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fatecantstopme · 5 years

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The Serpent Queen (FP Jones x Reader)

Summary: The reader in this story is named ‘Piper’, but feel free to insert your name when reading! Simple FP Jones One Shot. Don’t worry, she’s 26 (perfectly legal!)

Warnings: Smut, cursing

(GIF Credit to @mona-stay)

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You were exhausted as you opened the door to your trailer and stumbled inside. It had been a horrendously long day and all you wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed. You peeled your leather jacket off and tossed it onto the couch. You continued removing articles of clothing while walking toward the bathroom, leaving the clothes where they fell. You were about to step into the shower when your phone buzzed. You walked out to the kitchen and picked it up to see who was calling. The name on the screen made your stomach do summersaults. You knew you couldn’t ignore it no matter how tired you were.

“Hello?”

“Hey Pipes. I need you to come in.”

You sighed. “I’m exhausted, boss. Could it wait until the morning?”

The man’s voice was gentle, but firm. “It’s important. I need you to come in. I called in Mustang and Tall Boy too.”

You knew that meant that something big was going down...and you couldn’t say no to the King. “Alright. I’ll be there in 15.”

You hung up and sighed. You loved your life, but sometimes being the best really sucked. You decided to take a quick shower before getting dressed and heading down to the Wyrm.

After your shower, you threw on a pair of distressed black jeans, a white v-neck, and combat boots. You threw your leather jacket on as you headed out the door. You hopped on your bike, started the engine, and sped off in the direction of the White Wyrm. The trip only took about 5 minutes, but when you arrived, you noticed that Mustang’s and Tall Boy’s bikes were already parked out front. You parked and headed inside, your thoughts evenly split between wondering what this was about and focusing on keeping your shit together. The King always had a certain effect on you and with the events of the last few months, this was even more true. The last thing you needed was for Mustang or Tall Boy to realize how you felt about your leader. You took a deep breath and walked through the door.

“There she is!” A voice boomed.

You grinned. “Hey, Tall Boy.” You fist bumped the giant man and did the same to Mustang.

“Hey, Piper. Thanks for joining us.” You turned around to face the owner of the voice and felt your heart skip a beat. The man standing in front of you was absurdly attractive. The epitome of ‘tall, dark, and handsome’. His dark hair was tousled slightly, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his brown eyes were tired, but you could see the spark in them when he looked at you. He was wearing his typical uniform: fitted jeans, t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel, combat boots, and of course, his Serpent jacket. It was the one thing that all of you had in common. Despite the layers, you could see the lean muscles of his strong body and you felt an intense desire to run your hands over his chest. You managed to keep your cool and shot your leader a smirk. “Anything for you, FP,” you said with a dramatic curtsey.

The other two men snickered and FP rolled his eyes. “Alright, people. We’ve got important business to discuss.” FP’s tone sobered the room. The three of you waited to hear what he had to say.

“We’ve got a problem that needs to be taken care of...and the three of you are the best I’ve got.”

“What kind of problem, boss?” Tall Boy asked.

“The Snake Charmer kind.”

You flinched. It was no secret that you and Penny Peabody hated each other. Even hearing her nickname made your blood boil. “What’d the bitch do now?” you asked through gritted teeth.

FP raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t admonish you. “She’s blackmailing us. Either we run drugs for her, or she takes it out on my son.”

Your breath caught in your chest. The Serpent kids were your purview. You were only 26, so the teens related to you. You protected them and mentored them. As far as you were concerned, a threat against one of your kids was a threat against you personally.

FP noticed your anger flaring. “Easy, Pipes,” he said gently.

“She threatened one of my kids. How did you think I was going to react?” You snapped.

“I know. He’s my son. How do you think I feel?” He snapped back.

You pursed your lips and stayed silent. After all, he had a point.

“So what are we gonna do?” Mustang asked, trying to ease the tension.

“Until further notice, the Serpents will be drug mules.”

Your face drained of color and you could sense the unease in the two men beside you. None of you said a word though, because FP’s voice had a tone of finality to it. When the King made a decree, there was no arguing it.

“So what do you need us to do?” You asked.

“The four of us are going to take the lead on this. I need you, Piper, to pick four kids to team up with us.”

You gasp audibly. “FP, you can’t put kids into this. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s less suspicious to have an adult and a kid team than having two adult men.”

“But they’re just kids,” you protested.

His expression hardened. “They’re Serpents. Pair four kids with the four of us. That’s an order.”

You could feel the anger bubbling under your skin and it took all of your self-control to not fight back. What he just ordered you to do went against everything you believed in...and who you were as a person.

Mustang could see your anger and he put a hand on your back. “Take a deep breath, P.” He gently rubbed your back as you took a couple deep breaths. You noticed FP’s entire body tense up as he watched you. His breathing was shaky and you knew he was struggling to keep his cool. You felt some satisfaction at seeing his discomfort, but you didn’t need him to flip out in front of witnesses. “Thanks, Mustang,” you said with a smile. He returned it and stepped back.

You turned your attention back to FP. “I’ll ask for volunteers tomorrow. You’ll get your teams. Sir.” You added the ‘sir’ with a little more venom than was necessary.

He nodded, ignoring your attitude. “Good. Then you’re all dismissed.”

You glared at him before turning toward the exit.

“Aww, come on, Pipes. You’re not gonna stay for a drink?” Tall Boy called after you.

“Sorry boys, not tonight. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow, then.”

You left with a wave and climbed onto your bike. The ride home was quick and you couldn’t wait to crawl into your bed. You were hurt and angry, which had pushed your exhaustion to the side. You changed into comfy clothes and sat on your bed. You were thinking about what had transpired tonight, as well as the events that had occurred over the past year.

It had been about 10 months ago when everything blew the hell up. FP Jones had gone to prison for the murder of Jason Blossom. When you’d heard the news, you’d been shocked. There was no way that FP would hurt a kid, let alone murder one. You got the sense that Tall Boy knew more than he was letting on, but he wouldn’t tell you anything. So you went directly to the source. Seeing FP shuffle in in an orange jumpsuit and cuffs broke your heart. His face lit up in surprise when he saw you sitting on the other side of the glass. From that moment on, something had changed between the two of you. You visited him every week and worked with Jughead to try and get him free.

The day that FP got out of prison was one of the happiest you’d ever experienced. That night, he’d knocked on your door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep. You sat on the couch and he laid down with his head in your lap. The two of you had talked for hours and you’d gently run your fingers through his hair. Eventually, you both fell asleep and when you woke up, you were surprised to see him still there...cooking you breakfast. That day began a growing relationship between you and the Serpent King. You’d been together for the past four months, but no one knew. Not because FP wanted to keep it a secret, but because you did. You didn’t want other Serpents to think you were sleeping with the boss to get special treatment or some bullshit. And you certainly didn’t want to upset Jughead in any way. So you asked him to keep it a secret and he agreed. He’d asked you just last week if he could officially announce it, but you were too nervous. He respected you enough to honor your wishes.

You sighed audibly. The memories of the past few months normally made you happy...but right now, all you could think about was how foolish you’d been to get involved with the older man. You’d developed real feelings for him and you thought he’d felt the same. Tonight’s events, however, made you question that. His orders showed a lack of respect for your morals...a lack of respect for you. Maybe it shouldn't bother you so much, after all those kids had voluntarily joined a gang. But they were still kids. And the Serpents weren’t that kind of gang. They looked out for their own; protected them. Now they were going to run drugs and force the kids to participate. It was just wrong.

You were jostled from your thoughts by a knock at your door. When you opened the door, you were surprised to find a solemn-faced FP standing on the steps. “FP, I don’t really want to see you right now.”

His frown deepened. “Pipes, can we please just talk?”

You looked him over and noticed that he looked older and more weary. This whole thing was clearly weighing on him, and it lowered your resolve. You simply stood back, allowing him to enter. He sat on the end of the couch and you sat on the other, pulling your legs up and turning to face him. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he finally spoke. “You’re upset with me.”

“Perceptive.”

He looked over at you. “It had to be this way, Piper. It’s the safest option for all of us.”

You just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. When he remained silent, you spoke up, “So that’s it? You’re not here to apologize?”

He furrowed his brow. “No offense, Piper, but I’m the King. I have nothing to apologize for.”

Your eyes widened in hurt and surprise. You blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “Then you can leave.” You stood up and gestured towards the door.

He looked up at you in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“FP, if you don’t understand why I’m upset, then this conversation is over. Now, please leave.” So I can cry in peace, you added silently.

He stood up and looked at you sadly. “Did I just screw this up?”

“Honestly, FP, I don’t know.”

He winced as if you’d slapped him and he turned and walked out without another word.

You collapsed onto the floor with your back against the couch and let the tears fall.

***FP’s POV***

I stomped into my trailer and slammed the door. What the hell have I done? I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. I sit down on the couch with a thud. I am such an idiot. I finally have a great relationship with an amazing woman and I let my ego fuck it up. I put my face in my hands and shake my head. I tell myself that it had to be done, that this was a good plan, but the words feel hollow.

“Dad? Are you okay?” Jughead tentatively steps out of his room. I can see the worry on his face and I want to reassure him, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

“Not really, Jug.”

He came into the living room and sat in the chair across from me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not something I should be discussing with my son.”

“Come on, Dad. Who else are you going to talk to?” He gestured around to the empty room.

The kid had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. “I messed up. I made a decision and I hurt someone that I care about.”

“One of the guys?”

I shook my head. “I, uh, haven’t been completely honest with you, Jughead. I’ve been seeing someone. She wanted to keep it a secret--”

“Piper?” he asked with a small smile.

I looked up at him in surprise. “You know?”

He laughed. “Of course I know! I’m not an idiot, Dad. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I can feel my face heat up. I’d tried to keep it professional around her, but she made me feel things that I never thought I’d feel again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I get it. Some people might judge.”

I simply nodded.

“So what did you do?

I sigh and fill him in on the events of the evening. Jughead was quiet for a few minutes after I’d finished. I knew he had a lot to work through...especially since this whole business with Penny started with him. “This is my fault,” he began.

“No, Jug, it’s not, okay? I’m taking care of it, so don’t worry about that part.”

“By turning the Serpents into drug mules? Dad, that’s not who we are.”

“You think I don’t know that, kid? I hate this as much as you do, but it’s the only option.”

“But sending kids to do it? Come on, Dad. You’re telling me that you can’t see why Piper is upset?”

“It’s a good plan,” I say defensively.

“That may be true, but think about it from her perspective. Piper loves us like we’re her younger siblings. She would die to protect a Serpent kid without a second thought. But you’re forcing her to do something that puts those very kids in danger. It goes against who she is a person. Hell, you ordered her to do it. Imagine how that would feel.”

I hung my head, realizing that my son was right. “Shit,” I mumbled.

“Dad?”

I looked up at him.

“Do you love her?”

I froze. The word ‘love’ always made me nervous. I hated using it and I hated hearing it. But Piper was different...everything about her was different. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine living the rest of my life without Piper. I realized with a pang that I couldn’t do it. Losing her might very well be the death of me. I made eye contact with my son and said softly, “With all my heart.”

He smiled. “Then you have to get her back. You might want to start with an apology.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. “When the hell did you get to be so wise?”

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I was born this way.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up. “Go back to bed, oh wise one.”

Jughead smiled and headed back to his room.

“Hey, Jug.” He turned back around to look at me. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “Anytime, Dad.”

I changed my clothes and collapsed on my bed. The weight of the day exhausted me. My heart ached, but I knew that Piper would need time before she’d see me again. I hoped that I could see her before tomorrow’s meeting so we could clear the air. I fell asleep thinking about what I was going to say to get my girl back.

