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redhawtriot · 4 years

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Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

I felt as though since this story had such a specific narrative (especially delving into the harsh world of modeling and the effects of discrimination) that it would reach out to a very specific niche of reader.

I was actually astonished by loud support this fic has obtained so for, so thank you so much! I cannot stress enough how much that means to me.

HnM 💕

Tag-list: @steggy4ever @library-trash @watevermelon @glimmadora-ble @persephones24 @dragonempress123 @your-pri-ncess @broken-from-fandoms @hot-pocket01 @tsukineho

Month 1, Month 3

--Month 2--

No.

You looked at the stick of plastic in your hand with wide eyes as your mouth stuttered into a slack jaw—your breaths hardly making their way in and out of your lungs evenly.

You squeezed your eyes shut so hard that you saw white spots underneath your lids before you snapped them back open again, internally praying that you would wake up form whatever nightmare you were having.

However, you couldn’t blink away the big, fat smiley face that stared back up at you from the piece of purple and white plastic that sealed your fate.

No. No. No!

The sudden urge to puke came back with a vengeance and you threw yourself to the toilet, slamming your knees to the ground in the process. As your stomach lurched up into your chest, you couldn’t tell whether the tears forming in your eyes were from the harshness of the motion or something else entirely.

“Gah!” you loudly choked out as you pulled away from the mess in the toilet.

Once the nausea became slightly less debilitating you leaned back against your bathtub, throwing your head up as you groaned to the ceiling, “No, no, no, nooo…” you softly sobbed. You tried your best to keep from bawling so you didn’t find yourself with your head back in the bowl, but you couldn’t help the stream of hot tears that spilled from your eyes as you stared at the vent in the ceiling.

How could this happen? How could you be… pr...

A sudden stirring in your gut made you swallow hard as you tried to keep your stomach out of your throat.

Don’t be an idiot, Y/N. You took sex education in high school. You put the condom on the banana and were scolded with constant threats of STDs and the fires of Hell like everybody else. So yeah. You know how it happened.

You sighed as you thought back to all the guys you had slept with recently-- which was luckily not too many within the past few months, and only one since your last period.

Fuck, you didn’t even remember what the damn fathe-- guy looked like.

Well, excluding his rippling muscles.

You threw your head into your hands as the uncanny image of a body builder newborn infiltrated your mind. Well, that didn’t fucking help at all. Grabbing your hair tightly as you stared at the tile between your legs, you cursed yourself, “You dumbass! How could you be so goddamn stupid!? Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you repeatedly knocked against your skull.

You reached into the recesses of your memory for any information you might have about the guy. Where was his apartment again...? On the other side of town somewhere right… Near Club 52? God, you didn’t even fucking know! and what did it matter anyway, huh? What were you gonna do? Storm up to his place, pregnancy tests a-blazin’, and tell the complete stranger that you were carrying his kid?!

With a weak and tired moan, you lifted yourself off of your bathroom floor and went to the sink to rinse your bile infested mouth out and wash the salty tears off of your cheeks.

But not before you got a good look at yourself in the mirror.

Swollen eyes.

Red nose.

Drying, teary snot pooling on the rim of your upper lip.

“You look like shit,” you harshly reprimanded yourself before turning the sink on and sticking your face into the cool water. Your hands blindly reached around your counter until you finally grabbed a nearby hand towel to bring to your face. As you patted your cheeks dry, your eyes wandered to the counter where three other positive pregnancy tests that you had taken earlier that morning resided.

The trio all sported a similar smug smile as they looked up to you as if to say ‘we told you so.’

The little shits.

“Shut up.” You quickly grabbed all four tests and with a hint of bitterness chucked them into a nearby trash bin before making your way to your bedroom across the hall.

Plopping down onto your screeching mattress, you took your phone out:

Boss Lady

[2:50 pm]

Hey, brat. I hope you’re doing better.

Don’t forget that we have that runway fitting next week. And the test shots. And the international scouting event.

Think. Thin.

No carbs. No red meats.

NO ALCOHOL!!!

Fucking no alcohol for nine whole months. You attempted to scoff at this, but what came out could have probably been mistaken for the last sounds of a dying animal.

Kimi:

[3:31 pm]

Hope you made it home safe last night!

As you read this text, a piece of you wished that maybe you hadn't made it home safe last night... Your brain briefly wandered into the dark territories of ‘what if’s’ as you imagined falling in front of the train at the subway, walking past a drug deal gone wrong, hell-- drowning on the water you took with your Pepto Bismol. You quickly brushed these thoughts away as you continued looking through your phone,

Boss Lady

[4:45 pm]

Oh, also Deku just asked for a meeting with you personally.

You’re going of course. Glad you got his attention. Good girl.

Tomorrow. 5:00pm. El Vino’s downtown. (EAT LIGHTLY!)

Inches! Inches! Inches!

You slammed your phone down onto your mattress as you loudly sighed.

Inches. Your entire livelihood depended on your damn inches and now there was no way you could maintain the “golden ratio.” The thought made your blood churn.

Modeling… was all that you had. You didn’t have any other fucking talents—no quirk to depend on-- so when would your growing stomach steal your life away?

When do people even start ‘showing’?

You haven’t come across many pregnant women, but all of the ones you have seen either looked like normal people or like freaking beach balls. For some reason your brain couldn’t conjure an intermediate.

Did they just blow up out of nowhere? If so, then when? How long could you pull a ruse off before your growing organ snitched on you? 5 months? 6 months? Next fucking week?

You realized then that you knew next to jack squat about pregnancy.

Or damn kids for that matter.

Okay so... abortion? For some reason, even just the thought of that word made an icky taste surge in your mouth—or maybe it was the leftover vomit, who knows?

To be honest, you had never really thought much on abortion before—it was one of the many topics filed into your brain under ‘that does not and will not pertain to me, so why the fuck should I care?’ Filtered out and forgotten, your feelings on abortion had yet to be developed.

Until now.

After a few beats, you opened your phone back up and began to dial Kimi, fearing that you might soon explode with the brunt of knowledge that weighed heavily upon your shoulders.

You paused.

Had you ever actually talked to her about anything that wasn’t exclusively work related? In the past two years of knowing her, have you ever actually learned anything about her, and she about you? Very suddenly, you were slapped in the face by a crude fact: Kimi was just a work-friend.

That was fucking fine and dandy up until now. You pretty much either worked, or drank, or showed up to work drunk. But now…

Shit.

