hi,” you said softly.
“Hi.”
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“Any particular reason?”
“I’m trying to memorise this.”
Your face softened. “Tim.”
He looked at your hand beneath his.
“I spent a long time tracking your pain,” he said.
Your expression shifted.
He continued before the words could become too heavy. “I’d like to track other things.”
“Like?”
“Favourite teas. Books you hate. Places you feel safe. What makes you laugh. How you take care of people when it doesn’t cost your body.”
Your eyes filled.
He panicked. “Good tears or bad tears?”
You laughed wetly. “Good.”
“I need people to start labelling them.”
“Jason said that too.”
“Jason and I agreeing is a bad sign.”
“End times.”
He smiled. You turned your hand over beneath his and linked your fingers.
“I’d like that,” you said.
“Good.”
“Also, I hate mystery novels where the detective says, ‘I’ll explain later.’”
“Correct opinion.”
“And I like jasmine tea.”
“Already knew that.”
“Of course you did.”
“And I feel safe with you,” you said.
Tim went very still.
Your thumb moved across his hand. “Even when you’re overbearing with charts.”
“I can reduce chart frequency.”
“Don’t be hasty.”
His mouth twitched. You smiled back.
There, in the soft noise of the café, Tim understood something he had missed while staring at all the data.
Healing was not only the absence of pain. Sometimes healing was information offered freely. A hand held without emergency. A truth spoken before it became a wound. A spreadsheet closed because the person in front of him was more important than the pattern.
Tim looked at you and let the moment exist without solving it.
Mostly.
He did make a mental note about jasmine tea.
He was still Tim.
Months later, the next major injury came on a rooftop in Gotham. A gang war had spilled into civilian territory, and Young Justice was assisting the Bats with evacuation. It was messy but manageable until one of Penguin’s people unveiled a black-market sonic cannon designed to scramble metahuman equilibrium.
Kon dropped from the sky. Cassie staggered. Bart crashed through a billboard.
You were on the adjacent rooftop with Tim, monitoring civilians and coordinating medical evac.
The cannon swung toward the street below.
Toward a group of trapped families.
Tim moved. So did you. He got there first, because grappling lines were faster than stairs and terror.
The blast hit him sideways.
Not full power.
Enough.
His right arm snapped against the building edge. Pain flared bright and nauseating. He rolled hard, vision sparking, and landed badly enough to taste blood.
You were beside him in seconds. “Tim!”
He looked up.
You were already reaching for him.
Then you stopped. Your hands hovered. Shaking.
His arm was broken.
Obvious. Ugly. Wrong angle.
Not fatal. Not permanent if treated quickly.
Pain roared.
You were crying.
Not because of the injury.
Because you wanted to take it. Because you were choosing not to.
Tim understood all of that in the space between breaths.
He held your gaze.
“No,” he said softly.
Your face crumpled.
He reached for you with his uninjured hand. “Stabilise only.”
You nodded, tears spilling over.
“Stabilise only,” you repeated.
Your hands moved to his arm.
Not glowing. Not transferring. Just splinting. Supporting. Wrapping.
You were fast, practised, gentle.
It hurt. God, it hurt.
Tim breathed through it. You breathed with him.
The cannon exploded behind you, courtesy of Kon and what sounded like Damian shouting something rude in Arabic.
Gotham rain began to fall. Naturally.
You finished securing the splint and looked at him.
“I didn’t,” you whispered.
Tim’s chest ached. “I know.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“I really wanted to.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. “You did so well.”
You cried harder.
He kissed you there, on the rooftop, with his broken arm held against his chest and rain sliding down both your faces.
Not because pain was beautiful.
It wasn’t. Pain was awful and unfair and often badly timed.
But choice? Choice was beautiful. You had given him his. He had trusted you with yours.
Over comms, Damian said, “If you two are finished having a moment, some of us are still working.”
Kon laughed. “They are absolutely having a moment.”
Bart added, “A rainy rooftop moment! Very cinematic!”
Tim sighed against your mouth. You laughed through tears.
He loved the sound. He loved you.
Not as a variable. Not as a mystery. Not as a miracle with missing data.
As a person. Messy. Stubborn. Learning. Alive.
His arm throbbed. You did not take the pain. You held his hand instead. And for once, Tim let the equation remain unsolved.
Because maybe love was not proof. Maybe it was practice.
Again and again. Choice by choice. Truth by truth. Wound by wound.
You helped him stand. He leaned on you. You let him.
Neither of you called it weakness. And when the mission ended, when the medics set his arm properly and you stayed beside him without trying to steal the hurt from his bones, Tim looked at you and smiled.
A real one.
No strategy. No smirk.
Just warmth.
You smiled back.
“There it is,” you said.
“What?”
“The smile.”
Tim’s ears warmed. “I smile.”
“You do now.”
He looked at your hand in his.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I do.”
And this time, when the pain had to go somewhere, it stayed.
Not because you did not love him enough to take it.
Kentsis!Reader x Superfam, Jason Todd x Kentsis!Reader
(can be read as either their biological or adopted, up to you, reader has powers)
Layout creds to @/moviecritc
Was a super early bloomer and got her powers at the ripe young age of 9
highkey best friends with her parents.
runs a tiktok account called "Keeping Up with The Kents" and it has over 5 million followers because everyone thinks their family is hilarious.
has a kansas accent that sneaks out every now and then (🤠)
her number 1 fan is Jon
"My brother is Nightwing"
"Yeah well my sister is literally Supergirl try beating that"
similarly, she is mad supportive of her little brother and his promising baseball career.
is the loudest person in the stands and is at all of his games.
ma and pa kent love having their grandkids over.
they are constantly trying to fatten up their grandchildren through pie
is the Justice League darling. everyone likes her
is very well spoken and eloquent, 'cuz her mum is Lois Lane duh.
her laugh can be heard across all 7 continents
HATE HATES HATES strong stinky smells (first thing that came when she got her powers) and because of this Jon likes to fart near her
sometimes when she falls asleep on the couch, either Jonathan will crop dust her OR he dangles her favourite snack right in front of her nose to wake her up.
is the Daily Planet princess and all of Clark and Lois' coworkers know their daughter, even Perry
everyone knows Clark is a proud dad. he tries not to brag but fails a lot of the time.
just picture a league meeting.
no one even mentions her.
somehow Clark still finds a way.
"The mission was highly successful."
"Supergirl helped develop the strategy."
"The evacuation was completed very well"
"My daughter coordinated the rescue teams."
because going to the Daily Planet would be a conflict of interest, her Uncle Barry let her come to the CCPD for work experience.
she watched Invincible for two reasons: 1) Mark Grayson had a similar experience of being half human half alien (plus he was hot) 2) She learned some insane fighting combos from watching the Viltrumites go at it.
got gifted her dream car from Uncle Ollie when she was 16
has beef with Krypto because he chews her shoes and is constantly asking her to throw the dog toy from the fortress of solitude that is not only damp but always smells like ten cans of ass
growing up, Lois was the parent that would sit at the dining table yelling at her, slipper in hand btw, about maths.