***Your POV***

You’d fallen asleep after crying it out for a little while. You felt no better today and your eyes were red and puffy. You knew you’d need to try and remedy that before heading to the Wyrm. You didn’t want people to know that you’d been crying, least of all FP. You took a long, hot shower, then put a face mask on and some under eye masks too. You laid on your bed, naked, and tried to relax your mind. After 20 minutes, you got up and washed your face. You smiled when you saw that your skin wasn’t blotchy and your eyes weren’t puffy. They were still a little red, but that was as good as it was gonna get. You took your time getting ready...you were in no hurry to see FP. Hell, if you were a different person, you would have made up some excuse to not go today. But you weren’t a quitter, so you pulled yourself together and headed to the Wyrm.

When you walked into the bar, you were surprised by how crowded it was. It was only 9:30am on a Saturday. One of your kids was the first to notice you enter. “Hey, Piper!”

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” you said with a smile. “What are y'all doing here here so early on a Saturday?”

Sweet Pea shrugged. “The boss texted us to come in.”

You hadn’t gotten that message, but maybe it was because you were already planning on coming in. You perched yourself on the barstool between Sweet Pea and Fangs. “I wonder what this is about,” you muttered.

“No one seems to have any idea,” Fangs replied.

A loud wolf whistle brought everyone’s attention to the other side of the room. FP was standing up on the stage so that everyone could see and hear him. Seeing him sent a shockwave of emotions through your body...not all of them good. You couldn’t believe that he’d called a meeting without including you. You were wondering what the hell he was gonna say when he began to speak.

“Sorry for calling you all in so early on a Saturday.” Laughter and boos spilled out around the room. “But what I have to say is so important that it couldn’t wait.” He took a deep breath. “The Serpents are going to have to do something that I’m really not happy about, but it has to be done in order to protect our youngest members. I met with three of our best yesterday to discuss our next moves. I made a decision during that meeting that I have now come to regret. I neglected to take other people’s opinions into account and for that, I am truly sorry. So today, I am announcing my new decision. A few of us will have to risk everything for the good of this family. So, as of today, myself, Tall Boy, Mustang, and Levi will become drug runners for Penny Peabody.”

His voice was drowned out by angry shouts from almost every person in the room. You simply sat in stunned silence, unable to form a single coherent thought. FP raised his voice, fighting for dominance. Finally, he whistled again and everyone fell silent. “I know you’re angry and so am I, but we don’t have a choice. She threatened some of our youngest Serpents and I will not stand for that. So we’re going to do what she wants, even if it costs us.”

FP scanned the room until his eyes found you. “There’s a person here that means the world to me...and I hurt her in ways I didn’t truly understand until now. And for that, I am incredibly sorry. I’m going to do everything I can to make it right...no matter how long it takes.” The room stood in stunned silence. FP had just admitted that he loved a woman in this room and publicly apologized for hurting her.

Your whole body was frozen. His words hit you deep and spurred something inside of you. You stood up and looked your King in the eyes. “In unity, there is strength,” you said, your voice strong and firm.

Everyone turned to look at you, but your eyes never left FP’s. Seconds passed, then the entire room responded in kind, “In unity, there is strength!”

FP nodded and jumped off the stage, effectively ending the meeting. Everyone started chatting and a voice behind you said, “Holy shit. He was talking about you.” You turned to see Toni Topaz staring at you in shock. You nodded slowly, “Yes...he was.”

The rest of the group that surrounded you gasped audibly and started asking all kinds of questions. A deep voice from behind saved you from having to answer any of them. “Do you kids mind if I steal Piper for a while?” FP asked.

A chorus of “yeahs” and “go aheads” resounded. You rolled your eyes at their expressions and followed the King upstairs to his office. The moment he closed the door, you spoke, “Well that was very public.”

He blushed. “I’m so sorry, Pipes. For all of it. I didn’t realize what I’d done until I talked it over with Jughead.”

Your eyes widened. “You told Jughead?!”

He shrugged. “He already knew. All I did was confirm it. He said--and I quote-- ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her.’”

You were quiet for a moment. “Was he okay with it?”

“More than okay. He wanted me to fix things with you.”

Now it was your turn to blush. “I can see that that emboldened you.”

“Maybe a little bit.” He smiled. “Which is also why I changed the plan. It’s more dangerous, but you were right. We can’t do that to the kids.”

“I’m glad that you agree, but why take me out of it?”

“To protect you. I realized last night that I can’t bear to lose you.”

You looked at him affectionately. “FP...”

“Let me finish or I’ll never get this out.” You nod and he continues. “You have changed my life, Pipes. You make it better in every possible way...and you make me better. How can I not love you? I meant what I said earlier, you mean the world to me. It scares the shit out of me, but I love you, Piper Coronado. I love you with all my heart.”

You stood there frozen in shock. FP wasn’t a particularly open man when it came to his feelings and it was well known how he felt about the ‘L word’, so his revelation had you reeling.

“Pipes...please, say something.”

You realized you’d been silent for too long. “I’m sorry. I’m just shocked.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I --”

“Shut up,” you say, cutting him off. You close the space between you and pull his face down to yours, your lips crashing together. After a few moments, you pull away breathless. You look up at him and say softly, “I love you, too, FP Jones. I always have.”

His face lit up and he grinned. He grabbed you and pulled you into him, kissing you passionately. He gripped your thighs and pulled you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried you over to the desk and sat you on top of it, clearing everything off with a sweep of his arm. Everything crashed to the ground and you winced. “FP! They’ll hear us downstairs.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s sound-proofed.”

You returned his grin and pulled him closer with your legs. “Well in that case...” You tugged at the bottom hem of his shirt and he got the message and pulled it off over his head. You reached for him and he leaned back in to kiss you. Your body reacted to his touch and you let out a soft moan as he trailed kisses down your neck. “Lose the jacket,” he murmured against your neck. You wiggled your arms out of your jacket and tossed it on the floor. His hands immediately slid up under your shirt and you pulled it off over your head to give him better access.

You could see the massive bulge through his jeans and you slowly ran your hand across it, sending a shiver up his spine. “Lose the pants, handsome.” He grinned and quickly yanked them off. You licked your lips and murmured, “Boxers too.”

“How is that fair? You’re almost fully dressed!” He protested.

You smiled and slid off the desk as you slowly unclasped your bra and tossed it to the side. FP watched your every move, the hunger in his eyes spurring you on. You turned around so your back was to him and slowly slid your jeans down your legs. You leaned forward, giving him a great view of your lace-covered ass. He let out a low groan and the instant your pants were out of the way, he was right up behind you, pressed against your back. He peppered kisses down your neck and shoulder while his hands explored your breasts. You let out a low moan and leaned back into him.

“Turn around, baby.”

You obliged, turning to face him. He pushes against you until you hit the desk. He gently slipped his hands under your ass and lifted you onto the desk. He immediately drops to his knees and spreads your legs wide. He nuzzles against the lace of your panties, causing you to gasp. He takes his time, gently kissing your inner thighs, sending sweet sensations through your body. The more he teased you, the more you needed him. “FP,” you groaned, “quit teasing me.”

“Do you not like it?” He asked softly.

“You know I do, but it’s cruel.”

He chuckled softly and grabbed your hips. “Lift up.” You did as you were told and he quickly slid the lace bits off your body and discarded them on the floor. He looked you over, his eyes filled with desire. “You’re so gorgeous, Piper.”

You smiled and beckoned him towards you. He leaned over you and planted a soft kiss on your lips before getting down on his knees again. He placed his hands on your inner thighs and slid his tongue between your folds. Your head fell back and you moaned as he began licking and sucking with fervor. You tanged your fingers in his hair and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to his mouth. Waves of pleasure radiated through your body and you felt the familiar knot tightening in your stomach. You lifted your hips to meet him and begged him not to stop. His grip on you tightened and he sped up, sliding two fingers inside of you, gently stroking your g-spot. Within seconds, an intense orgasm racked your body and you cried out in pleasure. FP rode the waves as your body bucked beneath, not stopping until you gently tugged on his hair. He lifted his head and looked at you with a grin. You pulled him up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips.

He pulled away and whispered, “I want you, baby.” You smiled and reached for him. He pulled you close and you wrapped your legs around his waist so that he could pick you up. He carried you to the couch and gently laid you down before crawling on top of you. He kissed you and you ran your hands down his hard body, appreciating the toned muscles. He let out a soft groan against your lips, clearly appreciating your touch. He began moving down your body, kissing your neck, nibbling at your collar bone, and gently licking at your nipples before leaning back and grabbing his cock. You bit your lip and lifted your hips slightly, indicating to him that you wanted him. He slowly rubbed his cock against your entrance and you moaned breathlessly. “I want you, FP,” you said.

“How badly?”

“More than you can imagine. Give me what I want,” you demanded.

“As you wish, my Queen.” And with that, he slid inside of you, filling you up in ways only he could.

You were surprised by his choice of words, but all thoughts quickly left your mind as he started to move. You moaned softly and dug your nails into his back. He leaned forward and nipped at your neck as he increased his pace. “Shit, Pipes. You feel so good,” he groaned.

He shifted your body so that he hit your g-spot with each thrust. You gasped and clung to him as he began to pump faster, slamming into you, pleasuring you as only he could. “Fuck, FP. I’m so close.”

“Not yet, baby. You cum when I tell you to.”

You nod and he continues his glorious assault on your body. His movements become more erratic and his body tenses up. You know that he’s close too. Just when you think that you can’t take it anymore, he murmurs, “Cum for me baby.”

You feel your body completely give in to him and a second orgasm sends you into spasms of pleasure. You feel him spill into you, moaning loudly as your walls milk everything from his cock. Eventually, he slows and collapses on top of you. “That was incredible,” he whispers into your neck.

“You’re incredible,” you say back.

He kisses your neck and pulls himself to his feet. He starts to get dressed and you do the same. It dawns on you that you have something you need to ask him. “FP?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“What did you mean when you called me your Queen?”

He eyed you carefully. “I want you to be my Queen,” he said softly. “But only if that’s what you want.”

You smile at him and pull him in for a kiss. “Of course that’s what I want.”

He grins at you and takes your hand to lead you downstairs...he had another important announcement to share with the rest of the Serpents.

#fp jones #fp jones x reader #fp jones one shot #fp jones smut #smut #riverdale #riverdale smut #riverdale imagine #fp jones imagine

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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The Fast and Furious: Stripe Drift || Jane and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s apartment and then some fun travel PARTIES: @jane-the-zombie and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: FOLLOW THAT MIME! CONTENT WARNING: Reckless driving (motorcycle)

Kaden was running out of sick leave, but he couldn’t possibly go to the station or the shelter covered in black and white stripes. The field would be just as bad. But somehow work had to get done. He could do desk duty from home, right? Only, uh, well, he needed his files. Or anything. There was no way in hell he was calling Gary. He already felt like shit, the last thing he needed in his life was Gary. He sure as shit wasn’t calling Stryder and he had a feeling Sarge was going to have more questions than was worth his time. Which left Wu. He just had to figure out how to get the files without her seeing him. At all. Not even a little. He asked her to leave them at the door. So why was his phone ringing? “Hello? Wu? Are you bringing the files? You can just leave them at the doorstep. I’m very sick, super contagious. Really best if you just drop them off.” he said, adding in a few coughs for extra effect.