Who the hell else could you call? You barely had any friends, and you hadn’t talked to your family in what felt like ages. Who was there for situations like this? If half of your life was working, and half of your life was drinking, and your work friends were a no go… what about your drinking friends? Your mind briefly fled to the stashes of your best buddies-- vodka and tequila-- that you kept in your kitchen.

But not even they could save you now.

Fuck you really were alone.

That night, you found yourself constantly flipping your pillow to find a new dry spot to assault with fresh tears. You hadn’t cried so much since you were a kid. Wait-- come to think of it, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had cried at all.

So, was it hormones? Pregnancy hormones?

The surreal thought made your tears fly down your face even more furiously.

The next evening there was practically no trace or evidence of your mental breakdown from the night before as you strolled up to El Vino’s. It was honestly kind of frightening how quickly you had managed to pull yourself together before this little meeting—but mostly, it was empowering.

Okay, Y/N. You fucking got this. Hormones or not, you were still a baddie to your very core.

Deku was easy enough to spot in the little Mediterranean themed restaurant—with the green-ass hair and all. You strolled up to the table with the warmest smile that you could muster, “Mr. Deku,” you quickly approached his table and gave a slight bow.

“H-Hey!” You seemed to startle him with your sudden appearance. He jumped a bit in his seat and awkwardly shifted as you made your way to your own chair. His face was a bit red as you maintained your eyes on his shying expression.

“Look, before you say anything. I just want to say sorry,” his shocked eyes suddenly snapped back up to yours as you continued, “I had no idea that the event was yours and I probably ruined the rest of the night for you. If you want me off the brand deal, then I completely understand, just... don’t blame Ainu’s agency.”

His mouth fumbled over itself for a moment, causing you to quirk an unsure eyebrow before he could finally speak up, “No t-that’s not what I am here for at all, Miss L/N.”

“Call me Y/N. please,” your smirk was a little less sure than usual and you prayed that he couldn’t detect how off he had thrown you. This was going much different than you had expected it to. For one, he wasn’t trying to ‘put you in your place for disrespecting him’ or bargain sex ‘as an apology’ like most power hungry men in his position would.

“Okay, M-miss Y/N,” the blush that adorned his cheeks confused you even further and you felt the space between your eyebrows involuntarily tighten. That was another thing… He didn’t seem like a typical man in a position of power. He was… soft... you didn’t know how else to explain it other than unusual for a man of his size and stature.

“I actually wanted to apologize to you,” he spoke up once more and you were completely lost by then. You could only blink as he continued to speak, “You really got me thinking about things the other night-- you were totally right. The brand of my sneakers did lose its true meaning. I really meant to have it be a symbol for kids growing up without a quirk to enjoy—to give them hope, but it turned into more of an endorsement to myself. The whole thing. It was wrong. That’s why I have decided to give 100% of my personal Red Sneakers profits to establishing my Quirkless Youth Initiative,”

You looked around for any hidden cameras—any hidden agenda behind his motives before looking back to him with a stiff expression. You had to physically keep your face from scrunching, “And just how are you going to make a living out of a mindset like that?” you dared to call his bluff.

“It’s just gonna have to work. It’s what my mentor would have done—given 100%. Beyond actually.”

Holy shit. This man was being serious. ‘100% and beyond’ serious, to be exact. Your face scrunched up once more, “Why do you care so much anyway?” you cut back on your tone as you noticed his eyes widen a bit at your accusatory voice, “Not to be rude, but… what’s a strong hero like you doing caring about us quirkless?”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment or two. Contemplating on whether or not he was going to lie, you noticed, “I… I… didn’t have a quirk until much later in life. I was 14. Growing up, I always wanted to be a hero, and I just wish that I had someone back then believe in me. I want to be the one that tells kid’s—with a smile-- that they can do it. That they have at least one person who believes in them.”

His name-- Deku-- it meant worthless. The puzzle pieces were finally coming together and things began to make sense. It was a name that either himself or others used to describe him when he was growing up probably, and the man had taken it and spun it around to make it his own. Even you had to admit--

“That’s pretty damn impressive,” you couldn’t help the curl that tugged into the corners of your lips as Deku bashfully looked away from you,

“It’s nothing, really!” he tried to deflect. You gave a small laugh before smoothly bringing up the glass of wine in front of you to your lips. As soon as the liquid rushed in your mouth, your eyes flew wide open with realization,

Shit! What the fuck were you doing?

You immediately spit the alcohol back into your cup and snapped your eyes back to Deku who had, thankfully, been too caught up in his own embarrassment to be paying attention to you. You gave a sigh of relief and sat the wine glass as far away from you as inconspicuously possible.

“So,” you leaned into the table a bit to get his eyes back on you, “Tell me about this Quirkless Youth Initiative,” you smiled.

From that point on, you and Deku actually found talking to each other relatively easy—okay, extremely easy. In fact, you stayed past the point of dinner and ended up talking at your table hours after the bill had been paid.

You talked about everything and nothing altogether and didn’t know just when to end the conversation. You lowered your borders for some reason. Well-- you knew the reason. It was because you had been dying to talk to someone since you found out that you were the ‘p-word.’

He ended up walking you home. Past that, for the next two weeks you guys pretty much saw each other every other day or two and talked fairly regularly. Things became habitual.

In fact.

As you stood in the beaming light of the wardrobe, getting your makeup done, you found yourself stealing little glances here and there to your phone to text with your new friend, Deku. Every buzz of your phone left you with a giddy sense of excitement.

One of the models sharing the gigantic mirror with you quickly took notice of your demeanor, “What are you smiling at, Y/N?”

“She’s texting someone,” another spoke up as your friend/babysitter, Kimi strolled up next to you,

“What?! Y/N L/N texting someone back? Have we entered the Twilight Zone??” she joked. You only responded with poking your tongue out at her before your phone buzzed again,

Deku:

[1:00 pm]

Good Luck on your runway thing today!

You:

More like run away thing🏃‍♀️💨

Deku:

I could help? Bring comfort snacks?

You:

Most of us haven’t eaten a full meal in days BB

You would literally be stampeded by women

Wait that sounded too good🤔

You will literally be stampeded by hungry women***

Deku:

You haven’t been eating?!

Since when?!

You:

That’s not what I said.

Just pre-show prep to keep the waists snatched and the legends skinny💁‍♀️

Deku:

Sorry I don’t know how your job really works.

I’ll come over again tonight after your show and bring dinner!

If that’s okay. Sorry didn’t mean to sound pushy.

“Didn’t you hear? Her and Deku really hit it off on their date,” Your attention was instantly snapped away from your phone screen.