"You have 6 apples. If I take away 3 how many do you have? NO DON"T EAT ONE-"
is put to work by her grandparents at the farm moving haybales with her dad
frequently flies to other countries just to try their food. flew to italy just to get her mum these really good coffee beans and gelato
consistently crashes her parents dates but they could not gaf
dressed up as lex luthor for one halloween. jumpscared her dad
speaking of him, she makes memes of lex luthor.
has one million pics of lex and his random ass expressions and uses them as reaction pics when texting people.
most of the time they find it funny but it pisses clark off to no end.
was gifted the best super suit by Bruce. aurafarming 24/7
arm wrestles conner and wins always
has a great immune system thanks to her kryptonian genes
clark gets scared when her and kara are in close vicinity to each other
once was on comms with the Titans during a mission, and when turning them off accidentally said "bye I love you." because she says that to her parents all the time.
clark was her driving instructor when she started her driver's ed and she prefers her dad because her mum has no chill
her last experience with her was really bad because she decided it was best for her daughter to drive right in traffic.
"hands at 10 2 right mommy?"
"if that's what you think"
lois road rages on behalf of her daughter.
"Young people these days, they'll just give anyone a licence."
lowkey has a situationship with Jason going on (it's BEEN going on)
it sort of started when he was Robin and then he died, and then he came back but they were never the same
crashed her dad's Bronco once and blamed it on Conner (headcanon that Clark Kent drives a Ford Bronco)
she has universal drip. can pull off anything
did i mention she's the darling of the league? diana would genuinely do anything for her
she randomly pulls up to the queen penthouse and ollie is never surprised to find her in his house next to dinah
barry tutors her sometimes
she once decked hal jordan in a fight and his ego is still yet to recover
a/n: should i write a fic for this omg im thinking angst
Hiii! Can you please do a crossover with all the guild members x female reader? They all like the reader and try their best to win her over, but in the end, the reader decides to date them all.
Cross guild poly cures me 🙏
Btw I love your work and thank you for all you do ❤️❤️❤️
Cross Guild’s Favorite Problem
cross guild x fem!reader (poly)
tags: sfw, poly, jealousy, flirting, chaos, funny moments, possessive behavior, reader is a cross guild member
a/n: I honestly had more fun than I expected writing this BUT I think I actually showed my bias for one of the three… I hope I’m wrong tho lmao
word count: 6.3k
anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi || requests list
The first thing you learn after joining Cross Guild is this: these men are insane.
Not dangerous insane… well, yes, dangerous insane too… but the kind of insane that makes grown men fight because you smiled at one of them for two seconds longer.
And somehow, you enjoy every second of it.
“Oi! OI! Why are you smiling at Hawkeye like that?!”
Buggy points at you from across the room like he just caught you betraying a country.
You blink “I asked him to pass the salt.”
“And he did it too nicely!”
Mihawk slowly drinks his wine beside you, calm and untouched by chaos.
“I handed her the salt.” he says flatly.
“EXACTLY!” Buggy screams.
The entire room groans.
Cross Guild headquarters is loud tonight. Men drink, laugh, yell over cards and booze. Somewhere in the back, someone starts singing badly.
You sit at the large table with the leaders themselves, but the real problem is the way all three of them keep staring at you.
Buggy is obvious about it… too obvious.
Crocodile is smooth and dangerous.
Mihawk acts like he doesn’t care.
“You’re staring again.” you tell Crocodile.
The man smirks around his cigar “Can you blame me?”
Buggy immediately slams both hands on the table “NO FLIRTING IN FRONT OF ME!”
“You flirt with her every five minutes.” Crocodile says.
“That’s DIFFERENT!”
“How?”
“Because I’m charming.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
Buggy freezes and then he points dramatically at Crocodile “See?! She likes my jokes more!”
“I HAVE TO BE LOUD,” Buggy cries “I’m fighting for love here!”
The nearby pirates whistle and clap “Captain Buggy is getting rejected again!”
“Shut up!” Buggy throws a fork at them.
You shake your head, smiling into your drink.
Honestly, this has been your life for months now.
It starts slowly after you join Cross Guild. At first, Buggy sticks to you because you actually listen to him talk because most people don’t, they either fear him or make fun of him.
But you genuinely laugh at his stories, you answer him seriously and you even clap when he shows you stupid tricks.
So naturally, Buggy decides you’re perfect.
Then Crocodile notices and that’s where the trouble begins.
A few weeks earlier.
You stand in the middle of the room with papers in your hands.
“No,” you say slowly, “this makes no sense.”
The poor pirate in front of you sweats “I-I tried my best…”
“You wrote the same number three times.”
“That’s because we lost the same amount three times?”
You stare at him and he stares back.
Then Crocodile walks in and the room becomes silent immediately. The man carries fear with him naturally.
“What’s the problem?” he asks.
You hold up the paper “Your workers can’t count.”
The pirate gasps like you insulted his entire bloodline.
Crocodile takes the paper from your hand and looks at it once before sighing “…Idiot.”
“THANK YOU!” you say.
The pirate almost cries.
Crocodile glances at you after that, slow and obviously interested… and that is the exact moment things become dangerous, because after that, he keeps calling you into his “office”.
At first, for work, then for “small talks” and then for drinks.
“You’re smarter than the rest.” he says one night.
You sit across from him while he drinks whiskey “That’s not hard in here.”
A quiet chuckle leaves him “You’re bold too.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Most people fear me.”
“Should I?”
Crocodile leans back in his chair, watching you through smoke “Yes.”
But he smiles after saying it, and honestly, that smile almost kills you.
Unfortunately for him, Buggy notices everything. and one afternoon, he bursts into your room without knocking.
“You can’t be alone with Crocodile anymore!”
You look up from your book “Why?”
“Because he’s evil!”
“He literally runs all this with you.”
“Yeah, but he’s evil at YOU romantically!”
You stare at him.
Buggy paces around dramatically “He does that stupid cool voice and the looking down thing and women like it!”
“You sound jealous.”
“I AM!”
You laugh loudly.
Buggy stops moving and his face turns red instantly, so much that you can see it despite his makeup.
“…You laugh really pretty.”
The room goes quiet for one second, then Buggy panics at his own honesty “I-I mean— not that I stare at you laughing all the time! Which I don’t! Maybe sometimes! Not in a creepy way!”
You laugh harder.
He points at you “Stop being cute! I’m trying to survive here!”
“Survive?”
“Yes! Mihawk is already impossible competition!”
Right on cue, there’s a knock at the open door and Mihawk stands there, silent, elegant and looking unfairly attractive for no reason.
Buggy looks ready to jump out a window.
“Hawkeye…” he says suspiciously.
“Buggy.” Mihawk says and then his eyes move to you “I was looking for you.”
Buggy gasps dramatically “IN FRONT OF ME?”
Mihawk ignores him completely.
“There’s a problem with the western ships,” he tells you calmly “I’d like your opinion.”
“Oh,” you say, standing up “sure.”
Buggy watches in horror as you walk toward Mihawk.
Then Mihawk does something small and tiny, barely noticeable… his hand touches the middle of your back while leading you away.
Buggy screams “THAT WAS INTENTIONAL!”
Mihawk is the hardest one to understand.
Buggy flirts loudly and Crocodile flirts smoothly.
Mihawk… Mihawk simply exists near you until your heart starts acting stupid.
He never chases and never begs for attention, but somehow he’s always there.
You mention once that you cannot sleep? The next night, tea appears outside your room.
You say your sword feels unbalanced? A new one arrives three days later.
You complain about loud pirates bothering you? Mihawk walks through the hallway once and suddenly nobody bothers you again.
“You spoil her too much.” Crocodile says one evening.