“I’m outside, Paw Patrol,” Jane replied, leaning against her bike, files tucked under her arm. Last thing she expected to do today was pick up desk duty for animal control. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Those coughs sounded as real as could be, and she didn’t really feel like walking all the way up to Kaden’s apartment building. “Come on Langley, come and get’em, I don’t really give a shit if you give me cooties or whatever?” If she didn’t know any better, Jane would have accused him of playing hooky. And if she didn’t know that Kavanagh would rather cheerfully throw herself out a second story window rather than miss work, she’d tease him about wanting to spend more time with his girlfriend by pretending to be sick.

“Outside?” Kaden said, his heart dropping to his stomach. He couldn’t have her see him like this. Leaving the apartment hadn’t gone well before, but at least he hadn’t run into anyone he knew. This, Wu? She’d never let him live it down. “Can’t you just stop being an asshole and drop them off? I’m not feeling w--” A chill ran down his spine. The one that meant a werewolf was nearby. Or maybe… “Hold on.” He grabbed his scarf, gloves, and jacket despite the heat, trying to cover up what he could, and peeked out of the door. There was a scuttle, a familiar inhuman movement. A small creature on all fours. The mime that had emerged from the cookies. It was at least ten inches tall now. And it was booking it. “Putain!” He reached inside to grab a knife, but when he looked back, the creature was gone. “Get back here!” he yelled, forgetting the phone was still in hand as he ran down the stairs to try and find the thing. He saw it stretch and morph, pulling itself through the underside of the door. Fast. Far too fast. He ran after it, watching it crawl past Wu and her motorcycle. “Not this time, connard! Not this fucking time!”

Jane was about to mock Kaden for being a big baby when something distracted him… And then he was yelling. “Langley? Langley!” She snapped into the phone, and started striding right to the front door, only for a cat to slip out, followed by Kaden. A striped Kaden. She hung up the phone. “Are you striped?!” Jane asked in amused disbelief, except then she got a good look at what she originally called a cat. “What is that! What is that! Argh!” This was the bad place. The thing stretched and skittered across the pavement way too quickly for it to ever be possible. “WHat the hell is that!” It seemed to grow just a bit bigger, it’s black and white body a stark contrast against the pavement. Jane was moving after it before she even realized what happened, and next thing she knew she was at her bike, chucking the helmet she didn’t wear at Kaden. “Hop on, let’s go.”

Oh fuck, Kaden almost forgot he was striped and covered in the stupid face paint. Almost. Either way, Wu sure reminded him. “Maybe. It’s not by choice, alright! We gotta follow that--” Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself catching a helmet. A helmet? For what? He looked down at it, then back up at her. And her motorcycle. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Wu. There’s no way I’m getting on that thing with y--” Out of the corner of his eye, Kaden saw the creature scurrying away, further and further, about to be just out of vision. A string of French curse words flew out of his mouth as he shoved the stupid fucking helmet on his head and climbed onto the stupid fucking bike behind Wu. “You better drive saAAAAAAAAFE,” he screamed as she took off speeding, his arms barely locked around her before she started.

“You said the same thing about the rollercoaster!” Jane laughed - yes, laughed. She wanted to figure out what that thing was, despite everything. She just barely waited for Kaden to grab onto her before she revved the bikes engine and was off like a shot. The damn thing only seemed to go faster and faster and faster. Jane was known for speeding - in fact, she frequently pushed the bike up to 90-100 miles per hour at night with no helmet on. She caught up easily, gaining on the stupid little mime thing. “What is that!” Jane didn’t know if he could hear her scream over the sound of the bike, the adrenaline and - oh crap, was he screaming too? - Jane wove around a large pickup truck, hardly paying attention as the driver laid on the horn. Come on, come on, come on! And then they took a sharp turn down another large stretch of road. “Will this thing ever stop running?!”

Kaden felt his stomach rolling and reeling as the motorcycle darted through traffic. Putain de fucking merde, was that a truck? That truck almost cut them off. He was going to die. This is how he died. Not by werewolf, mime, or even by banshee, but a fucking motorcycle driven by an almost zombie adrenaline junkie cop. “Slow down, what the fuck! THAT’S A CAR, THAT’S A-- STOP!” he shouted while she clearly ignored him and sped around with no cares in the world. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure he was one fucking swerve away from a heart attack. “And where the fuck is your helMEEETTT.” The sharp angle of the turn nearly sent him spilling off the edge and his arms wrapped around her tighter. He was likely using entirely too much hunter strength but right now he didn’t give a fuck if he bruised one of her ribs or two, he wanted to live. “I don’t fucking know but try not to kill us!”

“My helmet’s on your head!” Jane called back. But it wasn’t like she wore it anyway. She really only carried it around because Marley bought it for it and gave her a look every time she saw her not wearing the damn thing. The only reason she slowed down a little was because Kaden had a death grip on her torso. “Ow - ow - ow! Can you stop! Loosen up!” This wasn’t at all like when she rode with Marley. Except she didn’t have time to think about the pain in her ribs because the fucking mime thing burst off the road and into the field. And, automatically, Jane followed. She surged the bike off the road and down onto the dirt bellow, careening after the fucking thing like it was some really fast rabid dog. “Hold on tight! We’re off roading!”

“I loosen up when you slow the fuck down!” Kaden screamed in her ear. It surely didn’t hurt as much as any time Regan screamed ever, but he hoped it hurt a fucking little after the sheer amount of fucking panic he was experiencing. “We’re what?” Kaden asked as his eyes went wide. Was she really turning onto the dirt. Off the road? Off the-- They were going off of the road. Away from the road. “No,” was all he said at first. And then the ride got bumpier and it was clear she wasn’t turning around. “No, no, no. Wu, no. WU, NO!” All Kaden could do was scream more as they flew through the dirt and grass, his voice breaking up and bouncing with every jostle of the motorcycle. At this point, he was almost okay with letting the fucking thing live. It was fine. He could be a mime forever so long as he never had to do this again.

Dirt, grass, and small rocks kicked off behind them as she sped through the field abd after the mime fiend. Jane watched in some horror as the mime stopped, stood upright…. And then melted into what looked like a black sticky substance. “Uh-oh.” Jane was going too fast to stop, and next thing she knew, they were flying through the sauce on the bike. The bike slid, and for 10 solid seconds, Jane was certain they were going to crash. At least Kaden’s wearing the helmet. But Jane steadied them, swinging the bike around as dirt and mud sprayed back behind them before forcing the bike to jerk to a stop. Jane cut the engine just as she spotted the black, sticky sauce moving across the ground, before disappearing down into a nearby drain. Jane pressed her lips together in a thin line, before wincing. Her ribs? Bruised. But maybe she deserved it. Her thoughts sobered a little when Daniel’s voice echoed in her head -- you’re out of control, Wu. She looked behind her, a little guiltily. “How you doing, Paw Patrol?”

Kaden was pretty sure his screams reached a new decibel as the bike spun out of control. It was nearly impossible to remember that he had to be conscious not to break Wu’s ribs as he clung onto her. It slowed and he thought it might have stopped, but he couldn’t tell because his world was still spinning. Was he seeing this right? Did the mime monster turn to ooze? And, yaah, pretty sure it slithered away. “What the fuck?” he said at the sight of the sauce disappearing into the drain. Then he remembered. They were stopped. He let go of Wu, scrambled off the bike as quickly as possible and considered heaving right then and there. “What the fuck, Wu?!” she said back to her, shouting once again. “Were you trying to get us killed?! Do you normally do this?! Why?! WHY?! I know you’re going to bounce the fuck back but I’m not! And why aren’t you wearing a helmet, if your head gets damaged you won’t come back at all! If you end up as a fucking pancake on the side of the road, no amount of zombie anything is going to let you live!” Kaden screamed again and turned to let a new slew of curse words in multiple languages fly while he tried to get his pulse back down to a respectable fucking level.

Jane winced as Kaden started screaming at her, talking about pancakes and zombies and helmets as well as a multitude of colorful things in multiple languages that she only half-understood. Crap. “Hey, hey! You said follow the mime!” Jane said, hands raised in slight defense. Of course, he was right, but she wasn’t about to easily admit that. “I only own one helmet, I thought it would be better for you to wear it instead of me.” Jane prodded at her ribs, wincing again, before glancing back at him. “Sorry, though. I would have gone myself if I knew you weren’t going to like it. I do normally drive like that - hey.” Jane squinted, leaning forward. Something was off about his face - wait. Wait. “The stripes are gone. Off your face.” She leaned against the seat of her bike, pointing. “You’re clean.”

“I know what I said but I didn’t think you would drive like th-- Wait, what?” Kaden looked down and took the gloves off his hands. His hands. That were flesh colored. And not striped. No black, no white. Pink fleshy skin tone and blue veins. He squished it a bit to make sure. He pulled up his sleeves to check and still, no sign of stripes. “I’m clean? Putain, I’m clean! No more stripes. What about my face? Is my face okay, too?” He pulled out his phone and fumbled with the screen until he opened the front facing camera. There was his face. No paint. No dumb black triangles or silly eyebrows painted on. “The screaming worked, holy shit!” Regan was right! Again! Somehow! He ran over to Wu and picked her up into a hug. “No more stripes!” he said, beaming. And recalling pretty quickly that he bruised her ribs. And that she was his colleague. “Right, sorry. Just excited,” he said as he quickly put her down. “It didn’t go away for a few days, so yeah. Uh, ride back? Slower? Much, much slower.”

“Your face is fine too - oh.” Jane watched in amusement as he pulled out his phone to look at his face. “The screaming? What do you me - Whoa!” And Kaden has seized her, picking her up in a big hug that hurt her ribs. Laughing loudly, Jane shook her head. “Hey! Ow! Put me down!” But her words mixed with laughter as he seemed to sheepishly put her down. She snorted. “No kidding, huh? I guess what they say about Hunters having a killer grip is true.” She poked at her ribs again, feeling the pain shoot through them. Ouch. That was going to hurt for a bit. Well, she certainly had worse. Jane grinned at him when said she could drive back, bending to pick up the helmet off the ground and held it out to him. “Don't worry, I promise I'll only speed a little.”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #janethezombie #jane #fast and the furious stripe drift

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panstutteringbill · 4 years

Note

*clears throat* PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT BEN x BILL!

THANK YOU

this was a while ago but please enjoy!

they meet the same way they do in 2017 canon - with Ben stumbling along Bill, Richie, Eddie and Stan with his injuries from Bowers and they help him out.

And Ben’s first impression of Bill had been in a classroom surrounded by the Bowers Gang and stuttering out a chapter one of their teachers made him read while a pretty rogue flush ate at his cheeks and he looked on the verge of tears that made Ben want to protect until Richie Tozier had said, “Fuck off, sir!” and then the topic had changed and when the class had ended (Richie with one more detention than previously), the Losers had gathered around Bill’s desk as he slammed his head against his desk and Ben had been quiet enough as he collected his books to hear Bill groan, “I ha-ha-hate my st-st-st-st-stutter so fu-fucking much.”

That had been his original first impression though he had vaguely heard about ‘Stuttering Bill’

His second had been when he had been in the middle of research and he had looked at one of the articles and it read ‘George Denbrough’ in the same line as, ‘missing with concern from his older brother, William...’ and Ben’s breath had caught.

( all of the research he did, he didn’t hear a single survivor and his heart goes out to Bill in a way that feels painful)

But then, he meets Bill and it’s actually Bill - it’s not Bill Denbrough, or Stuttering Bill, or Grieving Bill - it’s just Bill.

It’s Bill with gentle, concerned eyes and sure hands to pluck him out of the dirty sewer water with a stuttered, "Sh-shit, you okay?"