You gave an ugly snort, “It wasn’t a date.” And you certainly weren’t lying. The friendly atmosphere between you and Izuku felt comfortable as best—nothing intimate about it.

You wouldn't have it any other way. It felt as though he was placed in your life to perfectly fill the holes in your boat just before you started sinking.

��Girl your phone is blowing up!” a co-worker exclaimed, loudly.

Kimi laughed as she pinched your cheeks, “Look at that smile on her face”

All of the commotion gathered the attention of Boss Lady, who was currently storming up to you with the ‘phone box’ (or phone cemetery as some of you liked to call it) in her hand. She liked to have this on her especially in big events like runways or show casings because some of the girls—you were guilty as charged—spent quite a bit of time on their phones behind the scenes, “Phone. Bin. Now.”

Usually, you would put up some type of argument or give a quick-witted remark, but this time around you only rushed to send one final text in before you threw your cellphone into the crate.

You:

[1:33pm]

I should get off at like 11 see you then broccoli boy🥦🤪

Kimi looked terrified as though she was the one who had just incurred Ainu’s wrath, “Still smiling, huh...?”

You hadn’t even notice that you had been.

Talking to Deku really did make you happy when you needed it. Just like he spun ‘deku’ around and made it make sense, he had spun your life around and did the same. He made you feel like life was normal—whatever the hell that was. You’d never really been classified as normal anyway, but you had some impression that this resembled what it must feel like.

For a fleeting moment you think that maybe you should just sleep with Deku and pass this pregnancy off as his since you had yet to tell him-- or anyone-- about it.

But the better half of you instantly slaps this thought out through your ears.

Hello? Welcome to psycho bitch incorporated. Seriously. What the fuck was wrong with you?

Damn, you had been separated from your phone (and Deku) for exactly 23 seconds and you were already outta your cot-damn mind. You get one friend and suddenly you don’t know how to act.

You needed to somehow find “blond muscle man” and let him know what was up. Fuck, how were you supposed to do that when you didn’t even know his name?

The runway that night went pretty much how every single other runway went, except this time-- you opted not to attend any of the after parties. Instead, you went home and had Deku over, who delivered on his promise with sushi.

You could smell the sushi as soon as he walked through the door and your mouth instantly watered. He really was god sent.

The two of you settled quickly in your apartment, deciding to risk it all and eat on your living room couch to watch TV; however, you quickly noticed that the TV wasn’t the only thing that Izuku was watching. As soon as you turned to raise an eyebrow on him he feebly attempted to avert his gaze, but you caught him anyways, “What? You better stop sizing me up unless you wanna fight, Deku,” you sang as you popped another sushi roll into your mouth.

“W-what sizing you up?!”

You cackled at the sudden redness of his face, “I’m just joking. We both know I’d probably kick your ass!”

“You think so?” he actually sounded a bit nervous in his tone, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I know so,” you shrugged with a growing smirk, “Anyway. What are you staring so hard at me for?”

The air became very still around the two of you as he looked down to think. This was something that became pretty expectant of him these past few week-- a funny little habit.

“It’s just… we’ve been hanging out a lot the past few weeks and I never really noticed it—your… dieting,” he seemed to fall into that last word a bit as if it wasn’t exactly the word that he had wanted to use.

You knew that he meant to say ‘starving yourself’ but was too reserved for that level of bluntness. That was okay with you. You weren't particularly ready to open that can of worms, “Damn, and here I was thinkin’ I was looking pretty damn good,” you joked as the both of you began cleaning up your food mess.

“No. That’s not what I meant I—”

“Joking! I’m just joking with you, Big D,” you found yourself using this nickname for him whenever you wanted to see his face fall into it’s deepest shades of red. It worked every single time,

“I have just been at this for a long time—modeling for Ainu’s agency. Since I was 15 actually,” you shook your head a little at the surge of nostalgia that wanted to bubble up your back. You clutched a nearby pillow and hugged it to your chest, “She scouted me at a mall food court. She changed my entire life—for the better of course. She is practically my mom... I owe her a lot,” you found yourself giving into the nostalgia a bit-- a small, fond smile tugging at your lips. You looked up after a few beats of silence filled the air and was met with Deku’s admiring stare, “What? You nerd!” you exclaimed with a giggle, chucking the pillow at him.

“It’s nothing. I just like hearing about you. I feel like I have been doing a lot of talking about me since we have been hanging out.”

Yeah, he was a Cancer zodiac for sure. You pretty much knew his entire life’s story after only the first week of knowing him, “Are you kidding me?! Your life is straight out of a comic book, BB! I love hearing about it!” You began talking to him from out of the kitchen as you put your leftovers in the fridge,

“You went up against the League of Villains, the Vanguard Action Front and The Paranormal Liberation Front as a freshman?? You powered up from a quirkless crybaby! (Hey!) to an amazing, uprising, super considerate, overpowered crybaby on his way to number one! Your U.A. friends all seem like comic book characters, too. I love them already from what you tell me,” you closed the fridge, revealing his shocked expression.

“Really?” You nodded, igniting a spark in his eyes, “Well, I am actually having a little get together at my place for my friends if you wanna stop by.”

“Yeah sure. As long as my favorite character, Kaminari, is there,” Izuku seemed shocked and slightly offended by your choice in favorite, so you clarified, “He sounded really cool and all with his ‘chatty zappy’ thing going on,” you suddenly rolled your eyes as a bad taste emerged in your mouth, “Kacchan sounds like a little bitch baby though, no offense.”

“Y/N!”

“What?! Kacchan can ‘Kach’ these ‘hans’! Oh come on. Not even a pity laugh? A little one?” You apparently thought you were a lot funnier than Izuku did.

“I think the two of you might actually get along. You’re very similar now that I think about it,” he trailed off on his last part, seemingly talking to himself as he grabbed his chin.

You almost felt offended by his comparison, “Fuck that. Oppisites attract, Similars repel. Besides. Why would I wanna be friends with a little bitch baby that bullies and pisses on quirkless people?”

“Well, when you meet him next week you might like him…”

You clicked your tongue, “So now I am obligated to come, huh?” you smirked.

“N-no well that’s not what I meant but I would appreciate if you—”

You were only half paying attention to his freak out as the abrupt craving for orange juice infiltrated your mind and placed itself on the forefront of your thoughts, “Deku. I am joking!” you absentmindedly reminded him as you scoured your pantries for a wine glass. You had taken to drinking out of these instead of regular cups to at least maintain a semblance of your old self.

Izuku’s eyes widened at the sight of your collection of wines and alcohols in one of your cupboards. You smirked at him-- throwing him look that said ‘you ain’t seen nothin yet’ as you opened your freezer to reveal the insane hoard of alcohol you had stored.