Mihawk calmly sips wine “Do I?”
“You bought her a custom blade.”
“It suits her hand better.”
Buggy looks betrayed “YOU BUY HER SWORDS?!”
“She uses swords.” Mihawk says.
Buggy grabs his own face dramatically “How do I compete with the strongest swordsman in the world then?!”
“You don’t.” Crocodile says immediately.
“SHUT UP!”
You nearly choke on your drink laughing.
Mihawk watches you quietly again.
He’s always watching, and that might be the worst part, because when Mihawk looks at you, it feels heavy and intentional, like he already knows something you don’t.
Tonight gets worse when a drunk pirate approaches your table.
“You’re real pretty.” the man says, swaying slightly.
Buggy instantly stands up “She’s busy!”
Crocodile doesn’t even move, but the air changes into something dangerous.
Mihawk slowly lifts his eyes from his wine.
The pirate notices too late and says “I-I was just talking—”
“You should stop then.” Crocodile says softly.
The pirate goes pale.
Buggy crosses his arms proudly “Yeah! Beat it!”
The man runs away immediately and silence falls at the table.
Then Buggy grins at you “Did you see that? I protected you.”
“You yelled.” Crocodile says.
“And it worked!”
“You looked like a dying seagull.”
“At least I DID something!”
Mihawk places his wine down gently “The man was leaving already.”
Buggy whips toward him “Whose side are you on?!”
Mihawk looks at you instead “Yours.”
Your stomach flips.
Buggy collapses into his chair “THIS IS SO UNFAIR.”
You hide your smile behind your drink.
Crocodile notices anyway.
“So,” he says smoothly, “which one of us is winning?”
Then you smile “I think all of you need to try harder.”
Buggy falls out of his chair.
Crocodile laughs under his breath.
And Mihawk… smiles.
And the fight for your attention is only getting started.
The worst thing you can do to three powerful men in love with you? Tease them back.
And unfortunately for them, you finally start doing exactly that.
“Are you busy tonight?” Buggy appears beside you so suddenly you almost drop your drink.
You look at him slowly “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Who’s asking?”
Buggy puts a hand on his chest dramatically “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“No, I won’t! Love is painful!”
You laugh quietly and keep walking through the hallway.
Buggy follows instantly “Come eat with me.”
“Hm.”
“Hm what?!”
“I’m thinking.”
“There’s nothing to think about! I’m fun! Handsome! Charismatic!”
“You forgot loud.”
“That too.”
You stop walking and turn toward him with a smile “You know… maybe I will.”
Buggy freezes “R-Really?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes shine immediately.
Then you add casually, “Unless Mihawk asks.”
Buggy gasps so loudly a pirate drops a plate nearby “THAT’S EVIL!”
You grin and continue walking away while he follows behind you yelling “That old scary bird man is cheating somehow! I know it!”
By the afternoon, Buggy is trying ten times harder, which is both funny and embarrassing.
“Look!” he says proudly, throwing knives at a target.
The knives miss completely, one hits the wall, another almost hits a pirate. Someone even screams.
You clap anyway “Amazing.”
Buggy straightens proudly “Right?”
“Truly inspiring.”
Crocodile walks past at that exact moment.
He glances once at the one in the wall “…Pathetic.”
Buggy points angrily “She liked it!”
You hum innocently “I did.”
Crocodile’s eyes slide toward you, amused.
You suddenly smile sweetly at him too “But maybe you can impress me more.”
The entire room goes silent and Buggy looks horrified.
Crocodile slowly removes his cigar from his mouth.
“And how exactly should I do that?”
“You’re supposed to be clever,” you say lightly “figure it out.”
Then you walk away before either man can answer.
Behind you, Buggy grabs Crocodile’s coat “SHE’S FLIRTING WITH BOTH OF US NOW?!”
That evening, Crocodile finds you alone on the balcony while you lean against the railing.
You hear his footsteps before he speaks “You enjoy causing problems.”
You smile without turning around “Maybe.”
A low chuckle leaves him “I should’ve noticed earlier.”
You finally look at him. Crocodile stands close tonight.
Golden hook shining under the moonlight. Eyes sharp on you. Dangerous as always.
“You challenged me earlier.” he says.
“And?”
“And I don’t like losing.”
You tilt your head innocently “Who says you’re winning now?”
That gets his attention. Then he suddenly steps closer until you can smell smoke and expensive whiskey.
“Careful,” he murmurs “you keep teasing me like this, people might misunderstand.”
You look up at him calmly “And what would they misunderstand?”
Crocodile smirks slowly “That you want my attention.”
You let silence hang between you, then your gaze drops deliberately to his lips for one second… only one, but it is enough for Crocodile to notice immediately.
His expression changes just slightly, now interested and hungry.
Then you step back smiling.
“Hm,” you say softly “maybe I do.”
And you leave him standing there alone. For the first time since meeting him, Crocodile actually looks caught off guard.
The next morning is chaos.
Buggy storms into breakfast looking exhausted.
“You,” he says, pointing at Crocodile, “stay away from her balcony!”
Crocodile drinks his coffee calmly “No.”
“I SAW YOU LAST NIGHT!”
“You spying on us now?” you ask.
“I was protecting my future romance!”
Mihawk enters the room exactly then. Perfect timing as always as he asks “What romance?”
Buggy turns toward him dramatically “She’s seducing us all now!”
You nearly choke on your tea.
Mihawk looks at you, one eyebrow lifts slightly “…Is that so?”
You smile into your cup “Maybe…”
That tiny answer somehow makes Mihawk stare at you longer than usual.
Buggy notices instantly “Oh no. Not you too.”
Mihawk sits beside you quietly before he notices something on your hand “A cut.”
You glance down “Just a small one.”
“You should clean it properly.”
“I forgot.”
Without another word, Mihawk reaches for your hand and here the entire room freezes.
His fingers are warm against yours, careful and gentle… so gentle it almost feels unreal coming from the strongest swordsman alive.
He studies the cut with focused eyes.
“Weapons are dirty,” he says calmly “you’ll get an infection.”
Buggy looks like he is witnessing murder.
Crocodile watches silently through smoke.
And you… you decide to make things worse.
“You worried about me?” you ask softly.
Mihawk finally looks up at you, there is something dangerous in his eyes now.
Quiet danger… the kind only he has.
“Yes.”
Simple answer.
Your heart immediately betrays you.
Buggy slams his face onto the table “I hate it here.”
After that, teasing Mihawk becomes your new favorite hobby, mostly because his reactions are so small, but they exist, and that makes them precious.
You find him outside one afternoon, sitting beneath the shade with a book in hand.
You walk over slowly “What are you reading?”
“History.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It is.”
You smile and lean over his chair slightly to look at the pages.
Mihawk’s eyes lift toward you slowly.
You notice his gaze pause briefly on your face, then your lips and then back to the book.
Almost invisible.
“You smell nice.” you say absentmindedly.
Mihawk stills completely “…What?”
You pretend innocence “Your cologne.”
With this, he calmly closes the book “I see.”
“That’s all you’ll say?”
“What should I say?”
“You could thank me.”
Mihawk watches you for a long second, before saying “You’re distracting.”
Your stomach flips “What?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing lately.”
His voice stays calm, but his eyes do not.
You grin slowly “Maybe I like seeing reactions.”
“You won’t get dramatic ones from me.”