And then despite the shit water all over him, Bill pulls him onto the back of his bike Silver with no hesitation

Ben rides into Derry's main town with a flushed face as he clings to Bill and he wants to blame it on the injury but he can feel the lean muscles of Bill's stomach beneath his green shirt and he feels too close too fast

It shouldn't feel intimate, he guesses from the other Losers casualness - though Richie looks at his flushed cheeks, pauses, looks at him with the ghost of something like familiarity and understanding before he nods, and says, "Glad I got to meet you before you died."

Ben doesn't get these boys but he thinks he likes them

(He even likes them when Bill is a little too close to his blooming crush, Beverly Marsh)

(( it's a confusing feeling when he has a crush on both Bill and Bev))

But then they go to the Quarry, and Bill is all azure eyes, reassuring smiles and a bare chest but Ben can't stop thinking about how odd it is to be friends with these boys - how they all arrived fully clothed and just started stripping while not looking at each other (though, if Ben were to focus, he does notice Richie Tozier's spectacle gaze linger on them for a moment but Ben wipes it off as for material in a joke that never comes) and then they just, hang out? And it feels exponentially weird to Ben and he's staring at the concave of Bill's stomach below the prominence of his ribcage and he both hates himself and loves Bill.

(it's a weird day)

And then, they're all together in the Quarry, and they're goofing off and Bill has Bev settled on his shoulders and Richie is on Ben's as they play something the loudest boy called "chicken" and then Bill and Ben are close and as he feels the jostle of Richie and Bev tussling, he looks and Bill...Bill is smiling at him, all whistful eyes and something that says 'well...hi there, I never noticed you were here before'. It makes Ben feel oddly warm.

Then Bill is staring at Bev and he's trying to say something but the words are getting caught in his throat and Ben knows where it's going but can't listen to the broken compliment come from his crush anymore so he says, "Your hair looks beautiful, Beverly." to get the moment over with

Bill sends him a dejected, almost hurt look and Ben tries for a reassuring smile. It doesn't come. He feels bad.

Then they're in his room and the others are digging through his things and he thinks he sees Eddie lift up one of his cologne bottles to smell it and he thinks concerned is this what having friends is like? and Richie and Eddie and Stan talk in murmurs and laughs and Richie says 'ha, nerd!' but then shoves his glasses up his nose and his eyes are all goodnatured and Ben doesn't mind. Bill's question about the sewer line diagrams comes a moment later and he's over there, standing near Bill and talking about it as Bill's thin and gentle fingers grip the picture and Bill nods at him as he rambles about them and he would find it in himself to feel stupid but Bill has a look in his eyes that makes Ben feel like the other boy finds him particularly important.

Then they're in Bill's garage and they're looking at photos when it becomes haunted and flicks over to a photo of the Denbroughs and he's stunned Bill's smile looks forced but his grip on Georgie is genuinely loving and Georgie looks ... different but Ben has only seen him in Missing posters (Ben had torn that one down before Bill came into the room and hoped the older boy wouldn't notice) so he thinks it's obvious.

Bill stands as they all run and he's rigid, a possessed calm in his entire body and while Ben is thinking of a plan, Mike saves him, drags him closer to him and is the one to Bill (figures, he thinks with no bitterness, Mike is awesome)

Bill runs to Neibolt and Ben follows, Ben follows because the Losers follow, Ben follows because he couldn't imagine doing anything else

Bill gives them a speech on the doorstep of the haunted house and Ben wants to cup his cheeks, stroke his hair and offer him apologies and assurances he can't prove right. Instead, he comforts Bev when she gets nervous and pretends he doesn't see Stan crying.

He gets sliced into by Pennywise but it still doesn't hurt as much as Bill's tearful rasped, "Ben?" like he can't believe that Ben is leaving after the others abandon and he wants to assure Bill that he's a call away, that he's always going to be thinking about this, about Bill.

Ben Hanscom offers a half-believable lie that tastes like i don't know how to love a boy like you, Bill - I don't know if I even am supposed to.

Beverly gets kidnapped a month later by Pennywise and Richie's voice is frantic on the other side of the phone but he can hear Bill's stutter vaguely in the background and forgetting the fear washing over him with Beverly being taken, he asks Richie why Bill didn't call him and Richie's voice is more somber than he's ever heard it - even during their fight - when he says, "He was worried you wouldn't come...if it was him."

He comes. Of course, he does.

For Bill, for Bev, who knows?

He kisses Bev and it's alright - she makes a little part of him warm and beat harder but his body breaks out in a full hot flush when he thinks what if Bill saw us? what if it was Bill?

Pennywise knows where their heart and determination lies so IT drags Bill away from the group and promises that IT would leave them alone if they only gave It Bill and Bill rasps out an apology and tells them to go.

Ben doesn't consider leaving for a second.

He curls around the group as Bill cries and he wants to press kisses to his cheeks.

He leaves after the blood oath - he knows what has been going on between Bill and Bev and he thinks that they both deserve this.

(He may cry a little walking away, but maybe, he thinks, he deserves that?)

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oatsn-honey · 5 years

Text

cornflowers and caramel cubes

chapter one - aches and anxiety

masterlist

ao3

summary: Kageyama was always observant of his boyfriend, small and beautiful, vibrant and loud. Drinking in each feature, every word that fell from his lips, he could never get his fill. He was utterly enamored. And yet, how could he have missed something as blatantly obvious as this?

Or:Hinata gets extremely ill -- it’s appendicitis.

notes: i'm back writing fics i'm not supposed to beeeeeee help haikyuu and kagehina is absorbing my life-force and commanding me to create content this was a little hurt/comfort idea (when is it not hurt/comfort with me) that just popped in my head! pls enjoy!! <333 thank u sm for reading!

btw, just some warnings!! this does involve vomiting and vomiting blood, as well as other mentions of illness. there are hints to anxiety, but purely situational anxiety!

He looked beautiful that day, Kageyama thought. But, he looked beautiful every day. That didn’t stop his eyes from sneaking glances at him -- his milk skin; tangerine-pink lips, soft and supple (he would know, after all); those freckles that were lovelier than the stars painted in the sky; and, of course, that smile that never ceased to make his heart skip a beat (or ten) and immediately send heat straight to the tips of his ears.

“Tobio?” His voice, the sound like the morning sun, broke the setter from the stupor he had unknowingly found himself in. (Though, if he were to be honest, this was becoming a daily occurrence.) “You good?” The boy in front of him waved a small hand -- everything about him was small, except for maybe his heart. And eyes. And tenacity. And . . . -- in his face. Wait, when had he started staring?

“Uh, yeah. All good, Hinata.” He could feel his cheeks burning, the back of his neck feeling uncomfortably warm. The sun beating down at them wasn’t helpful in the slightest. Briefly, Kageyama found himself groaning internally -- When did I become so sappy? It’s gross. He’s gross. But cute.

He slumped against the brick wall, poking absently at the lunch placed in his lap. With a sigh, he switched his chopsticks for a box of milk. His brows pressed together, and he willed the warmth from his face away, as he sucked through the straw. His eyes slid over to Hinata, his partner aimlessly gazing at his food. Oddly, a murmur of distress fell from his lips, and he abruptly closed the lid to his bento, pushing it aside.

Kageyama curiously curled his lips to the side. Cocking an eyebrow, he prodded at his boyfriend, “Are you good?” Cornflower met caramel as they shared a look. A small hum from Hinata told him that he was alright, but Kageyama believed otherwise. That look in his eyes; it was pleading.

Practice was more-or-less a bust. At least, that’s what thought was at the forefront of the small decoy’s mind. Hunched over, a sharp and nagging pain coursing through his abdomen, Hinata counted the minutes until practice ended. 98, to be exact.

It didn’t help that Coach Ukai clearly had a personal vendetta against them (at least in the redhead’s mind), each player in nearly the same position as Hinata -- if not, their hands were atop their heads and heaving chests faced the ceiling. As the others regained their vigor enough to joke and laugh, though, Hinata’s breaths continued to come in short, laborious gasps that left his innards feeling as though they were contorting and twisting about within his body.

A single shout is an executive order for Hinata’s head. “12 laps around the gym, sprint!” A simple task, really. But with his intestines so jumbled, breaths simple puffs of air, and head pounding against his eyes, blood pumping in his ears, Hinata didn’t know if he could take even a single step more. He starts anyway, mindful to blend in with the others -- don’t fall behind; don’t push ahead. Just inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale through that knife stabbing at your stomach.

Next, receives. He supposed it went fine, considering he already tended to do poorly in that area. He swallowed harshly when a sardonic laugh made its way to his ear; “It’s almost like it’s the beginning of the year again!” He didn’t question who said it, only focused on not collapsing on the hardwood floor. His stomach should be a gymnast, he thought, with all of its tumbles and flips. An involuntary shiver ran through him as a tsunami of pain made its way to shore.

“5 minutes!” A chorus of relieved sighs and exclamations echoed in the gym, and the boys made their way towards the bench. Unsteadily, Hinata followed suit, his legs quivering and body tense. It’ll pass with a swig of water, he told himself. But when his trembling hands brought the water bottle up to his mouth, the opening knocking lightly against his teeth, he came to regret that thought.

It was all too much.

The shouts of Nishinoya and Tanaka.

The choir of heavy breathing and the squeal of shoes against the polished floor.

The sweat dripping down his back, the migraine threatening at his temples.

That awful twisting in his gut.

Hinata found himself on the floor propped on his hands and knees, his entire body burning and aching. The whole team had encircled him. His arms shook, but he was soon held protectively in someone’s arms. He grasped at their shirt, a wet sob broke past his lips, and he turned his face into them as strong hands rubbed circles into his quivering back. Kageyama.

He was covered in his own vomit. The floor was. The equipment was. Everything.

A hand, slightly cold to the touch, tenderly pushed his soaked bangs back from his forehead. As the black dots, piercing at his eyes, fade away, he sees the blurry face of Suga, gentle brows furrowed and his face pale with worry. “Hey,” he cooed, voice as lilting and soothing as ever. As the ringing in his ears quieted, but never truly disappeared, he could hear someone on the phone. His eyes flitted around the room anxiously, and his heart rate spiked.

“Hey, now, Hinata, look at me, okay?” That hand, still holding back his sweaty hair, gently scraped at his scalp, and he surrendered to the touch. “What’s wrong?” So the interrogation began.

A pained groan was as suitable a response as Sugawara had expected “Understandable,” Daichi’s booming voice, disquieted, pitched in from behind the setter. “Here,” he whispered, handing something to Suga that Hinata couldn’t make out. He twitched nervously in Kageyama’s -- whom he was relying completely on to sit up -- arms. “Don’t worry,” Sugawara reassured, his presence relaxing Hinata’s frantic pulse, “I’m just going to check your temperature.”

His senses returned to him slowly, but he could feel the thermometer underneath his tongue as the thermometer read his temperature. His eyes, dazed and misty-eyed, settled on Suga, his soft features quelling his panic. A small beep-beep-beep reached his ears, and the thermometer was taken back. His eyes shifted up to his captain, who hissed as he read the temperature. “38.5.” A groan rang throughout the gym and only then did Hinata fully comprehend just how close everyone was. It was suddenly too hot, too stuffy, too close.

“Okay, kiddo. Give him some space, guys!” Daichi ordered. Had he said that last bit out loud? He didn’t care, Hinata decided, simply needing to end the agony riddling his stomach. His exhale was trembling as he weakly pressed closer to Kageyama.

“Is it your stomach?” the raven-haired setter spoke softly in his ear. He nodded minutely, hands snaking around his own midsection. He hissed as Kageyama adjusted his grip on his feverish body, the movement jostling his tender pains far too greatly. He couldn’t help the whimper from escaping, his eyes screwed shut, as Kageyama rose to his feet, carrying him with the grace that could only belong to a setter towards the bench.