His jaw practically dropped to the floor at the sight, “Holy woah, you have an entire liquor store in here!”

“Saving for a rainy day,” you almost immediately realized the error of your words as Izuku motions to one of the windows near you. The two of you sat in a beat of silence as the pitter-patter of rainfall splattered against the glass pane.

“It’s raining today,” he grinned excitedly.

“No... I cant,” the way that the words fell out sounded about as convincing as a disguise with groucho glasses. You could really go for a drink right about now.

He looked to you a bit sadly, if not disappointed, “Y/N if this is about your diet… I am just saying, I don’t think one day will hurt too much.”

“No, I really shouldn't.” Understatement of the century.

Izuku grabbed two glasses out of your cupboard with a soft smile gracing his features, “We’ll pour you just a little bit in case you change your mind—”

Maybe one glass wouldn't hurt... No. NO! God, you knew he meant well, but he is really fucking making this hard for you!! “I cant, I’m pregnant!!” you suddenly yelled. He immediately froze,

“Wha...?”

“I’m pregnant...”

“Oh... Uhhh congratulations,” the most unconvincing thing to have ever come out of his mouth probably, “Who…”

“I don’t know,” the look of utter horror on his face had you instantly backtracking your answer, “Well—let me rephrase that. I do know who it is, but I don’t know his name. It was a umm.. ‘Wam. Bam. Thank you ma’am’ type deal.” Your face began burning as hot blood rushed into your cheeks. You literally couldn't have phrased that worse if you tried. What the hell was wrong with you?

“You don’t look pregnant...” the horror on his face now registered into your mind as pure shock.

“I sure as hell would hope not. I am like a month-ish along—I think.”

“You haven’t been to the doctor?”

“Uhh no...” He was right, you didn't even look pregnant. There was no way in hell that you needed to go to the doctor yet. Right?

“W-wait! Y/N the night we met! You were drinking alcohol!”

“So? I am probably only like a few weeks pregnant and I drank like two glasses. I am sure it didn’t do anything…?”

“Are you really sure? How can you know!? You have to go see a doctor!” he looked terrified. It was as if he suddenly was the embodiment every stressed emotion that you had been shoving away from you these past few weeks and the sight scared you.

“You’re freaking me out, Deku.”

He instantly froze, “S-sorry,” he looked down to his shoes. Maybe you just might let him pour those drinks after all. He looked like he could use both of them right about now...

The next week dragged on for what felt like eons, as Izuku seemed to cautiously dance around the topic of your “preexisting condition.” It was quite obvious that every time the topic came up, a cloud of discomfort would come and sit on his shoulders; however, the man still made it a point to urge the fact that you needed to set up a doctor’s appointment.

Eventually, you caved in and scheduled for one at a local clinic, but they couldn't get you in for a few weeks anyway-- the joint was at maximum capacity, you guessed? Apparently, there were more pregnant bitches waddling around than you thought.

Still, Deku urged you to read up and research some things prior to your appointment so that you could ask the doctor any questions that might pop up. It seemed like he was almost way too into this-- taking notes in a composition notepad that he dubbed “Baby Notes Vol 1″ and even mentioning coming along with you to your clinic visit.

It made things extremely real.

Your little safe space with Deku had effectively been conquered and subjugated by the little parasite that took residence in your body. You shook your shoulders with a sigh as you neared Deku’s door for the party.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK*

When the door opened you couldn't help the way that your eyebrows flew up in surprise at the sight of a woman opening the door. Uhh... did you go to the wrong house?

The brown haired girl in front of you looked just as surprised as you-- if not even more so.

Okay, you definitely went to the wrong house.

The sudden sound of Izuku’s voice coming deep from withing the apartment led you to breath easy. You deflated a little bit as you relaxed. You wouldn't have to make a mad dash in a lagged game of ‘ding dong ditch’ after all, “Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.”

A series of emotions flashed across her expression at your greeting: shocked, nervous, then... disappointed? “Y/N! I’ve heard... so so much about you!” the smile that stretched across her lips seemed almost painful, “I’m Ochako Uraraka! I... love your hair!” she threw out the last part like a rabbit would throw steak to wolves.

“Thank’s...” you felt fucking awkward and she still hasn’t let you into the apartment, “I’ll make sure to thank the stylist and the bottle of dye she used.”

“That’s not your real hair color? It looks so healthy though!” she seemed heartbroken as she used a pitying tone and you could gauge that the pity was not for yourself.

“Nah. My agency pretty much determines what hairstyles I wear...” You made eye contact with Deku inside of the house as he made his way to the door... Thank god! you were saved from that terribly awkward interaction.

“Agency? Hero agency?”

“Modeling, actually. I’m not that badass,” you smirked before walking into the party.

Her figure deflated as if to say, ‘of fucking course’, “Oh. That’s cool!” You didn’t see much of Uraraka after that

Meanwhile, Bakugou was just a tick away from being angry enough to kill. His roommates had all three convinced him to go to this get together over Deku’s house and they weren't even going to be there on time!

He had honestly never been to a party with these losers without at least Shitty Hair being with him, so he wasn’t exactly sure how it would pan out and that really bothered him. He wasn’t exactly social at these events, but at least the three stooges kept him somewhat entertained (he would never admit this aloud).

What could those other losers possible do to entertain him?

“Whyyyyyyy?” he heard crying as he neared Deku’s home. His face scrunched in on itself even further than usual as he approached the whining noise. He scoffed at the inebriated mess in front of him,

“What the hell are you doing, round face?”

Uraraka, who was leaning against the edge of Izuku’s front patio looked up, causing Bakugou to deeply grimace at the germy snot that trailed down her red face, “Deku’s new girlfriend sure is cool. He deserves someone like her, right? She’s perfect!” Bakugou couldn't help the way that his face shriveled into itself in disgust.

It wasn't too late. He could still turn around and go the fuck home and no one would even know he was here. Well, save for bubble cheeks here, but she probably wouldn't even remember to be honest.

But as soon as Bakugou turned back around to make his escape Uraraka spoke up again, “She’s a model. They met at the Red Sneakers Event apparently,” Of course this piqued the man’s interest. There were only a few models branding the event and he just so happened to be searching for one of them. Uraraka continued with her drooling of words as Bakugou brushed past her and made his way into the house-- not bothering to knock,

“You know I am the one who gave him that idea in the first place? It’s kinda like. I set him up with his future wife!” she drunkenly cried to no one in particular as Bakugou stormed away.