“Small reactions are still reactions.”
Mihawk stands then, tall enough that you need to tilt your head up now “That confidence is dangerous.”
“And you still stay near me.”
A very small smile touches his mouth “You noticed.”
Before you can answer, Buggy suddenly crashes through the nearby door “I BROUGHT FLOWERS—”
He stops as soon as he sees how close you and Mihawk stand, and he looks devastated immediately “Oh, come on!”
You burst out laughing.
Mihawk actually looks amused too.
Buggy points between both of you accusingly “This is emotional warfare!”
You take the flowers from him with a grin “They’re pretty.”
Buggy instantly melts “T-They are?”
“Mhm.”
He smiles proudly.
Then you lean closer and whisper dramatically “But I still like Mihawk’s reaction cuter.”
Buggy’s soul nearly leaves his body “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT TO ME?!”
You laugh so hard your stomach hurts while Mihawk quietly drinks his wine beside you, clearly entertained.
And somewhere behind you, Crocodile watches all of this carefully, like a man already planning his next move.
At this point, you already know Buggy is jealous… painfully jealous.
The man gets upset if you smile at someone for longer than three seconds.
But Crocodile and Mihawk are harder to read since they're too calm and too controlled.
Which naturally gives you a terrible idea.
You decide to test them. And honestly? Using each other against them is the funniest option possible.
You start with Crocodile.
You find him in his office late at night, going through papers while smoke fills the room.
“You work too much.” you tell him.
“And you bother me too much.”
“Yet you keep letting me in.”
Crocodile smirks faintly “You always come back anyway.”
You walk closer slowly, then casually sit on the edge of his desk.
His eyes follow every movement.
“Can I ask something?” you say.
“Depends.”
“Who do you think likes me more? You or Mihawk?”
The room suddenly feels heavier.
Crocodile leans back in his chair, studying you carefully “That’s an interesting question.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I don’t compare myself to Mihawk.”
“Mhm.”
“But,” he continues smoothly, “if you’re asking who would treat you better…” his hook taps lightly against the desk “…the answer is obvious.”
You smile innocently “Maybe Mihawk would disagree.”
Crocodile’s eyes narrow just slightly.
There it is. Tiny but there. Jealousy.
“How unfortunate for him.” he says coolly.
You lean forward a little “You sound bothered.”
“I’m not.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
“So if I spent the whole evening with Mihawk tomorrow, you wouldn’t care?”
Crocodile goes quiet and then he suddenly stands slowly and dangerously.
Now he towers over you, one hand beside your hip against the desk.
“You enjoy provoking people…” he murmurs.
“I’m just asking questions.”
“You’re testing me.”
You smile sweetly “Maybe.”
For one long second, Crocodile just stares down at you, then he laughs softly under his breath “You’re lucky I find this cute.”
Your heart skips stupidly.
Then the office door SLAMS open.
“HA! I KNEW IT!” Buggy points at both of you dramatically.
“Why are you always standing so close?!”
You sigh “Do you ever knock?”
“No! Secrets happen behind doors!”
Crocodile looks deeply annoyed “What do you want, Buggy?”
You burst out laughing immediately “You planned a movie night?”
His face turns red instantly “DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT!”
“That’s adorable.”
“STOP MAKING FUN OF ME!”
Crocodile watches this whole thing with visible irritation.
Very interesting.
You slowly stand from the desk, then deliberately loop your arm through Buggy’s.
“Well,” you say casually, “can’t ignore my captain.”
Buggy looks seconds away from fainting.
Crocodile’s gaze drops to your linked arms and you see his jaw tightens slightly for a second.
Crocodile gets jealous too.
He notices your smug little smile immediately.
“…Troublemaker…” he mutters.
You grin proudly while Buggy drags you away happily “YES! Victory!”
Movie night is terrible… absolutely terrible. Buggy picks the worst movie possible.
Half the pirates watching it fall asleep, someone throws popcorn at the screen, and Buggy keeps trying to impress you every five minutes.
“Did you see that explosion?”
“Yes, Buggy.”
“I could totally do that.”
“You would die.”
“Okay maybe once.”
You laugh and lean back against the couch.
Buggy immediately notices and slowly, carefully, he moves closer too, trying to act casual.
“You comfortable?” he asks.
“Mhm.”
“You cold?”
“No.”
“You can still borrow my coat.”
“It smells like cannon smoke.”
“That’s my natural charm.”
Before you can answer, someone sits on your other side.
Mihawk.
Buggy looks horrified immediately “Hawkeye?!”
Mihawk ignores him completely as his attention stays on the screen.
“You have terrible taste in films.” he says calmly.
Buggy points angrily “Then why are you here?!”
“You’re loud enough that nobody else could sleep.”
“That’s not an answer!”
Mihawk finally glances at him “It’s the only seat left.”
Buggy squints suspiciously “There are twelve empty chairs.”
“Not comfortable ones.”
You bite your lip to stop laughing… then you decide to make worse decisions.
Slowly, you lean slightly toward Mihawk and ask him “Do you hate the movie that much?”
“It’s predictable.”
“What would you rather watch?”
“Something quieter.”
Buggy immediately grabs your arm dramatically “I CAN BE QUIET!”
“You?” Mihawk says flatly.
“Yes!”
Buggy lasts four seconds, then there’s another explosion onscreen “OH THAT GUY LOST HIS LEG!”
Mihawk closes his eyes briefly and you nearly die laughing.
But then you notice that your hand rests near Mihawk’s on the couch… close enough to touch.
And Mihawk notices too. His fingers move once, slightly toward yours, then stop.
You decide to test him properly now.
“Oh,” you say casually, looking at Buggy, and leaning slightly towards him now “you know what? The movie isn't that bad.”
Buggy lights up instantly “REALLY?!”
You begin moving more and that's when Mihawk finally reacts. One hand lightly around your wrist, stopping you.
Your breath catches.
Mihawk’s eyes stay on the movie, but his voice drops lower “Stay.”
Buggy gasps like he got stabbed.
YOU almost gasp too.
“…That sounded serious.” you say softly.
Mihawk finally looks at you, he has a calm face but with dangerous eyes “It was.”
Oh, that is unfair.
Buggy grabs his own hair dramatically “WHY ARE YOU BOTH SO HOT?!”
The pirates nearby start cheering “KISS! KISS! KISS!”
“Shut up!” Buggy screams.
You laugh so hard tears almost form. But secretly, your heart is beating way too fast.
The next day, you decide to test the last one properly.
Buggy.
Though honestly, Buggy makes it too easy.
You find him arguing with pirates near the main hall “What did you say about my nose?!”
“It squeaks when hit! It's FAKE!”
“THAT PROVES NOTHING!”
You walk over smiling “Buggy.”
He instantly forgets the argument “Hi.”
Cute.
You glance toward the hallway behind him, then casually say “You know, Mihawk offered to train me today.”
Buggy freezes completely “…What?”
“And Crocodile asked me to dinner later.”
Silence.
“THEY WHAT?!”
Pirates immediately scatter before the explosion.
Buggy grabs your shoulders dramatically “This is betrayal! Emotional betrayal!”
“You’re very dramatic today.”
“TODAY?!”
You grin innocently “So you’re jealous...”
“I AM ALWAYS JEALOUS!”
Finally an honest man.
You laugh warmly and pat his shoulder “At least you admit it.”