Hinata could feel hot tears stinging his eyes, angry with himself (for his weakness, he supposed), ashamed, and unable to stop the small whines of pain that slipped past his parted lips. He fell asleep to Kageyama’s soft whispers of, “It’s okay, Shou, you’re alright. I’m here.”

30 minutes later, he awoke to the stabbing in his gut, but he was somehow in his bed, blankets tossed about from his tossing. Downstairs, he could hear, and smell, his mother cooking. But the thought of food simply made him blanch.

As he shuffled into the gym Hinata steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation with his team; their demands as to why he was there. Their eyes turned to him and he was already prepared to shrug off their questions and answer half-heartedly. But what he had expected to be simple turned out to be more difficult than the arduous bike ride across the mountains (he would be sure to keep to himself the fact that he had to take several breaks, and had once found himself collapsed on the side of the road, trying to keep from spewing on the asphalt).

Hinata received a massive chewing-out from the entire team, Suga’s own reprimands surprisingly harsh. Seated on the bench, he observed the other boys’ practice, watching but not entirely seeing, gaze distant and hazy. There were painful goosebumps tickling at his skin and a shiver coursed through his back.

Rubbing his tense neck, the muscles knotted and hot, Kageyama glanced over at his boyfriend, doubled over at the bench. A curse was hissed through gnashed teeth as he made his way over to him in long, agitated strides.

Knocking the redhead’s shoulder lightly with his clenched fist, the setter asked pointedly, “Hey, shrimp, when was the last time you ate?” Doe-eyes sluggishly turned towards him, and Kageyama found himself gulping back in apprehension, the heat leaving his body. He gnawed at his lip tentatively. “Hey,” he pressed.

A storm of violent tremors ran through Hinata’s small body, quivering and haggard, leaving behind the damage of a natural disaster. As he answers, “I think I had a banana yesterday?” Kageyama’s calculating eyes are glued to the decoy’s face -- the lines and contours gaunt, the dark circles (he had been kept up by pain all night) beneath those normally vibrant eyes unsettling.

The taller boy cursed, color draining from his face, “Hinata!” His face scrunched in what he wished was fury -- Kageyama wanted to be angry, he really did. He knew how to deal with anger. But this concern, all-consuming and disastrous, left his heart in disarray and his mind jumbled. He could feel his nails digging into his palms, carving small crescents into the skin.

“I swear, I’m not hungry!” Hinata defended, his voice weak and breaking. His hands, clumsy and shaking, reached out to grab at Kageyama’s sleeve -- what for, he didn’t know. He worried at the inside of his lip, a drop of frigid sweat trickling down his back. He leaned forward, just missing Kageyama’s arm as the player turned away.

Shouting, his voice reverberated throughout the room, the drills slowing so each teenager could peek at the situation, “Coach!” He threw on his jacket, quickly zipping it up to his chest. “I’m taking Hinata home!” In a huff, he switches his shoes with mastered precision and throws his bag over his broad shoulder.

“W-wha-! No, Kageyama, you can’t do that!” Hinata stammered, his arms crossing over his body as he firmly planted himself on the bench. “I have scho-” A sputtering gasp pushed its way through his lips. That pain that he had nearly become accustomed to had morphed into something loathsomely sharper; something localized. His stomach, set ablaze, convulsed excruciatingly, and his hand shot up to clamp over his mouth. The corners of his vision tunneled inwards, that obnoxious, drowning ringing returning to consume all sound.

“Shou?” When had Kageyama kneeled in front of him? His hand, comforting with its strength, yet tenderness, was braced upon his knee. The team stole glances from behind the setter, frozen mid-motion. They inch closer and closer still.

A look at his boyfriend, lip caught between his teeth, worry etched into that already pressed face, led Hinata to unsteadily clamber to his feet. “I-I’m fi-fine,” he jumbled out, swaying and lurching, his face green. He slipped, plummeting into Kageyama’s arms, safe, a haven. “S-sorry.” He quaked, willing the wave to pass as Kageyama eased him back down onto the metal bench.

His hand, sturdy and reassuring, rubbed shapes into his knee. “It’s okay, Shouyou, take your time.” Even with his arms wrapped constrictingly around his turning stomach, the redhead peeked through his curly bangs -- which were needing a trim -- to stare lovingly at his boyfriend, his powder blue eyes like the dusk sky, swirling with stars. “But,” Kageyama hesitated a moment to nibble at his bottom lip, “You really should get home and try to rest, you know.”

“R-right.”

Suddenly, a weight settles on Tobio’s shoulder -- Takeda’s voice filtered into their little bubble, “I’ll take him home, Kageyama.” The setter whirled around to look up at his teacher, a set of keys jangled in his extended hand. He smiled gently, “You should stay and practice instead, okay?”

Despite his better-intuition asking-- no, begging-- him to say otherwise, he sputtered out, “O-Okay. Thanks.” His eyes, wavering and uncertain, flicked to Hinata’s. The apprehension and panic he sensed made every fiber of his body scream, “Stay with him!”

But, 5 minutes later, Hinata was being guided from the gym, Takeda’s hand braced on his elbow, and Kageyama was twirling a ball in his hands, his teammates calling for sets.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright alone? Do you need me to walk you in?” Takeda broached gently, shifting the vehicle into park. He unlocked the car and turned to gaze at Hinata, slumped against the cold window, moving to rest his bent arm on the center console.

Twitching uncomfortably, the redhead clutched onto the small handle, pushing the car door ajar. “Mmhmm, I’ll be okay,” he laughed weakly, the look in his eyes entirely contradictory. As his feet hit the pavement of his driveway he stifled the urge to cry out, trapping the sound behind his teeth. When he turned around to retrieve his school bag, an attempt at a smile, which appeared closer to a pained grimace, lined his features. “Thank you.”

Hinata didn’t care to announce his entrance as he dragged himself into the house, bothering only to slip his shoes off while entering. His bags clattered to the floor, and he couldn’t bring himself to worry whether he had disturbed the others in the house. His vision faded as he trudged up the stairs, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped the stair-rail.

He crawled into his bed, clad into a soft shirt Tobio had left at his house, the smell and reminder of him helping to calm the churning and biting of his stomach. It was nice, but it never quite substituted for the real thing. He settled into his covers, burrowing underneath their warmth, and faded into a fitful sleep, arms snaking around his abdomen.

He didn’t wake up for several hours.

Later that evening, in the Karasuno gym, Kageyama wrung his hands, slick with sweat, nervously. “He’ll be okay,” He heard Sugawara call from behind him, his tone consoling. But, the first-year couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about the whole situation. Shouyou had honestly looked horrendous. And he was so scared, Kageyama could tell.

Attempting to shake the thoughts out of his head, the setter rolled his shoulders and took a swig from his uncapped water. It was stale and room temperature -- unsatisfying. He set it down again, screwing the lid on again. Toying with his lip, he watched as the other players stretched and joked, but couldn’t bring himself to join. He just wanted to see Hinata.

An obnoxious song blasted throughout the gym suddenly, snapping Kageyama from his stupor. Gasping, he frantically lunged for his bag, digging for his cell. It was Hinata’s ringtone -- his favorite song. A shiver ran up Kageyama’s spine when Nishinoya and Tanaka creeped over his shoulder, lurking. His hand clamped around the small device, vibrating and singing still. He slid his finger across the screen frantically, “Hello?”

He took a moment to worry about how rushed and jumbled his words were, breathless and too-eager. But all thoughts were fully erased when a sound was carried through the line.

“Tobio,” A heart wrenching sob echoed through Kageyama’s head as his eyes widened and his stomach dropped. “Tobio, help. I-” Shrill, choked cries cut him off, filling all of the vacant space created by Kageyama’s silence.

He bristled at the sounds, and the team took immediate notice, practice halting in its entirety. Many joined Tanaka and Nishinoya, all encircling Kageyama as he crouched on the floor, his breath spiking in anxiety. He swallowed. “Shou, what’s wrong? Shou?”

He only briefly thought about how he hardly used nicknames around the rest of his team.

Through wails and frenzied huffs of air Kageyama heard, “To-Tobio, please, my stomach--I-” He was interrupted again by his own wails.

Kageyama hissed a curse through his teeth, and each and every person present knew what it meant -- the situation was bad. No questions arose as he moved towards his bags and began slipping his jacket over his sweat-soaked practice jersey. “I’ll be there soon, Shouyou; just hang on for me.”

The other was nearly suffocating on his breaths, the agonized gasps sending spikes through Kageyama’s chest and launching his mind into a spiraling panic of what-ifs. The redhead on the other end, muffled by something, managed to answer yet, “H-hurry, please, Tobio.”

“Hinata,” his tone hardened: firm, terribly distressed, and endeared all at the same time, “Listen, I need you to breathe.” He was close to hyperventilation. “Breathe,” he reiterated, “In, out, in, out.” He ignored the alarmed looks he received, like spears thrust into his back. The unsteady breaths, still shuttering with each inhale, slowed, thank Kageyama’s stars.

Takeda is standing just where Kageyama had prayed he would be: by the door with keys clutched in his trembling hands. Never before had Kageyama been so thankful for his teacher’s talents for observing -- he knew he needed to get there quickly.

“I’m gonna stay on the line, okay, Shou?” The words tumbled from his lips as he stepped from the gym and towards Takeda’s vehicle, each stride long and rushed. “Talk to me, and breathe. Can you stand? There’s medicine in your cabinet.” He knew because Hinata had gotten a fairly nasty headache the other day, and Tobio was fortunate enough to find himself in the role of personal nurse. He would’ve taken care of him anyway, though.

“N-no… I-I,” Another whine resonated in his ears, the noise muddled -- a definite no. He only resisted the urge to bark vulgar obscenities for the sake of his ailing boyfriend and teacher as he clambered into the car.

“Just... Just hang on, Shouyou,” he murmured, mostly to calm his own hectically pulsing heart. He flashed a look towards Takeda, eyes swimming with tears, and the teacher grit his teeth, pressing his foot firmer onto the pedal.

At some-point during their frenzied drive, the entire event a blur and yet lasting a million years to Kageyama, the connection had been lost between the call. He cursed the mountains and cell towers, fully knowing that it made no difference what he thought or what situation was occuring.

When they finally pull into Hinata’s drive-through, Kageyama itching to launch from the car, the setter flung his door open and barreled into the house (he praised whatever deity had been so blessed as to tempt Hinata to slip him an extra key).

“Shou!” he bellowed, storming into the domestic home, unfit for the chaos raging through him. “Shou!” He teared through each room, careless for the state they were left in.

The whimpers filtering from upstairs queued him, and immediately he was bounding up the staircase, each step an insignificant obstacle as he pummeled through. Barging into the dark room, Kageyama took not a single breath before he dove for the small crumpled figure on the unmade bed.

“Hey, hey.” He kneeled, his hands instinctively flying to run through Hinata’s curly locks, untamely and wet with sweat. “I’m here now.”

His lips, vacant of all color, trembled. Fat tears rolled down his ghastly cheeks, path skewed as he curled in on his side, arms wrapped protectively, and yet tentatively, around his midsection, his hands pale and cold. “T-Tobi-” he tried, only for another torrential wave of pain to flow through him.

The panic wedging itself into Kageyama’s mind, he rushed out, “Hey, talk to me Hinata.” But as the boy before him blanched, green tinting his pallor, his heart sank to his feet.