He passed Iida on his way in, “Go get round face and shut her drunk ass up-- she’s outside,” he didn't bother on stopping to further explain before walking back to the commotion of the party.

As soon as he entered the packed room, his eyes landed on you. It was like the Red Sneakers Event all over again. You were simply glowing-- hard to miss-- especially with the crowd of his old classmates hovering around you like some damn flies on shit-- especially Deku. He was way too close to you-- the rat bastard.

“Oooh! You’ve been to Milan! That’s so cool, girl! So you must get to sight-see like a lot!”

The way that your shoulders leaned and swayed as you talked sent flutters into Bakugou’s heart. Fucking gross. He watched you speak very intently-- searching for the magic you had used to bewitch him, “Actually I was working a lot when I was there, so I really only got to see the sets and runways,” you made fleeting eye contact with him from across the room, furrowing your eye brows a bit at his stare before breaking the gaze.

“Do you get to keep the outfits after the shoots?!”

“Pfft. Hell no! This loser still hasn’t sent me a pair of his red shoes. What happened to helping the quirkless, huh, broccoli boi?” The most primal urge of jealousy that Bakugou had ever felt sprinted through his body as you leaned over to playfully tap that shitty Deku in the arm. The feeling was so intense that he hadn’t even registered what you had said fully.

“You’re quirkless?” Racoon Eyes inquired, snapping Bakugou out of his feral trance. His face fell a bit as he dutifully awaited your answer.

“Yeah. It’s whatever,” you shrugged.

“The competition must be so difficult!” Momo spoke up as she placed and apologetic hand to her chest. The gesture made you tense up a bit, but you reminded yourself that she probably didn't mean it in a belittling way as she continued, “I’ve been to a few magazine shoots myself and it is always girls with flashy quirks who end up in front and center!”

“Well, I compete well, I guess,” you knew that hero hero modeling and your fashion modelling were two completely different worlds. Designers saw you guys mostly as clothing racks and mannequins for their clothes, so usually they wanted their models to be as mundane as possible-- not to distract from their fabric art. So basically the perfect job for someone like you, “it’s no big deal. I get by like everybody else.”

“You just live your life like normal!”

“Awhhhh. Y/N. You’re an inspiration!”

Suddenly you felt extremely tired. You couldn't find the energy within yourself to filter out and soften your next response, “Glad I could inspire you just by breathing I guess.” you gave the girls a slight smile as you shrugged, but the undertone of your comment had not gone unnoticed-- especially by Bakugou who found himself stifling a proud smirk.

You once again made eye contact with him in this moment-- this time not daring to backtrack your gaze until he did-- a warning sign to back he hell off with that staring shit.

As the night progressed you found yourself becoming more and more tired. The debilitating sense of sudden fatigue actually felt like it had taken over even your bones at this point as the aching structures weighed heavily inside of you skin. You decided after about an hour that you were gonna make an early trip back home.

“What, why!?” Deku scanned your face nervously-- he thought you had been having fun!

“Just really damn tired suddenly.”

“Oh...” he trailed off, but suddenly realized the hidden context of your words. Baby Notes vol 1 page 4 section 3: ‘prenatal fatigue’, “Ohhhhh okay! Right! Well Let me call you a taxi or something.”

“Nahh, I’ll walk,” you waved him off as you made your journey toward small crowds of his friends-- waving them goodbye. Deku followed you in your path around his house,

“W-what? You can’t be serious! You shouldn’t do that!”

You turned around and threw your hand on his shoulder, causing him to instantly freeze up, “I’ll be fine,” you smirked throwing your hand up to his cheek to gently pat his face. Of course, he was left a shivering, blushing mess. It was a low blow, but, hey, it gave you a good opportunity to escape.

You felt a wave of relief as soon as you made it a few steps outside of the apartment. You released a heavy sigh as you continued walking away.

Finally. You internally planned the rest of the night in your head: orange juice, Netflix and sleeeep. You could finally just let yourself relax and--

“HEY!” you jumped out of your skin a little at the sudden loud shout. You whipped around to see that blond spikey-haired dude from Deku’s house attempting to close in on you.

You rolled your eyes as he neared. Hardly throwing him a glance as he approached you to walk a little behind you, “God. You’re the weirdo that was staring at me all night,” you groaned, hoping he would catch your drift.

“We need to talk!”

One of you eyebrows instantly quirked up as your lips curled into a look of disgust. You whipped back around towards him, “Look, I am actually tired as hell, so excuse me for my bluntness, but FUCK OFF!” You only caught a glimpse of his flabbergasted expression before you spun back around to storm down the stairs entering the subway.

“You really don’t know me?” he sounded pissed.

That’s when it hit you.

“Oh! it’s you!” you snapped your fingers at the sudden realization,

“You’re Kacchan!” the look of disgust that hardened on his face intensified by ten fold when he heard you use that nickname. You continued regardless as you neared the train platform, “The asshole bully who likes to pick on quirkless kids. Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn how great you think you are, buddy. You can really fuck off now!” you spun once more to ditch him; however this time around your ankle twisted from underneath you, causing your body to fall down toward the ledge of the platform where underneath the tracks resided.

Bakugou cried out something like ‘you idiot!’ before grabbing you by the waist and yanking you into him before you could completely fall down the ledge. Everything happened so quickly that you hadn't even realized that you were holding your breath until you gasped heavily into his chest.

With a shocked expression you trailed up his neck to his face until you were met with his vermilion eyes, “Shit…” suddenly a wave of familiarity crashed into you. you breathed deeply, “I-It’s you...”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagine #mha imagines

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kaiunkaiku · 4 years

Text

Sickdays 6, May 21st: Noisy

Fandom: MCU

Summary: "He considers trying to find his phone and calling Bruce because really, even if he’s no stranger to debilitating aches this is getting too much even for him. But that would mean talking, or looking at a screen, and both concepts are awful."

Warnings: Tony sucks at taking care of himself, mentions of needles, the whole thing is just a migraine fic

IT’S STILL THE 21ST IN AMERICA SO I’M TECHNICALLY NOT LATE

For @taylortut

Ao3

The world is so goddamn loud.

It’s really not, he knows, but his ears have lost that memo somewhere, buried under the mountains of work littering the surfaces in the lab. Tony presses his hands harder on his ears as the soft, mechanical whirring of automated processes in his lab slices into his brain. He’s already resigned himself to painkillers, but that was hours ago and his head is still splitting in two, every noise and every glinting light making it exponentially worse.