Buggy pauses, then suddenly pulls you closer dramatically “Well yeah! Of course I’m jealous!”
His face is red again “You’re pretty and funny and smart and they keep stealing your attention!”
The confession comes out so fast he probably does not even realize what he says.
You blink at him and Buggy blinks back too. Then he slowly realizes “…Oh no.”
You smile softly now, not teasing this time “That was sweet.”
Buggy immediately malfunctions.
Smoke might actually come out of his ears “I-I— WELL— DON’T MAKE IT A BIG DEAL!”
Too late, because from across the hall, two dangerous men just witnessed the entire thing.
Crocodile exhales smoke slowly and Mihawk quietly watches Buggy’s hand around your waist.
And suddenly the room feels very dangerous again.
Things change after all that, but not completely.
Buggy still screams. Crocodile still acts dangerous. Mihawk still looks at you like he knows too much.
But for now, for like the first time, you stop teasing them constantly. Because somewhere along the way, things stopped being only fun.
Now your chest feels warm when Buggy smiles proudly at you. Now Crocodile’s quiet attention affects you too much. Now one look from Mihawk can ruin your entire day in the best way possible.
Which is honestly a problem… a very BIG problem.
The first soft moment happens with Buggy and flowers… again.
You sit outside near the docks one afternoon, sorting papers with a tired sigh. Everything is peaceful and quiet until someone crashes loudly into a stack of boxes nearby.
“OW— okay, nobody saw that!”
You smile immediately before even looking up.
Buggy appears seconds later. His hair is somehow messier than usual.
And in his hands, bright and fresh flowers.
You blink in surprise.
Buggy suddenly looks nervous.
“So…” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck “The old ones died.”
You stare at him softly “You noticed that?”
“Obviously!”
Then he mumbles quieter “You sounded sad when they started fading.”
Your heart squeezes painfully.
Buggy carefully hands the flowers to you.
“I asked this time,” he says proudly “and these should last longer.”
You take them gently. They smell sweet.
“You asked?”
“Yeah! Apparently flowers need things.” he frowns “Water. Sun. Emotional support.”
You laugh quietly.
Buggy relaxes instantly at the sound.
“There it is.” he says.
“What?”
“That laugh.” his voice turns softer suddenly “I like hearing it.”
The warm feeling in your chest gets worse.
You look down at the flowers before speaking quietly “Thank you, Buggy.”
He freezes because of your soft tone. No teasing. No joking. Just honest.
Buggy stares at you for a second too long, then quickly looks away before his face explodes red “Y-Yeah well obviously! I’m amazing at gifts!”
“You tripped over boxes bringing them here.”
“That was tactical.”
You smile, and this time, Buggy looks at you carefully like the smile means everything.
The second moment happens late at night, and with Crocodile, softness feels dangerous somehow.
You sit in the office surrounded by papers and numbers. Your head hurts. Your eyes burn. And none of these stupid numbers make sense anymore.
“…Why is everything so expensive?” you mutter.
A voice answers from nearby “Because Buggy wastes money.”
You look up.
Crocodile stands in the doorway with his usual cigar.
You didn’t even hear him enter.
“You scared me.”
“You’re too distracted.”
He walks closer slowly. His eyes glance over the messy desk “You’ve been here for hours.”
“I noticed.”
“You look exhausted.”
You rub your face tiredly “I am exhausted.”
Crocodile watches you quietly for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he pulls a chair beside yours and sits down.
You blink “…What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You?”
“You sound surprised.”
“You hate to share paperwork.”
“I hate incompetent people more.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
Crocodile smirks faintly, then he reaches for one of the papers “Your math is wrong here.”
Your eyes widen “Wait, seriously?”
“Mhm.”
He takes the pen from your hand smoothly, his large fingers brushing yours briefly.
Your heart immediately starts acting stupid again.
“This number belongs here instead.” he explains calmly.
You stare at the page “…Oh.”
“You were half asleep.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
You roll your eyes but then something strange happens.
The work actually becomes easier.
Crocodile organizes the papers quickly beside you while explaining things in that deep calm voice of his.
And somehow, without noticing, your shoulders slowly relax.
“You should rest more.” he says eventually.
“I don’t have time.”
“You do.”
“No, I—”
“You fell asleep on the desk yesterday.”
You freeze “…How do you know that?”
Silence.
Then Crocodile casually answers “I carried you to your room.”
Your brain completely stops working “You WHAT?”
“You were tired.”
“You carried me?!”
“You’re making this sound more dramatic than it was.”
Your face feels warm now.
Crocodile notices immediately and a smug little smile appears on his mouth “You’re cute when embarrassed.”
You stare at him in betrayal “You’re evil.”
“That too.”
But his voice sounds softer tonight… gentler.
And when he quietly moves another pile of papers away from you with a low “enough work for today.” your chest hurts in the nicest way possible.
The third moment happens three days later.
And somehow, Mihawk barely says ten words during it. Yet it affects you the most.
You argue with one of Buggy’s crew members near the training hall.
“No, because that makes no sense!” you say.
“It does!”
“It absolutely doesn’t!”
The pirate crosses his arms stubbornly “You’re wrong.”
“You literally cannot read maps!”
“That’s unrelated!”
You rub your forehead tiredly “Why are you yelling?”
“Because YOU’RE yelling!”
“I’m yelling because you’re stupid!”
The pirate gasps dramatically, then he suddenly goes silent.
You blink “…Why’d you stop talking now?”
The man stares behind you in terror.
Slowly, you turn around and see Mihawk walking toward you calmly.
Expression unreadable, but his eyes… land once on the pirate and that’s all. One look and the pirate immediately straightens.
“I suddenly remembered important things elsewhere.”
Then he RUNS away.
You stare after him “…liar.”
Mihawk stops beside you “He seemed motivated already.”
You snort softly.
Your exhaustion finally hits all at once after the argument “…I need to sit down.”
You turn and basically fall toward the nearby chair, but you misjudge the distance completely.
Your head almost slams against the wooden edge before a hand catches it first. Fast. So fast that you barely see it happen.
Mihawk’s palm shields the back of your head before impact.
His other hand steadies your shoulder easily.
The chair scrapes slightly against the floor.
You blink up at him, Mihawk still leans slightly over you from catching your fall.
“You’re overworked.” he says quietly.
Your heart beats painfully hard “…Maybe.”
“You haven’t slept enough again.”
“You all notice too much.”
“Only about you.”
The words leave him naturally, like truth.
You stare at him quietly now, and this time, you don't tease.
Because suddenly you understand something terrifying.
You really like them.
All three of them.
Buggy with his loud affection and ridiculous flowers.
Crocodile with his hidden care behind sharp words.
Mihawk with every quiet little action that says more than speeches ever could.
This is bad.
Very bad.
Mihawk studies your expression carefully “…What are you thinking about?”
You smile weakly “That my life got complicated.”
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
“Yes,” he says calmly “it did.”
And somehow, his hand stays behind your head a few seconds longer than necessary.
You spend the entire evening wondering if this is a terrible idea.
Actually, you know it’s a terrible idea… but it’s too late now.
The room is ready already. Drinks on the table. Softer lights. No loud pirates. No annoying crew members listening through walls.
Just you… and them.
Your hands feel strangely nervous while fixing the glasses for the fifth time.
Why are you nervous?
You literally fought dangerous pirates and marines before. Yet somehow confessing feelings to three terrifying men feels worse.