“B-bathroo-” There wasn’t enough time for him to finish -- it seemed there never was -- before a harsh hiccup ripped itself from his throat, his hand slapping over his own mouth. Without thinking, and with brilliant speed, Kageyama scooped him into his arms, body feeling unnervingly small and fragile, he surged towards the restroom down the hall.

By the time they had crossed the threshold, it was far too late -- it had already begun.

It was all over Kageyama’s shirt, Hinata’s pants, his lap, his entire body.

However, it continued as Hinata scrambled towards the toilet, throwing himself over it, retching over and over and over again. Futilely, Kageyama took to rubbing his partner’s back, convulsing with each heave, and smoothing the sweaty bangs away from Hinata’s burning forehead.

At the time, Kageyama had thought the noises from over the phone were the most wretched things ever conceived, but as he was forced to listen to the unbearable gags he wished to go back. These were sobs stopped only by the terrible choking that came with the upheaval of one’s own stomach contents. He clenched his eyes closed, sick to his own stomach.

Only after Hinata had finally finished, panting breaths raw from innumerable rounds of dry-heaving, did Kageyama finally take notice. He stared, pupils shrunk, at Hinata, slumped limply against his chest.

Those lips -- stained red.

The toilet brimming with blood swirled bile.

Their clothes soaked with a deep crimson.

This was bad.

big thank u to @Tmalasia on the izuocha temple server for editing this!! ilysm! pls go check out mal's stuff, it's amazing!! <3

so i actually finished this last night but i couldn't post it cuz i only had my school laptop and um when i went to ao3,,, it turned out that i was flagged and reported to my school board for,,,,,, umm, y'know. and now i am terrified for my life.

anywho!! second chapter of this is in the planning stage, so pls stay tuned!!! i rlly hope u enjoyed this first part, hopefully it wasn't too OOC and jarring aha,,,

also, i have *another* kagehina fic that i'm planning rn that should just be a short one-shot, only maybe 2K, so expect that soon!!

now,,,,!! just a word about the crisis happening rn (if u don't care or think this could trigger you, pls skip!) with all of the chaos happening rn, i'd like to just advice everyone to stay safe and calm -- pls practice good hygiene and do all you can to protect yourself (do elbow bumps instead of high fives, cough into ur elbows, wash ur hands frequently, disinfect surfaces, etc.) without going to excess. that's what's making everyone freak out, so do your best to know your own situation and stay rational! i'm sending good thoughts to everyone and their health rn, pls stay safe and healthy!! <333

thank you for reading!!! much love~! <3

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction #kagehina #kagehina fanfiction #tobio x hinata #hinata x kageyama #fluff #angst #kagehina angst #hurt/comfort #sickfic #appendectomy #vomiting #daisuga #daichi x sugawara #sugawara is team mom

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letgraysonsheart · 5 years

Note

Could you do the “Its Nothing” sickfic prompt with Dick ??

i am so sorry for spending so long before getting around to doing this and also im pretty sure this isnt my best and it could do with a little more editing BUT i really wanted to get it out to you before any more time went by, so i really hope you enjoy and that it satisfies some of your whump-needs!

It’s in the middle of the pre-patrol briefing. Bruce has a grainy street recording of a bank robbery pulled up on the screen. They’re already in their suits, ready to leave once Bruce finishes up and gives the signal. Tim is trying to follow what he’s saying, but he already heard all the details when he planned the mission yesterday. Bruce’s pointing at one of the robbers, his face half-covered by an ugly bandana (and honestly, didn’t that stop being trendy forever ago?).

They are just about finished when Dick sneezes for the third time since they started. His older brother is leaned back in his chair, his elbow falling down after he used it to stop the spray from his mouth.

Bruce stops talking mid-sentence, hand still in the air pointing at something on the screen. “Everyone needs to be on their top game tonight,” he comments. He’s staring at something behind them. Is he actually trying to avoid an argument by not pointing fingers? Tim is almost shocked.

“He’s talking about you, Grayson, and all your sneezing,” Damian comments where Bruce doesn’t. Tim can see how the younger elbows Dick in the stomach as he says it. The elder sits up at that, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing,” Dick promises, rubbing his side were Damian’s pointy elbow met his poor body. Tim winces, he’s been on the receiving end of those pesky elbows one too many times.

“Are you sure none of the cats have been here?” Dick asks while he looks at Damian, and rubs at his eyes. They do seem to have a slight red tint to them, Tim notes.

Damian huffs offended, “Of course I’m sure, I know where they are at all times. Why would they want to go down here anyway?” the youngest of them argue and throws his arms out. His chair starts spinning because of the movement, and Dick stills it by placing a hand on the armrest. Damian has the decency to smile.

Bruce is rubbing his forehead. He’s probably wondering why they can never seem to have one single normal briefing. His other hand is still hanging in the air, way off its original position.

“They’re cats,” Tim points out because that should be enough of an explanation. He’s quite sure he saw some pretty suspicious paw-prints in the training chalk last week. “They go wherever they want. Why wouldn’t they like the cave? It’s dark, and there are blankets.” If Tim was a cat, he’s pretty sure he would love the cave and never ever leave it.

Damian narrows his eyes at Tim, “They haven’t been here today. I knew Grayson would be joining us tonight, and I would not let them down here considering his allergies. I have no death wish.”

Dick looks a little offended at that, “it’s not that bad!”, and follows it up with yet another sneeze.

“If it’s not allergies, what is it then?” Tim asks because Dick’s face is looking more red than usual. Bruce did just say they needed to be on top of their game.

“Are you sick?” he asks when Dick doesn’t answer.

“I said it’s nothing! It must be the dust or something. It’ll stop once we get out,” Dick waves his hand in the air in front of his face, flicking away imaginary dust. “Please continue Bruce, so we can get out of here,” he says and signals for Bruce to continue talking.

“If you’re sure,” Bruce says, voice stoic but even Tim from the far end of the table can see that his jaw is looking slightly more tense under the cowl. He’s picking up the same thing as Tim, something is off with Dick.

But Dick, stubborn as ever, only nods and so Bruce continues.

“You sure you’re alright?” Tim asks as he falls back behind Bruce and Damian to walk beside Dick. Dick looks up at him, but his eyes are hidden by the domino. His older brother smiles, but Tim can’t help but think he looks tired. Dick then reaches out and ruffles his hair, a fake laugh escaping his lips. Tim tries to refrain from cringing.

“Of course, Red, like I said; it’s nothing, don’t worry so much,” he gives Tim another quick smile before he mounts his bike to follow the roar of the batmobile. Tim tightens his lips and wants to say something but doesn’t know what, so instead he mounts his own bike and follows Dick out into the night.

Their mission is to stop the robbers as they attack their next target; a jewelry store in a nicer street of Gotham. Bruce has a theory that they’re stealing a specific type of karat. It seems to be Penguin steering them to the right destinations. The stores Coppelbot has his claws in hasn’t been robbed, but the particular gold has still disappeared from their mantles.

It’s all going well until the robbers arrive earlier than expected. They are still setting up the traps, aka still in the store, when the robbers smash in the backdoor surprising them.

“Nightwing, are you okay?” Tim hears Bruce ask as they move to disarm the robbers who’ve spotted them and are getting out their guns. Tim feels his heart beat faster because yeah, that’s right - Bruce had commanded Dick to stay outside and be on lookout for tonight. The elder had grunted in dismay but still swung up on a nearby rooftop. His only instructs were to tell them if anyone arrived. The seconds seem to tick by too slowly as they wait for an answer.

One of the goons fires of a shot before they get on. It fizzles past Tim a little too close for comfort, even if he throws his whole body to the side and onto the floor to avoid it. The bullet hits a glass mantle instead, and the broken shards spray all over his face.

“Red, are you alright?” Bruce yells, throwing the offending robber into a wall and smashing a jewelry mantle in the process.

“What? Was that a gunshot?” Dick is in his ear, and Tim would be overjoyed were it not for the fact that he almost got freaking shot seconds ago. Bruce doesn’t look happy either as he runs over to haul Tim off the floor.

“Yeah, seems like MAYBE you’ve missed something,” Tim hisses to his brother as he takes Bruce offered hand. They don’t have time to linger. Damian is still fighting to subdue one of the robbers - a man twice the side of the shorter Robin. There are still more men to go.

“Do you- should I come down? Do you have it under control?” Dick ask and his voice is taking a slight frantic note.

“Just do your job,” Bruce grunts back, sounding angry and stressed. Not good.

Tim takes down another robber, and Damian is still over in the corner trying to get a jump on the tall one. Tim makes his way over to help the younger. With a swift move he wacks the tall robber with his bo-staff from behind.

He’s a second too late to stop the robber from swinging his knife at Damian, who’s trapped in a corner. There is nowhere to move for the newest Robin, the window on his left blocked by shelves and a brick wall to his right.

Damian ducks, but Tim still hears the sound of kevlar being sliced. He hears the younger groan, but Damian still manages to whack the robber with his own staff as he goes down.

“The GCPD are arriving,” Dick informs them via the comms, “I think Gordon’s with them.”

“One of the robbers had a knife, he got Damian,” Tim reports and looks back when he hears that the sound of fighting has stopped. Batman is tying up the goons, all in various degrees of consciousness. He freezes and looks up at them as Tim’s words filter through.

“Is he alright?” Dick asks, voice small. Bruce drops the goon he is finishing tying up to the floor and the man groans. Batman all but runs over to them, hands already reaching out to look at Damian’s wound. Robin is already on his feet again and looking irritated. He’s scowling and if his eyes weren’t hidden by the mask Tim is sure he would be glaring.

“Let me look at it before the cops get here,” and it’s not Batman but Bruce who grunts at his son. Damian lets his hands, which he until now has been holding over the wound, fall to the side. There’s blood, but there isn’t a lot of it. Tim lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Can someone please tell me he’s alright?” Dick says over the comms, “I’m coming down there, whatever’s going-” “Stay,” Batman commands Nightwing. “Red Robin will take Robin with him to the cave, he’s going to need stitches. Meet them there, I’ll talk with Gordon,” he continues with his voice sounding rough and detached. Tim winces and feels glad he’s not the one on the receiving end of the com-unit outside alone on a cold roof.

Damian tuts, “I don’t need stitches!” He looks like the child he is as he whines, and Tim bends down the pick up the bo-staff Damian has dropped. Bruce is slapping a field bandage over Damian’s side.

“Yes, you do, you’ve got a bleeding knife wound in your side,” Tim says as he hands the younger his weapon.

“Do as Red Robin says,” Bruce tells his youngest as they hear the sound of the cops outside. Nightwing is quiet over the com, hopefully already making his way back to the cave.

Damian shuts his mouth at that and follows Tim through the broken down door out to Tim’s bike.

“Think you’ll be okay holding on to me for the whole ride?” he asks the younger as he mounts on it. Damian glares back at him.

“Of course,” the younger says, and hops on the back. Tim doesn’t miss how hard Damian is clutching his arms around his side as they drive but holds back his comments. They drive in silence all the way to the cave.

Nightwing is already there when they arrive. His eyes look even redder than before, his face flushed. Tim wonders if his big brother has been crying as Dick runs over the second Tim stops the bike. Tim helps Damian jump off first, and tries not to jostle the injured teen too much, before jumping off it himself.

“Shit, little D, are you alright?” Dick has ripped his domino off. His hands are already out and steering Damian by the shoulders towards the infirmary. Tim follows behind them, and he can see the obvious tension in Dick’s back muscles.

“I’m fine, of course. I would have been better had you done your job though,” Damian says and Tim sees Dick stiffen as Damian slips out from under his hands to jump up on a bed. Alfred is already waiting, gloves on and disinfectant in hand. Tim spots a ready-made needle and thread too on the utility table.