He doesn’t know what time it is; he doesn’t even know what day it is. He muted JARVIS when everything was starting to get too much so he can’t ask him, because unmuting him sounds like a world of pain. He has no idea how long it’s been. He feels like he’s been in pain forever.

(He has been in pain forever, but this specific pain has probably lasted significantly less than that.)

He’s tired as hell. He can’t sleep because his head hurts like hell. He would probably feel better if he could fall asleep.

He considers trying to find his phone and calling Bruce because really, even if he’s no stranger to debilitating aches this is getting too much even for him. But that would mean talking, or looking at a screen, and both concepts are awful. He found out some time ago that even his own voice grates at his ears. Hours ago? Maybe? Days? How long has it been?

His thought process isn’t what it should be. It’s halting every few steps, sometimes crumbling altogether, and he can’t string two coherent thoughts together even when he can make them separately. Sleep deprivation, probably. Maybe dehydration. Definitely a migraine. He’s gonna throw up if he tries to put anything in his mouth, water included.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to venture away from his ratty couch in search for his phone after all, even if the idea is sounding increasingly tempting while also sounding absolutely dreadful, because at some point of Tony wallowing in his misery the door to his lab opens and someone walks in. The footsteps sound like bombs going off in his head.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice is low, not quite a whisper but almost, but Tony can’t suppress the groan he makes at the stab the word takes at his brain anyway.

“There you are. Talk to me.” Tony cracks one eye open and comes face to face with Bruce hovering over him. A warm hand is placed on his forehead; it feels both comforting and painful, the act itself welcome but the contact burning on his hypersensitive skin.

“Hi there, Brucie,” Tony breathes out, letting his eye fall back shut. “Nothing to talk about. Jus’ a headache.” He tries to give Bruce a crooked smile, but he’s fairly sure it comes out as a grimace.

“Tony, nobody has seen you in three days. You muted JARVIS sixteen hours ago. He’s been freaking out a bit.” That long? Huh. “That’s not just a headache. Have you taken anything for it? When’s the last time you drank water?”

Tony presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly through his mouth. Bruce’s hand on his forehead shifts, moves closer to his hairline and travels into his hair. It’s probably greasy and disgusting as hell. If he’s been in his lab for three days he probably hasn’t showered in at least four.

Right. Bruce asked him something.

“Dunno,” he mumbles. Was there something else? Yeah, the painkillers. “Uh, took a few pills at some point. Didn’t help. Time’s all,” he makes a wavy gesture with one hand that bumps into Bruce’s arm,” screwy.”

“I bet,” Bruce huffs. Tony gets the feeling he’s smiling a little. “You should be in medical, but the place is a nightmare.” The hand disappears from his hair. Tony is inclined to agree – he avoids doctors other than Bruce whenever he can already, and SHIELD medical is its own kind of hell. The lights are always too bright, there are people bustling around, and he’s had several anxiety attacks there. So. Not a fan. Especially now.

“So how about my lab instead?” Bruce asks. Places his hand on Tony’s shoulder so that he can rest his fingers at his throat and feel his pulse. “I think we need to get some stronger painkillers in you.” Tony can picture Bruce’s expressions in his head. It’s nice to have something to focus on, besides the pain, even if it is exhausting.

Bruce takes his hand and pinches his skin lightly. “And water. You’re dehydrated.”

“I will throw up anything you put into my mouth and I will pass out if I stand up,” Tony says. His voice is hoarse; scratchy. If it were anyone else he would be vehemently denying everything and anything, but Bruce is… Bruce. Bruce has been an exception for a while, now. There’s something soothing about having an exception. And the possibility of feeling better sounds awesome.

“You know that means an IV,” Bruce warns gently.

“I know,” Tony says. He contemplates his next words for a moment, waits through the surge of anxiety it brings to say them sincerely, to really mean them. “I trust you.” It’s difficult. It makes him hold his breath for a tad longer than he needs to in order to keep the pain in check.

(Nothing’s keeping the pain in check, really. But deep, controlled breaths do a little.)

Bruce takes his hand and squeezes.

It’s quickly determined that he, in fact, cannot stand at all – can’t even sit up. The attempt leaves him shaky, makes his blood roar in his ears (why does even his own body have be so goddamn loud, please, make it stop–), and requires Bruce to think about an alternative solution.

He suggests moving the equipment down to Tony’s lab.

“Clint’s hanging around, I can have him help me carry the equipment,” he says. “Thor and Steve are also here, and I think Sam is, too.”

“No Rhodey?” Tony asks.

“No Rhodey,” Bruce confirms. “Sorry.”

Rhodey would be his first choice for everything, always. He’s the one person that has stuck with Tony all these years, more family to him than anyone else. But Rhodey has his own life that doesn’t revolve around Tony, so he can’t always be there. Barton is the least horrible choice out of the rest of the Avengers, having seen him running on caffeine fumes with a migraine before. He doesn’t need Thor’s booming voice, and he especially doesn’t need Rogers and his condescending hovering.

“Barton it is, then. Can you turn off the lights?”

Bruce squeezes his hand again, and turns off the lights as he exits.

With Bruce gone, Tony is left alone with his blinding, brain-splitting headache. His fingers crack as he presses them to his eyes, and it’s like fireworks right by his ears. There’s a clock, somewhere. Why does he have a clock that ticks? Why would he ever get an analog clock? Pepper’s doing? Is the god-awful ticking even a clock?

He has no idea how long Bruce is gone, but this time the door opens and there are two sets of steps walking in, accompanied by the clinking of medical equipment. Tony squeezes his eyes shut and moves his hands to cover his ears. Bruce starts setting up what he needs, giving quiet instructions to Barton who quietly does what he’s told. The lights are on again, but Tony finds that far less of an issue than the steps and the clinking and the talking and the ticking and the whirring echoing in his ears.

Then Bruce turns to Tony. He takes his wrist and gets him ready so he can stick a needle into him, and calmly talks through the entire thing. He explains what he’s doing step by step, pausing for a while to give Tony a moment to calm down when everything gets too much for a second. Bruce lists the chemicals he’s going to be injecting into him, and finally picks up a woven blanket from the backrest of the couch and settles it on Tony.

It doesn’t take long for the painkillers to kick in. Bruce dismisses Barton, who shuts the lights off as he leaves, and picks up a StarkPad from a nearby table as he settles on a chair. Tony can feel the the pain first shifting, and then starting to dissipate – it’s like it drains away and reveals a slightly soggy but mostly functional train of thought.

He’s exhausted. He knew that already, of course, but the absence of pain leaves him with a chance to actually fall asleep.

So he does.