A knock suddenly comes at the door.
Your stomach flips “…Come in.”
The door opens quietly.
Mihawk walks in first and calm as always. Elegant black clothes. Golden eyes immediately finding you and then narrowing slightly “You’re nervous.”
You immediately smile to hide it “Me? Never.”
“Hm.”
You pour him a drink quickly before he can study you more “You came fast.”
“You asked.”
That warm feeling in your chest appears again.
Mihawk watches you carefully while taking the glass “You’re acting strange tonight.”
“I’m always strange.”
“Not like this.”
You laugh softly and lean against the table… maybe flirting will help “You notice a lot about me lately.”
“I always did.”
Your heart stumbles and so you look away first.
Coward.
Mihawk notices immediately “What happened?”
“I just wanted tonight to be nice.”
“It will be.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
That almost makes you smile genuinely.
You open your mouth to finally explain, but then suddenly—“BABY, I’M HERE—”
The door slams open dramatically as Buggy storms inside loudly with a giant grin. Then he freezes completely, because Mihawk is already there beside you.
Buggy slowly looks between both of you, then sighs with deep disappointment “WHY IS HE HERE TOO???”
You burst out laughing immediately.
Mihawk calmly drinks his wine.
Before Buggy can complain more, another voice interrupts “You’re blocking the doorway.”
Buggy gets shoved aside instantly “HEY!”
Crocodile walks into the room like he owns it.
His eyes land on you first, then Mihawk and then on Buggy dramatically dying near the doorway.
“…This should be interesting.” he mutters.
Crocodile sits down beside Mihawk.
Buggy stares at both of them in betrayal before finally groaning loudly and sitting at your other side.
Now everyone is here, and suddenly your confidence disappears.
This was easier in your head.
Three pairs of eyes look at you now, waiting. Buggy looks suspicious already. Crocodile interested. Mihawk calm.
You inhale slowly, then sigh.
“Okay,” you start carefully, “let’s get this straight.”
Nobody interrupts.
You swallow once “I have feelings for…”
Three different reactions happen instantly.
Buggy chokes on his drink.
Crocodile’s eyebrows lift slightly.
Mihawk simply watches you closer now.
You suddenly lose confidence halfway through the sentence but it's too late now, so you continue “…for all three of you.”
Complete silence.
You immediately look away because suddenly this feels terrifying.
Your voice comes out quieter now “Don’t make me choose one…”
Nobody speaks and you hate this silence. Maybe this was stupid… but then you force yourself to look back at them again.
You straighten slightly before walking closer to the table.
Then lean down so you’re closer to their level.
Your confidence slowly returns “We’re having fun, aren’t we?”
Buggy nods immediately, way too fast “Yes!”
Crocodile leans back in his chair slowly, eyes still locked on you “…I suppose we are.”
Mihawk simply nods once, like he already accepted this somehow.
Relief crashes through you so hard you almost laugh, but you just smile.
Then your eyes move toward Mihawk “You first.”
Buggy makes a wounded sound instantly “WHY HIM FIRST?!”
“You complained first, so now you’re last.”
“THIS IS CRUELTY!... but first for what?”
You walk around the table slowly until standing beside Mihawk’s chair, as he watches every movement carefully.
“You planned this?” he asks quietly.
“Maybe.”
Then, before you can lose courage, you sit gently on his lap. Buggy almost faints, while Crocodile looks deeply entertained now.
Mihawk’s hand naturally steadies your waist the second you settle there.
Your heart beats wildly, but when you look at him, his expression softens slightly only for you.
You touch his face gently and then you lean in and kiss him. Soft at first, his warm lips against yours.
Mihawk stays still for half a second like he is surprised, but then he suddenly moves one hand higher against your waist and he kisses you back, deeper. Careful but intense.
Your fingers tighten slightly against his coat.
When you finally pull away, your breathing feels uneven, but Mihawk keeps looking at you.
You smile softly at him, and for one tiny second Mihawk actually looks happy.
Then suddenly he pulls you back in himself.
The second kiss is stronger and way more confident, like he finally allows himself what he wanted.
Buggy whimpers dramatically somewhere behind you.
Eventually you pull away laughing softly “…Okay wow.”
Mihawk’s thumb brushes once against your waist before letting you stand.
You turn toward Crocodile next “Your turn.”
Buggy points at himself desperately “I EXIST TOO!”
Crocodile smirks slowly while you walk toward him “I was wondering when you’d come here.”
“You sound very confident tonight.”
“You came to me willingly.”
You stop beside his chair and unlike Mihawk, Crocodile immediately pulls you closer himself.
Large hand against your hip, possessive already.
You kiss him softly first.
Gentle.
But the second Crocodile kisses back, everything changes… he’s hungry and intense, like he has been holding himself back for mpnths.
His hand tightens slightly against your waist while he deepens the kiss immediately.
Your breath catches against him.
Okay… wow.
When you finally pull back, Crocodile looks at you with dark satisfied eyes.
“…Cute.” he murmurs quietly.
Your face feels warm now.
You quickly escape before your brain melts completely, and so you turn toward Buggy who still sits frozen with his mouth hanging open.
You laugh immediately “Oh my god.”
“This is the greatest day of my life…” he whispers.
You walk over to him slowly as Buggy watches you like you’re unreal.
Then you gently push his jaw closed with your hand.
“Don’t be so shocked,” you tell him softly “it’s your turn now.”
Buggy’s entire face turns red instantly.
You sit carefully on his lap.
Unlike the other two, Buggy looks nervous touching you, like he thinks you might disappear somehow.
Your chest hurts a little at that, so you kiss him first, soft and sweet. And Buggy kisses you back immediately, but gently… much gentler than you expected.
His hands rest lightly against you like he is scared to hold tighter.
When you finally pull away, Buggy stares at you completely dazed “…I think I died.”
You laugh softly and poke his cheek “No dying.”
“Too late.”
You smile helplessly before standing again and returning to your seat to immediately flop backward dramatically “…Oh wow.”
Silence answers you.
You blink.
Why are they all quiet?
Buggy looks like his soul left his body.
Crocodile studies you carefully.
Mihawk still looks dangerously calm.
You suddenly grin again, then you put your hands on the cheeks of the two sitting at your side, Mihawk and Buggy, and say “Now what if you two kiss?”
Mihawk immediately gives you the most offended disgusted expression you have ever seen, actual horror, you never even could imagine seeing on his face.
Meanwhile Buggy nods WAY too enthusiastically.
Mihawk looks even more offended somehow.
You burst out laughing instantly “I’m joking! Don’t worry!”
“You were way too ready for that.” Crocodile mutters.
“I COMMIT TO ROMANCE!”
Your laughter fills the room again, and somehow… it feels nice and easy.
Finally, Crocodile speaks first.
“So,” he says slowly, cigar resting between his fingers, “you want all three of us?”
You meet his eyes and nod honestly “Yes.”
Silence again.
Then Crocodile sighs, but not annoyed, more like accepting fate “…Okay then.”
Your eyes widen slightly “That easy?”
“Not easy,” he corrects calmly “but I’m not interested in sharing you with anyone outside this room.”
Your chest warms immediately.
Then he points slightly toward you “But I got you first tomorrow.”
Relief crashes through you instantly and so you laugh brightly “You asked first, so yeah, sure!”
Buggy jumps up dramatically “UNFAIR! Then I want day two!”