They leave Alfred to do the patching-up, as Dick doesn’t seem to have an answer and Damian isn’t one for having an audience while he gets tended to. Once again Tim finds himself following Dick’s tense body back towards the main part of the cave. Bruce has arrived now too and is waiting for them by the door to the showers.

“What. happened?” he asks, and his cowl is up so Tim gets a front row seat to how Bruce’s cold eyes tear into Dick.

“I didn’t see them,” Dick answers, “I don’t know-”

“We can’t afford to not know!” Bruce snaps, “I would’ve thought you knew this by now. How is it possible to miss armed robbers entering the very building you’re supposed to be staring at?” Bruce is as tense as Dick now, his ripped off cowl clenched so tightly in his hand that his fingers are turning white. They are both too on the offensive to have a proper conversation about this, Tim knows that, but he also knows Bruce and Dick. None of them will be willing to back down.

But Bruce is right. Dick made a mistake. It could have cost both Tim and Damian their lives. It almost did.

“I - I’m sorry Damian got hurt, you know I would never put that kid, or any of you, in danger on purpose!” Dick says, his voice sounding more desperate with every word. “I just, I don’t know, suddenly you were just yelling in my ear, that’s when I first knew they were there!”

Dick’s arguments are thin. Too thin for Batman.

“Someone could have died, Dick!” Bruce tells his son, mimicking Tim’s very thoughts. Dick though, he looks like he’s been slapped. Tim finds himself wishing he was anywhere but in the cave with them.

All the fight seems to have seeped out of Dick, he resembles a sad balloon three days after a birthday party.

“I know, Bruce,” his voice sounds hoarse and painful, “I messed up. I’m sorry.” He falls down in a discarded chair, and Tim walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder. He squeezes it and feels the warmth radiating from Dick’s body in his hand.

“Maybe you should take some time off, just a couple of nights. I know you said you were alright, but..” Tim lets the rest go unsaid. Bruce is looking at them, nodding along to Tim’s words.

“I said it was nothing,” Dick bites back but he does go to hide his face in his hands.

“I don’t have the time to take a couple of nights off. I think I’ll go to bed now and sleep until like noon,” when Dick takes his hands away and looks up at Bruce, there is no anger. He only looks tired as he asks, “that okay?”

Tim looks at his adopted father. Bruce looks like he wants to say more, fight more, he might not have been prepared for Dick to let up so quickly. He usually doesn’t.

Then Bruce nods, “Go to bed, both of you. We still managed to stop the robbers, so there is no more work for us to do tonight. I’ll check on Damian.”

And that’s that.

Tim gets up at ten the next day and finds Alfred alone in the kitchen. Tim is thanking whoever’s out there it’s Saturday, and that he has no plans outside of Bat-business.

“Everyone else sleeping?” he asks the butler, as he takes the cup of coffee Alfred is handing him and smiles a thank-you.

Alfred shakes his head, “Master Wayne is downstairs but Master Damian is still in bed after my orders - I don’t want him ripping his stitches. Master Dick left for Blüdhaven over an hour ago mumbling about a drug-bust,” the elder explains as he goes to put on a new round of coffee.

Tim frowns, Dick was supposed to sleep in.

“Did Dick seem.. fine, to you?” Tim asks Alfred’s back. Alfred turns to look at him and narrows his eyes. Tim knows there is very little that flies past the older man.

“He seemed to be in a hurry to leave and as usual didn’t look like he had gotten enough sleep. Is there anything in particular you’re concerned about?” Alfred has put his hands on his hips and Tim feels like the man is staring straight through him.

“I’m not sure yet,” he answers, biting his lip. He slides off his chair, figuring he should at least find his phone and shoot Dick a text. If only to ask if the older needs help with whatever case he’s working on.

Tim meets Bruce in the hallway who already has a new lead on the robber-case they worked yesterday. They get caught up in the conversation, debating strategies and planning the next mission. Tim forgets all about his plans to text Dick.

Three days later and they’re gathered for yet another briefing. This time Jason is there too, with all his bravado and attitude, signature red helmet on. He’s sitting on Tim’s left side, leaned back in the chair as far as it goes with his arms crossed.

“I’m guessing no one else was available, that’s why I’m here?” he says, the helmet making his voice sound robotic.

“Yes,” Damian answers like it’s just a random fact. Dick, sitting on Damian’s side, says nothing to reprimand the teen, which is weird. His eyes are far away. Even Jason seems surprised that the oldest of them have nothing to say; that he doesn’t come to his aid or at least try to parent the brattiest Robin.

“What’s up with Goldie?” Jason whispers to Tim, as much as you can whisper with a big bulky helmet on.

“No clue,” Tim answers. He’s about to spill his concerns to Jason when Bruce flicks on the screen. Like last time there’s a dark store and an even darker street filling up the view in front of them in its grainy glory.

As Bruce goes on about their mission, and how he hopes it is the last one and will finish the case up for good, Tim studies Dick. He’s red in the face, more so than usual, and Tim is sure he heard a cough earlier.

“Dick, I don’t want a repeat of last time. Can I trust you to be on top of your game tonight? It’s vital we all do our part, we barely have enough manpower as it is,” Bruce asks. He’s not very considerate about hanging Dick out to dry in front of his younger brothers.

Dick goes even redder, “Yes Bruce, I just messed up, it was nothing-” “Say that to the hole in my side, Grayson,” Damian interrupts, though there is little venom in his voice. Jason snickers, if the choked sound emitting from his helmet can even be called that.

“Okay, then I say we move out,” Bruce finishes and turns off the screen before dragging his cowl on. Tim sees Dick grip the back of his chair as he gets up to steady himself. He wishes his stubborn older brother would just say something if he isn’t feeling well.

Jason brushes past them both before Tim gets around to opening his mouth to voice his worries, and the moment seems to be over. It’s almost deja-vu, how he falls back to walk beside Dick over to their cycles.

“You would tell me if you weren’t alright?” Tim asks, careful to keep his voice low because Bruce and Damian are still getting into the batmobile. Both of them have too long ears, must be a Wayne-trait.

Dick looks at him. Again Tim is hit by the realization of how tired his brother looks, cheeks flushed but otherwise pale and supporting those damn red-looking eyes.

“Just a little bit under the weather, maybe it’s a cold,” his voice sounds raspy, much like in the cave a few nights ago. “As I’ve said, it’s nothing, I wouldn’t go out there if I didn’t think I could handle it, Tim,” he then adds, no doubt seeing the worry making its way over Tim’s face. Dick quickly glues on his domino, making his uniform complete.

Tim hums in contemplation but doesn’t get to argue because Dick is already swinging his leg over his bike. He can see that Jason has already started the drive out, the batmobile hot on his heels, and they have no choice but to follow. Tim just hopes his brother is right because Bruce wasn’t kidding when he said they needed everyone to do their part today.

Tim’s finishing up, brushing the dust off his uniform, when his communicator pings with a sound that means someones trying to contact him on a different channel. They’re all supposed to be on the main B103 tonight, but his interest is peaked. And you never ignore a com-signal.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Somethings off with ‘Wing,” it’s Jason, and judging by the background noise he’s still fighting, “he’s… slow,” he continues.

“Did you call me up, on a different channel, while fighting, to say that?” Tim asks, already getting ready to make his way over to them. Jason doesn’t answer, just grunts as Tim assumes he punches someone.

“Where are you?” Tim asks, getting onto his bike. This time Jason manages to answer, and he rattles off an address only three streets down. When they had busted the last known hideout Penguin had created for his little gold-robbing minions, they had scattered. Therefore the split up. Everyone had gone off on their own, but Dick and Jason must have met while cleaning out their areas. He is sure to switch over to the main channel again before leaving.

He arrives at Jason’s location quickly, but it seems the fight is already much over. Dick is over in a corner of the street tying up someone, and as Tim gets off his bike he sees Jason kick someone that goes flying. It’s safe to say that the person doesn’t get up again.

“Dick looks fine,” Tim tells Jason when he gets over to him, putting his behind to Dick. Red Hood is crunched down fitting a pair of handcuffs on the goon he just kicked but looks up at Tim as he walks over.

“Like I said he-” Jason is interrupted.

Retching. Someone is vomiting. Jason gets up and Tim turns. Dick is bent over, leaning on a lamppost and his whole body is shaking from the force of throwing up.

“What the fuck,” Jason mutters, and Tim can see him reach around to take the helmet off now that there are no criminals left for them to take down.

Tim starts making his way towards Dick, who’s stopped vomiting but is still standing bent over.

“He said he was fine, that it was nothing. Fine my ass,” Jason grumbles behind him.

Tim is about to yell, ask if Dick is okay - vomiting on the street isn’t that worrying, Dick might have seen some bad stuff today - Tim is not one to judge. He isn’t sure what the rest of them have been doing since they split up, there are many scary things in Gotham. Still, there is a nagging feeling in his head telling him that trauma isn’t the reason this time. He opens his mouth, words on his tongue -

Dick straight up collapses. Just falls over in a mess of limbs right there on the street.

He doesn’t get up.

“Nightwings down!” He hears Jason yell, both out loud and in the com in his ear. Tim’s running. He feels like he can’t get to Dick fast enough.

He falls on his knees once he reaches his brother. Dick’s breathing, that’s good. It helps calm Tim’s anxiety a little as he rips off his gloves. He already knows what he’ll find as he puts the back of his hand on Dick’s forehead. It’s glowing hot.

“He injured somewhere?” Jason asks, as he crouches down beside Tim, who’s checking Dick’s pulse. It seems steady enough, a little fast but then again they’ve just been fighting for a long time. Jason rolls Dick more onto his back, so he’s not laid in such a crumpled up position anymore.

“Can’t see anything serious. He’s got some small lacerations and looks like he scratched his face up when he went down,” Tim says, as Dick groans beneath him, “I think he might just be sick.”

Jason huffs as Dick groans again, eyes moving underneath his eyelids. “You awake, Dickhead?” Jason says, tapping Dick’s face. Dick’s head lols a little to the side, but his eyes blink open. They look hazy, it might be the fever or Dick’s managed to get himself a concussion, Tim thinks.

Damian is yelling in his ear, and Batman is demanding a report and asking if they need an emergency evac.

“He passed out, seems.. somewhat awake now. I think he might be sick, might have gotten a concussion when he went down though. We need to get out of here, but we don’t need an evac,” Tim answers them.

“Stay with him,” Bruce says as if Tim would ever just up and leave his own family laying in the street. Jason looks to be thinking the same thing as their eyes meet. “We’ll finish up and go straight there with the batmobile to pick you up, tell me if anything changes,” Batman finishes. No one answers as the com’s clicks off again.

“Let’s get him on his side, don’t need him choking on his own vomit,” Jason says, already reaching out to grab Dick’s shoulder. Together they wrangle Dick, who seems slightly more awake now, onto his side.

Now Tim can see that Dick is shaking, and reaches around to loosen his cape. It’s thin, but it might protect Dick a little and make him feel less exposed, so Tim drapes it over his shoulders.

“T-thanks,” Dick rattles.

“I asked you if you would tell me if you weren’t alright,” Tim grumbles, even if he knows it’s unfair to pick a fight when Dick’s a shivering mess laying in the street.

“T-thought I would b-be,” Dick answers, and Tim hears Jason scoffs.

“That’s what we all think every time we go out sick as dogs, but you’re the one always preaching about not doing it,” Jason complains. He’s sounding less worried and more irritated now that Dick is awake and talking.