#sickdays 6 #whump fanfiction #sickfic #tony stark whump #whump #fanfiction #my writing #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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brandstifter-sys · 4 years

Text

Projections

Word Count: 2530

Characters: Patton, Deceit, Remus, Virgil

Rating: M (not smut)

Warnings: Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sutures, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Patton is fed up with himself because of how strangers online see him. It takes three unlikely sides to save him and help him work through things.

The following is not an attempt to critique the fandom in any way. This is a vent fic and I was working through my own shit via Patton. I hesitated to post this for a long time out of fear that it would blow up in my face.

Patton stood in the bathroom under the artificial light. The only part of his room that was free from clutter and the one place he could see himself as he truly was, the bathroom was the only place he could go where the memories couldn't reach him—except the ones at the top of his head.

Manipulative…

Strict…

Overbearing…

Abusive…

Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as he thought about the recent surge of hate. He stared at the flushed yet pallid face in the mirror and shuddered as bile crept up his throat. He couldn't bring himself to fight the voices in his head, screaming at him.

Did he split Creativity all those years ago? Was it his fault that Roman was insecure and that Remus was unhinged? He couldn't tell, they were all just toddlers. Even so, he knew he was to blame for the divide in the mindscape. No matter how hard he tried to lessen the impact, tried to see value in the gothic sides, tried to make amends slowly but surely, no matter what he was still to blame.

Strict…

Overbearing...

He had been strict recently, he found that out the fun way. But at least it was Logan who said it, not the other side who knew early on. He wanted Thomas to be a good person and a good friend. He wanted to be there to guide Thomas, but he was so confused! Right and wrong shifted and he lost his footing. He should have said something, but no he buckled down and tried to force the morals he knew back into place. He hurt everyone with that decision, especially Thomas. He failed at his job.

Manipulative…

He leaned over the sink, tightening his grip around the handle. Maybe this next step was just a new way to weasel some pity out of the others, a threat for attention. He overstepped his bounds in terms of influence and with his family. How did Roman forgive him for the guilt trips? Why would he? Because of morals. He manipulated everyone by existing.

Abusive…

Was he abusive? The theories and stories he read painted him as a monster. Was his own perception skewed so badly that he pretended to be a good guy while being the real villain?

"Patton, you messed up everything!" he growled at his reflection, "You fucked up so bad! It's time for Thomas to have a new, better morality!" He dried his eyes and pressed the blade to his wrist, pressing until red oozed from the wound. The joyful catharsis that filled him only grew stronger as he opened his arm. It was time.

"Patton!" two familiar voices yelped. In an instant he was being held to one side's chest while the other took his box cutter. He squirmed in the tight grasp and fought with all his might.

"Remus hold him still!" Deceit ordered as he conjured a suture kit.

"This is going to hurt. Bear with me." Deceit said flatly to Patton as he tied a tourniquet around his upper arm to stop the bleeding. Patton's eyes widened and he squirmed in Remus' grasp. They were not going to take this away from him! It was the only service he could provide for the mindscape and he would see it through!

"Hey!" Remus hissed when he was kicked in the shin. He shared a look with Deceit as if asking a question. Deceit nodded as he cleaned away the blood.

"Hey Pattycake you should skip the Crofter's in your next batch of cupcakes—ocular fluid would do a better job."

"There won't be a next batch!" Patton wailed, "Let go!"

"No? I was gonna offer you my eyes too!" Remus giggled. Deceit internally groaned at the duke's attempts and lifted a free hand while he threaded the needle.

"Why the hell are you—?" Virgil grumbled low and peeked inside the bathroom door.

"PATTON!?" he shrieked upon seeing the fatherly side with blood oozing from his arm, clearly miserable—and not because Deceit was holding his arm still or because Remus had him pinned to his chest.

"Virgil, thank you for your prompt arrival." Deceit hissed, "Be a dear and paralyze Morality with fear, he has to stop moving." Virgil swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was scared enough that only the slightest touch could freeze Patton in his tracks.

He slunk in next to Deceit and pressed his trembling hand to Patton's throat, letting it become enveloped in black smoke. For a second, Patton hoped Virgil would choke him to death to finish the job. He was wrong. His muscles tightened and his breathing became shallow.

"Oh dear," Deceit tsked, "I have to use quite a bit of grafting material. This could take some time. It will be as pleasant as Remus' fingers."

Remus shoved a surprisingly clean hand in his mouth and growled, "Bite." Patton did, and it was unpleasant.

"It's gonna be okay, Patt." Virgil breathed with tears welling in his eyes. Patton doubted that as the needle went through his vein. He screamed and bit down hard on Remus' hand. Virgil cringed at the muffled sound. Deceit blocked it out and continued his work, using all six hands to make sure everything was perfect.

"Did you do this to yourself, Patt?" Virgil asked, lip trembling. Patton's eyes watered and he averted his gaze. The sorrow and confusion were agony. He didn't deserve pity.

"Yeah, with the sharp knife on the ground." Remus answered for him as he screamed.

"Why?"

"He believes he is only causing harm." Deceit grunted and carefully moved as swiftly as possible, "Unfortunately that is a lie and I was summoned."

"And I showed up because he was having some fun ideas. And then I realized that they weren't just passing fancy and I got scared." Remus frowned.

"So why didn't I get summoned when you were scared?"

"I'm always scared! Have you heard the shit that comes out of my mouth?" Remus giggled awkwardly as a muffled "language" escaped Patton between screams.

"Is there a way to numb him or knock him out?" Remus grunted when Patton's teeth broke through his skin.

"I can," Virgil said, "But we need to lay him down."

"Do it." Deceit ordered "And keep him down. Remus we're going to the lab, don't think about holding him like a baby when he's out cold." Patton shrieked and argued, his vision blurred with tears. Virgil moved his hand to the back of his neck...

And everything went black.

Patton blinked and glanced around the room. He was in the common area, but not his usual commons. The walls were too dark and the air was too cold. He could smell something tomatoey and delicious cooking in the next room, but his stomach was not interested.

He tried to sit up, but he yelped and fell back against the couch. He lifted his arm and stared at the dark stitches running along the underside—that nightmare was real. He was so close! He couldn't even die right!

"Morality!" Deceit gasped and hurried into the room. He was surprisingly without his hat and gloves. In fact he was dressed in black sweats and a yellow hoodie, not at all his usual attire.

"Deceit?" Patton groaned as he tried to sit up again, his head spinning. Deceit hurried over and gently pushed him back.

"No, stay right where you are. You lost a lot of blood and you need to rest." he said and sat on the edge of the seat, studying his face.