“You’re scheduling dates?” you ask.
“Yes!”
“That was fast.”
“I ADAPT QUICKLY!”
You laugh harder, but then your attention slowly moves toward Mihawk who still has not said much.
Suddenly nervousness returns.
What if he actually hates this arrangement?
What if he only accepted because you asked?
“…Mihawk?”
He looks at you calmly and then he finally says “The best for last.”
Your entire heart melts instantly and without thinking, you stand and walk straight to him again before hugging him tightly.
Mihawk clearly didn’t expect that, and neither did Buggy or Crocodile, as all three freeze slightly.
But after one second, Mihawk’s arms slowly wrap around you naturally.
Buggy points dramatically “WHY DOES HE GET THE ROMANTIC HUG TOO?!”
Crocodile sighs heavily “You’re exhausting.”
But neither man actually stops you, and honestly, when you look around the room afterward… at Buggy’s excited grin, Crocodile’s amused acceptance, and Mihawk quietly holding you closer… you realize that this insane situation might actually work.
The rest is a work of your own fantasy now *smirk* *smirk*
Pairing: Victor Stone x afab! reader (no pronouns used but reader menstruates)
Summary: when you don't show up to a Titans meeting, Victor comes to see you
Word Count: 830
Content/CW -> afab! reader (no pronouns used but reader menstruates), hurt/comfort, casual banters, ambiguous relationship, reader is a titan
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> this ended up being eerily similar to my superboy prime fic so please ignore that lols...some more vic content for me and his 12 fans to enjoy <3
There are three things Victor notices when he shows up for regular scheduled training with the Titans.
One is that Wally West is late. Again. For the fastest man alive, he sure takes his sweet time getting everywhere.
The second thing he notices is that Donna Troy and Garth have started sparring without everyone, Donna already having the Atlantean pinned to the mat beneath one of her muscled forearms. Roy Harper watches from the sidelines with wide eyes that say something like, I hope I’m not next.
The third thing, and most important to him, is the distinct lack of you. You’re not standing in the corner smiling at Donna’s antics, not sitting on the ground and tying your shoes, thinking of something witty to say when Wally does finally arrive.
On a good day, Victor feels your presence like sunlight. Like warmth on his skin, joy in his heart, something steady and constant. Today, he feels your absence like a thunderstorm. Heavy and loud and pouring over him until he’s soaked in it.
He sidles up to Dick. “Hey, we’re missing someone.”
The former Robin is typing something on his phone—held way too close to his face for someone as young as he is—his thumbs moving a mile a minute.
“Yeah, Wally’s running late today.” He doesn’t even look up from his screen.
“Not the someone I had in mind,” Vic chuckles, and Dick finally looks up.
His brows pull together as he examines the room, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape when he notices your absence. “Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath on that one.”
“Why not?”
Dick cringes like he’s said something he’s not supposed to say, “shark week, apparently.”
Realization dawns on Victor, his mind going back to yesterday. You had seemed off. Lower energy, a little snappier than usual, and you’d looked like you were in pain after the mission and not just from the usual bruising you obtained.
Excusing himself for a minute, Victor tries your cell, only for it to go to voicemail. His heart sinks. You never ignore his calls.
He glances back at the practice room, at his comrades sparring each other, before looking down at your contact photo. Fuck it, he thinks. They’ll live one day without him.
Victor finds you in bed, curled up in a ball under a nest of blankets. You’re wide awake, watching some tv drama he’s never seen before, an arm around your waist like it’ll magically stop your stomach from aching.
“Hey, zombie, we missed you at practice today.”
You blink, not having realized he’d come in. He must’ve used the spare key you’d given him, trusting him the most out of everyone you worked with to have one. Wally had frowned when you said that but everyone else found it reasonable.
You rub at your face, suddenly feeling self conscious about how you’ve been bedrotting all day. “Zombie?”
“Since you’re the living dead.”
“So dramatic.” You suppress an eyeroll at his stupid joke. “I’m not dead, just bleeding out.”
“Uh huh, I’m the dramatic one.”
You laugh a little at that, your cramps doubling in strength. You hunch over, pressing your stomach to your thighs. You wince, the pain doing anything but subsiding.
“Seriously, are you okay? You never miss an opportunity to beat up Wally and Roy.”
“Never better,” you groan.
He steps further into your room, settling down at the edge of your bed. The weight of him in your bed is a familiar comfort, something you’ve felt dozens of times on better nights between movies and video games.
“Can I get you anything?”
You think for a moment. “Any chance you have a heating pad on hand?”
“No but,” he flashes you an awkward smile, “I might have something better.”
“Better?”
“You trust me, right?”
“Nothing good has ever come from you saying that, Vic.”
He cocks his head to the side, “I know, I know.”
“But,” you sigh, “I’m willing to try anything.”
He hums, crawling up your mattress until he’s laying in the bed next to you. Tentatively, he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a hand over the spot where you ache the worst.
You relax into him, your back pressed to his chest. “Not that I mind but—is this just an excuse to cuddle?”
He rests his head over yours. “Wait for it.”
And then suddenly his hand is heating up, soothing away the cold ache that’s sat between your hips all day. A moan slips through your lips, your body finally unfurling from the awkward uncomfortable position you’ve been in all day.
Slowly, the rest of his body follows suit, forming a warm cocoon around you. You lay your head back against his shoulder, the warm metal like the sun on your back.
He chuckles, sending vibrations down your spine. “That feel better?”
“So much better,” you sigh, resting your hand over his and pressing it harder into your stomach. “You’re the best.”
“Anytime, cutiepie.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Summary: Guy Gardner isn't your boyfriend, but everyone seems to think he is, and can you really blame them?
Word Count: 730
Content/CW -> not really a fic, more like really long hcs?, mentions of injury/blood, casual intimacy, accidental malewife acquisition
froggi yaps -> the fic nobody asked for but i felt like writing :p i just love the idea of casual intimacy with guy <3 hope you guys do too
Guy Gardner isn’t your boyfriend, but he damn sure acts like it.
He spends more time at your place than he does at his, a toothbrush in your bathroom and some of his clothes folded in your closet. You always start the night out separately—you curled into your bed, him on the couch—only to end up snuggled up together one way or another.
After a certain point, you bypass the couch, the left side of your bed becoming his unofficial spot. Things migrate to your nightstand; an extra phone charger, a stick of deodorant, a comically large water bottle.
He spends his free time fixing things for you around the house. He greases that one kitchen drawer that never slides properly and you declare him your hero, wrapping him up in a bone-crushing hug.
He changes your oil, hangs up those paintings that you’ve been neglecting, installs a new showerhead. He’s handy, and as long as he cleans up after himself and does stuff around the house, you really don’t mind having him around.
He always sticks close to you out in the field, presumably to reap the benefits of your ring. Anytime you take on a new enemy, Guy is somehow there to give you backup, watching you fight them off with hearts in his eyes.
“Nice one!” He’ll commend you, self-satisfied grin on his face, “I taught you well.”
And you don’t even roll your eyes, because beneath all that bravado, you know his heart’s in the right place.
He’s like a puppy in the Watchtower, following you around, standing at your side while you mingle with the other heroes. People look at the two of you with raised eyebrows, and more often than not, your names go hand in hand.
Guy is always the first one to volunteer when you need a sparring partner, helping you work on your hand-to-hand combat. He never takes it easy on you—he respects you too much to do you that disservice.