"Why?" Patton breathed as two more sides entered the room without saying a word.

"Why did we save you?" Remus asked and shrugged, "Because we need you, Daddy—oh! Daddio!" He rubbed his shoulder where Virgil punched him and pouted.

"But Thomas could make a new, better Morality. A Morality who wasn't the scum of the Earth."

"Pat, what are you talking about?" Virgil questioned and sat next to him on the ground.

"I'm bad. I caused a huge rift in the mindscape, I manipulate the people around me, I'm abusive and strict, and I—"

"Abusive?" Remus questioned, "Since when?"

"Since I caused you and Roman to split. Since I valued one twin over the other."

"You did nothing of the sort. You couldn't have, if you could, Anxiety would be Fear and Vigilance, separately. I would be Self-Care and Deception, in the same way." Deceit scoffed, "Sides split themselves based on Thomas' development."

"I'm the demonstration. Roman is the inspiration. He might not remember what the King planned but I do." Remus explained with a regal air the Patton never expected from him.

"Too bad he was a kid with no foresight with no way of knowing that we'd be so different. He had no idea I would be plagued with intrusive thoughts, violent urges, and a nearly manic state of being that could cause the entire mindscape to implode, splattering side guts against collapsing walls." Remus continued, losing that dignified aura. Patton winced at the implications.

"Hey, Douche, zip it. Literally." Virgil hissed and shifted to his knees to run his fingers through Patton's hair, just enough to ease his tension.

"Patton, you aren't the only one who caused the rift. That was all Thomas as he was growing and learning. You're as much a product of that time as we are." Deceit sighed.

"Besides you weren't the only one forcing the divide, Deceit and I are just as guilty." Virgil added.

"What gave you the idea it was all your fault? Who told you that you were abusive and manipulative?" Remus asked. Virgil shot him a look and Remus zippered his mouth shut, with a cartoonish zipper.

"Well, I kept seeing all these theories and stories and—" Patton began.

"They're absolutely right, a character who they're projecting onto without all the information has to be exactly as they invision." Deceit droned sarcastically, cutting him off.

"You can't please everyone, you have to focus on the people who matter most." Virgil said, "And those things that a bunch of strangers say aren't necessarily the truth. Take it from us."

"But those things have to come from somewhere!" Patton sobbed, "And what if they're right?"

"You can choose to believe me if you want," Deceit sighed, "You are not the exaggerated character in most stories—abusive, or stupid, or naive, or without bias. None of us are merely common tropes, despite the way the series is scripted. Sometimes people need a character to use as a stand-in." He averted his gaze an inhaled slowly.

"Deceit?" Patton whimpered. And that's when Remus unzipped his mouth.

"They made him abusive, murderous, conniving, the scum of the earth, a victim of abuse, suicidal, a soft little baby, a skeezy flirt, and the villain only I could come up with, all after appearing one time!" Remus cheered. Deceit and Virgil glared at him but that didn't stop him.

"They like to make me an obsessive, out-of-control, homicidal maniac who wants Roman to suffer—I mean that's not entirely inaccurate, I have my moments with Princey and I can get pretty manic, but they don't know me! Some of them make me a deranged puppy, suffering from horrible thoughts and isolation. And don't get me started on the shit they put Virgil through!"

"No! Not you too Virge!" Patton cried. Virgil zipped Remus' mouth shut again and sighed.

"Pops, you know I'm not a soft little innocent baby. You know how I'm mean and judgemental and I make threats. There's fics and theories about me being abusive too and fics that make me out to be a shy timid softie. Fics that make me the villain to make these two look better. But you don't believe those, or anything about the rest of us that you haven't learned first hand." Virgil replied.

"Yeah, you have a point there," Patton pouted, "but I can't come up with an outsider perspective for myself."

"You rely too much on how others perceive you." Deceit hummed, "In both positive and negative lights. Take it from any of us, falling for the diverse opinions of strangers is harmful."

"Especially when they're so varied." Virgil added.

"mphhhhh hmmm mmmm mmmph!" Remus grumbled enthusiastically. Then paused to banish the zipper.

"We all get shit, but only the finest compost is allowed in." he chuckled, "Think you can sort out the critique to let your garden bloom?"

"That was incredibly well thought out and positive." Patton commented all too soon.

"And then you'll have your choice of poisonous plants to play with and make the people in your way suffer an agonizing death!"

"There it is." Virgil grunted.

"Well at least the first part was uplifting." Patton pouted.

"Indeed. And if you find it hard to sort out the truth from the projections, my door is open." Deceit said, offering a half smile, "I know how hard it is to let them have their catharsis and keep a sense of self."

"For better or worse you have the three of us." Remus smiled, "The sly, the mad, and the stinky!"

"Pops, you have a whole lot more family than you think." Virgil added, and stood up,

"But right now I gotta go, teach Remus how to be you."

"Why Remus?" Patton questioned.

"Deceit is busy." Remus shrugged, "Byeeee!!" Then he and Virgil sank out. Patton was confused but oddly comforted. Deceit was watching him with concern and a certain fondness.

"After all I did to you, why did you come running?" Patton questioned and tried to sit up, "Why not get Roman and Logan?"

"Neither of them are quite equipped to handle that situation, not when Roman would blame himself and doubt his capability as a prince, and certainly not Logan, who's been bottling his feelings for far too long, seeing you like that would break him."

"But what about you and the other two?"

"Fight-or-flight is an instinctual protection, I am self-preservation, and Remus is a far more hands-on creativity, thinking on the fly and worming his way out of danger as quickly as he finds it," Deceit answered, "We shadowlings are here to protect Thomas, all of him, as prevention and damage control. We care about all of him, even if we don't see eye to eye."

"But Princey and Lo care about him."

"Despite his insistence on being a heroic knight, Roman is not a form of protection. Logic can provide some insight, but overall he is a guide, the three of you are."

"You have it all figured out." Patton pouted. Deceit shook his head and returned that pout in earnest.

"I don't." he sighed, "I'm not going to pretend that I do, unlike a certain educator. But I do know one thing for certain."

"What's that?"

"Thomas needs all of us, especially his emotions and morals. He needs you, Patton, no matter what anyone says."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Actions speak louder than words. Who was it who stitched you up and made pasta for you?"

"You made pasta?"

"With your secret ingredient." Deceit chuckled.

"Cumin." Patton said with a knowing grin.

"Yes." Deceit responded, flashing a snakey fang.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #blood tw #gore tw #self-hatred tw #patton angst #angst tw #hurt/comfort #sandyscribed

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