Barry and Hal watch you spar sometimes, exchanging bets on who’s going to win.
More than once, you hit the mats too hard and they think it’s all over. But then Guy helps you up, pats you on the back and urges you to keep going.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He flexes his muscles at you, “neither was all this.”
The nights you spar end in bruises and sore muscles. You go home aching more often than not, but that new showerhead does wonders to ease your pain. You’ll come out of the shower to him in your kitchen, unpacking a bag of your favorite takeout and raving about this new show he can’t wait to watch.
You get injured in the field once, collapsing 30ft away from Guy. And though you weren’t there to see it, Kyle tells you later that he fought through dozens of enemies with nothing but his bare hands.
Guy doesn’t leave your side in the infirmary, holding your hand until you wake up. People come and go to see you, checking in to make sure you’re okay, all raising an eyebrow at Guy’s sudden docile side.
It’s a few days later at a party that you’re chatting with Kyle and Wally when the redhead perks up.
“So, how long have you and Guy been a thing?”
You furrow your brows. “What?”
Kyle nudges him in the ribs, subtly shaking his head. Wally quickly apologizes, changing the topic, but his words linger in your mind.
You get home later, changing into pyjamas which consist of Guy’s sweatpants and one of his t-shirts. Guy perks up when you lean against the bathroom doorframe, grinning at you with his toothbrush still stuffed in his mouth.
A trail of toothpaste drips out of the side of his mouth.
“Guy?”
He dabs at the stray toothpaste with a cloth. “Hm?”
“What are we?”
He holds up a finger, silently asking you to wait while he finishes scrubbing his teeth and spits the toothpaste into the sink. He rinses his mouth a few times before flashing you his pearly whites.
“You feeling okay?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in to kiss the side of your head, “we’re dating.”
You blink, grateful the width of his chest hides your wide eyes. “Yeah,” you say quietly, relaxing into his chest. “Yeah, we are.”
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thanks for reading & live laugh love guy gardner /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Summary: the JLI has noticed something...unusual about Guy Gardner as of lately (or, your early relationship as seen through their eyes)
Word Count: 1k
Content/CW -> gn! reader, some awkwardness, mostly wholesome
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am still sick as a dog however i wanted to get at least one fic out today so ;-; take some guy <3 hopefully its coherent...also pls go read tales of the green lantern corps: guy gardner
Something is wrong with Guy Gardner. At least, the League seems to think so.
Maybe he’s been possessed, or replaced with an alien, or maybe a series of ghosts visited him in his sleep and convinced him to be a better man. Whatever the reason is, there’s only one thing they agree on: it’s weird.
The first person to notice it, unfortunately, is Hal Jordan. He’s leaving the Watchtower, clocking out from an excruciatingly long patrol shift, when he notices something odd.
Guy Gardner, two cups of coffee in his sweaty palms, psyching himself up in the hallway. Hal blinks, head cocked to the side, wondering what could possibly make Guy Gardner of all people so nervous.
His answer comes in the form of you, settled into a chair with a book in your lap, oblivious to Guy’s arrival until he taps you on the shoulder.
“Guy, hey!”
He smiles, something awkward and strained. He thrusts a hand out to you, “brought you a coffee.”
You take it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling the sweet aroma. You grin ear to ear, “ugh, my favorite. How did you know?”
“You know me,” he shrugs, an attempt to remain nonchalant. “Guy Gardner knows things.”
You giggle slightly, taking a sip from your coffee. “You know, I’m starting to think you actually do.”
Guy blushes. Hal shudders. What parallel universe has he stepped into?
The next person to notice, unsurprisingly, is J’onn.
Guy Gardner’s been pacing the command deck all day, which in itself drew suspicion. He’s not one to hang around when he’s not on duty or doesn’t need something from someone. It’s especially unlike Guy to be pacing and nervously wringing his hands together like this.
J’onn observes him with sly sideyes and the occasional telepathic checkup, wondering what on Earth he could possibly be waiting for.
The answer comes when you stumble back into the Watchtower, soaking wet and shivering, Hal Jordan by your side. You shake off the water on your body like a dog, wrinkling your nose.
J’onn feels it before he sees it. The sudden relief, the dissolving anxiety in the room.
“That,” Hal mimics your motion, wet hair dangling in his face, “sucked.”
You laugh, “you think? I’m freezing.”
The two of you fall into the steady rhythm of smalltalk, discussing the details of your mission while simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. You’re so caught up in your conversation with Hal that you don’t notice Guy sidle up to you until he’s shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
It’s warm, perfectly comfortable over your wet and cold clothes and best of all, it smells like the cologne he douses himself in every morning. You tug it tighter around yourself and look over your shoulder at the man who gifted it to you.
“Guy?”
“Hm?”
“What’s this for?”
“Since you said you’re cold and all,” he shrugs, trying to keep it casual. “Can’t have you getting sick on me.”
Hal and J’onn exchange looks. What the hell is going on?
Guy catches himself. “Don’t want you shirking your responsibilities, leaving all the world saving to me. I got things to do.”
You see through the facade easily, see it for what it really is. You only smile and thank him, crossing your arms over your chest to thoroughly absorb his warmth.
Guy resists the urge to drape an arm over your shoulders. Hal resists the urge to gag.
The third victim of Guy Gardner’s new attitude is no other than John Stewart, who wasn’t even supposed to be here but was instead sentenced to it by the Guardians.
He’s tired when he arrives at Guy’s house, not willing to deal with the odd ecosystem Guy has created for himself. Still, he forces himself through the door and calls out for Guy, only to trip over his shoes.
Wait—not Guy’s shoes. Someone else’s.
John squints, examining the shoes that almost took him out. They’re too clean to be Guy’s, the soles still sporting some white where Guy’s would usually be worn down and dark in colour.
He calls out for Guy again, stepping further into his apartment and past the plant he’s somehow growing inside of an old boot. It would be impressive if John wasn’t so grossed out by the room around him.
His search of the apartment turns up empty until he comes across the barely open door to Guy’s bedroom, the room behind it enveloped in darkness. Hesitating, John pushes open the door and freezes dead in his tracks when he sees what’s inside.
He should’ve known. The apartment was slightly cleaner than usual, there was an extra pair of shoes at the door and Guy wasn’t answering and still, here he is. John can’t help but stare, slack-jawed at the sight in front of him,
Guy, laid on his side, his thick arms wrapped around your waist. Your waist. John wasn’t sure anyone on the planet would be willing to date Guy Gardner, least of all you of all people.
He rubs at his eyes and the sight of the two of you remains.
It’s then that Guy props himself up on one arm, shooting daggers towards John. “D’ya mind?”
John takes a big step back, shaking his head, still speechless. Guy tosses a construct pillow at him, John dodges.
“I’m just—I’ll text you.”
John spins on his heel, leaving the apartment more haunted than when he first arrived.
You’re walking the street with Guy, swinging your hand in his, that the question finally comes to your mind.
“Do you think people have been…weird around us lately?”
Guy squeezes your hand. “Why do you think that?”
“Just…everything. I mean, we spend all our time around superheroes. One of them is bound to figure it out at some point.”
Guy pauses, thinking back to the other day with John, and the week before that with Manhunter, and even before that with Hal. He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“No,” he smiles, “don’t think those dummies are gonna figure it out anytime soon.”
Liar.
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