Dick rolls to lay on his back again, to Tim and Jason’s dismay, but none of them bother to force him to move again. He’s blinking up at them, Tim’s cape is clenched around his fingers and his face still looks red, there’s cold sweat on his forehead.

“Sorry,” he says, as he stares at their faces.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Tim replies, feeling anger take over for panic, “I knew something was wrong, you suck at hiding things.”

Dick only smiles at him, the bastard.

The familiar screech of the batmobile fills the street. Tim feels relieved that the responsibility of taking care of Dick is lifted off his shoulders. Yes, he had Jason there with him but it’s not the same as having Bruce there to take control.

“Think you can stand?” Tim asks. Dick nods, looking a little hesitant, and moves to get up. He gets to pushing his arms under himself, before going “nope!” and falling down again. He looks more green than red now, Tim figures.

Jason sighs, a tad dramatic, but still reaches out and scoops up Dick in his arms. Dick doesn’t protest, and Jason looks just a little bit awkward, so Tim figures Dick must understand how shitty he looks. There is no way Jason would act like this if Dick hadn’t looked more than half-dead a second there.

Both Bruce and Damian have gotten out of the car when they reach it. Bruce is prepping the backseat, where he after too many medical pick-ups has installed a seat that folds back into a makeshift bed.

“Grayson, you idiot,” Damian says as he helps Jason get their older brother into the car. There is no anger or judgment in his voice though, and Tim sees over Jason’s shoulder how soft Damian is when he tucks Dick in under a heated blanket. The younger then climbs into the car on the other side, as Bruce closes the door after giving Dick his best “we’ll talk about this” eyes. Tim shudders, once again happy not to be on the receiving side.

Bruce turns to look at Tim and Jason, who’s still standing on the sidewalk.

“You two okay?” he asks, looking them up and down. They both nod.

“We should get home, Hood-”

“Sorry, B, think I’ve got enough family drama for today,” Jason says while turning and walking towards his bike. Bruce doesn’t look surprised, but Tim thinks he must be disappointed. He isn’t sure. Bruce is hard to read, especially in the cowl. He doesn’t say anything to stop Jason though, but neither does Tim.

“You can join us in the car if you want,” Bruce tells Tim instead of dealing with Jason, “we can pick your bike up later.”

Tim shakes his head, “Nah, it’s fine, I don’t want to leave it here. Plus, I have a suspicion Dick might puke on the way home and I don’t wanna be there for that.“ He gets a small smile out of Batman for that, before he gets into the car and drives off.

When Tim arrives on his bike back at the cave, Dick is laid out in the infirmary in one of the cots. There’s an IV connected to his bloodstream, and a thick blanket covering him. He looks to be asleep. Bruce is sat in the chair by his bedside

“Not only has he managed to get a nasty bug, but he’s also dehydrated and - you were right; he managed to get himself concussed too,” Bruce says as Tim walks up to the bed.

“I was almost amazed he lasted as long as he did,” Alfred, who Tim hadn’t seen before, says as he comes walking around a corner, “then I remembered how you’re all stubborn as bulls.”

“I - I knew there was something wrong,” Tim confesses, not daring to look at either Alfred nor Bruce. “He said it was fine! That it was nothing! I shouldn’t have believed him,” he feels pathetic as more emotions than he wants to leaks into his voice.

“Tim, sit down,” Bruce commands and nudges him towards the chair sat beside him. Tim let himself fall into it, all the exhaustion from the last few days dragging him down.

“Dick’s stubborn, he refused to admit anything was wrong,” Bruce says and looks very much exasperated. “Alfred told me that you had expressed some concern about Dick the other day. All three of us knew, and none of us were able to stop Dick from pretending he was fine and going out tonight.” Tim can’t look at Bruce’s face and settles for staring at the man’s clasped hands.

“Stop talking,” Dick groans from the bed, grabbing their attention. Tim snaps his head up to look at his brother. “We all know this is on me,” he tells them as his eyes blink open. He takes his time before he manages to focus them on Tim and Bruce.

“Well, you’re not wrong, young man,” Alfred says and goes to take his temperature.

“Dami?” Dick asks when he can’t see the youngest anywhere. The thermometer is now hanging out of his mouth. Dick looks ridiculous, Tim thinks, and not at all like his tough but cheery usual self. He really does look sick, now that he isn’t actively trying to hide it anymore, more so than before.

“I told him to take a shower and head to bed,” Bruce answers with a rare gentle smile at his oldest, “he wanted to stay.”

“But he’s alright?” Dick asks, leaning back into his pillow and letting his eyes slip shut.

“All good,” Bruce replies and Tim looks away as Bruce’s hand slips over Dick’s.

“And you guys?” Dick’s words are mumbly, but the worry in his voice is still clear.

“We’re all fine, Dick,” Tim promises, patting his shoulder, “We’re all fine.”

Dick falls asleep again, his face finally looking relaxed and the small scowl slipping away.

He’s got Bruce, Tim, and Alfred by his side and Damian sleeping upstairs, Tim knows he’ll be alright.

#IM SO SORRY THE READ MORE DOESNT WORK ON MOBILE IM TRYING TO FIGURE THIS OUT #my writing #prompts #requests #dick grayson #sickfic #batfam

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let-me-love-you-loki · 5 years

Text

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 24

Chapter 24: Teenage Dreams

Mera, Evening, 8:45 PM

I had been to catering six times by the time the show was half over. Nerves of being so close to my past had pushed me to the sugar in a horrible way. A stack of plastic plates sat on the counter against the wall, dusted with crumbs from cookies, brownies, and the remnants of mashed potatoes and chicken. I’d filled up my drink twice as often, most of the time with soda or lemonade.

If I made it out of this night without gaining fifteen pounds, I’d be lucky.

A few superstars came through the trainer’s door, mostly for some stretching and Kinesiotape. Around the start of the second hour, Mustafa Ali was brought back for some pain in his knee. He was stretched out on my table, leg propped up on rolled towels, ice strapped against the inside of his knee. After a little rest and ice, I planned on checking it out again before deciding whether he needed to see a local orthopedic.

“You okay, Mera?” Ali asked as I adjusted the towels to elevate his knee a little higher.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I gave him a faint smile, trying not to jostle him too much.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” he continued, tucking a hand behind his head. “But you’ve seemed off every time I’ve seen you today.”

“I’m that transparent, huh?”

He shrugged, smiled genuinely. “I’m just good at reading people.”

I nodded, glancing back over my shoulder. The door was closed, a rule around here for medical privacy. With a sigh, I just started blurting things out. “I grew up around here… just a few miles away in a town called Buffalo. Seth and I have known each other since we were kids.”

Suddenly, I felt a churning gut-punch of shame. “The only reason I’m here… that I’m a trainer at all… is because of Seth. He went on the indie circuit, and I studied on the road as we traveled. We were together for a while until…” A deep sigh. “Well, you know what happened. The whole world knows some of it, but there was so much more. So many more. We broke up and I haven’t been back here since.”

Ali listened intently. A look of sympathy crossed his face. “It can’t be easy being back here. Or working with him every day.”

I shrugged. “It is a good job. And I get to travel. As long as he doesn’t get hurt, I don’t have to deal with him.”

The room descended into silence. I picked up the laptop that kept the superstar’s medical records and entered in some notes about Ali’s injury. I’d given him a couple over the counter pain relievers, and he’d been in a grueling match. By the time I turned around, he was passed out on the trainer’s table.

Dean, Evening, 8:52 PM

There was too much going on. The script had been rewritten an hour before the show went on air and it had taken too fucking long to get my stuff straightened out. I was stressed out about the match they’d planned and a promo that made absolutely no sense. Even worse, I was being thrown in with Seth tonight in the main event for the tag titles because it was his hometown. His family had been visiting backstage and they were going to be ringside for the match.

The worst part, though, was that I hadn’t been able to see Mera since we got to the arena. She’d gone straight into the trainer’s room and gotten bombarded with a series of guys and girls who needed to get worked out before they could get in the ring. I’d heard through the grapevine that she’d been in catering a few times—I worried even more having seen her over the years turn to food when she started to get intensely stressed.

Desperation settled in. I needed to see her, to wrap her in my arms and hold her tight, to tell her that I loved her, that my world revolved around her. There was a deep, all-consuming, overwhelming desire to see her, to touch her, to breathe in the scent of her. It was as if I hadn’t seen her for weeks—not hours.

The trainer’s door was shut—someone else had gotten to her first. I ached in a way that I never had before. My guts twisted. My heart turned to stone and fell into my shoes.

God, I missed her. It felt like I was missing a fucking limb.

When the door opened and Mera slipped into the hallway, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. Every single inch of my body lit up with recognition—that beast in my chest snarled and struggled at the end of some invisible chain. There was no containing it.

I nearly jumped across the space between us. She yelped when I snatched her up into my arms, lifting her straight off her feet. I buried my face into the curve of her neck, nuzzled into the scent that was perfectly home. That was all it took—the world slowed, the noise faded into nothingness. It was just Mera and me, her safe against my chest, setting me as a shield against the rest of the world.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” she whispered, her fingertips soothing against the back of my neck.

“Missed you,” I mumbled in return.

Seth, Evening, 9:00 PM

It was strange to sleep in my own bed the night before Raw. Being home was nice since I got to check in on Black and Brave and see my buddies. My mom and step-dad had been backstage with me until they were taken out to the arena to their seats. They’d be ringside for the Tag Title match Dean and I had later.

My mom had asked about Mera. The way she’d done it made me think she knew about her and Dean. I didn’t know how she could have found out, and I didn’t like how she’d asked me about it as if it bothered me.

Why would it bother me? It wasn’t like I had an opinion. I never thought about it anymore.

It wasn’t like being back home made me think about building igloos out of ice in the winter or riding bikes by the railroad tracks. It didn’t remind me of putting on shows in my mom’s front yard with Mera behind the camera and figuring out first aid when I’d gotten banged up. I didn’t really care about how there was a picture of Mera and me at our junior prom still hanging in my mom’s house. Or that the walls in the living room of my house were still painted her favorite color.

We’d broken up years ago. Why would it matter to me?

Mera, Evening, 9:03 PM

Dean and I sat on a pair of road crates just outside the trainer’s room. Ali was still resting, ice on his knee. He was awake, but the time off his leg would be good for him. As long as I didn’t go too far, he would be fine.

He leaned back so that his shoulders were against the wall, hands dangling between his knees. He watched at me with those cornflower eyes of his, a small smile on his face. It was the look he’d had that first morning in the hotel in Vegas—the one that made him look so young and soft around the edges.

I felt myself go warm under his gaze, remembering the first time that he ever looked at me. It was when Seth and I first showed up at FCW. Dean was one of the first people we met. He’d been young and scruffy, just off his time in the indies. I remembered how he’d walked in like he was going to have to fight everyone in the room. He’d been all ripped jeans, white tees, and canvas jackets.

There’d always been something adorable about Dean Ambrose, even when he was beat up, banged up, bloodied, and bruised. He had a light in his blue eyes and a smile on his face that had made my heart melt. Maybe, deep down, I’d fallen for him all the way back then.

“Do you remember the night when they put us on that crappy van to go from Tampa to some backwoods place for a house show and the van broke down?”

He laughed, brightness washing over his features. I wanted to close my eyes and lose myself in the sound. “Yeah,” he said with a deep sort of husk in his voice. “It was supposed to be just some two-hour drive to a bullshit gym show. None of us had anything—except you. You had that backpack and that little…” He waved his fingers in the general direction of his forehead.

“It was a reading light, thank you.”

He grinned wider. “Yeah, that fucking thing. The rest of us were useless while you were up with the driver holding that damn light so he could fix it to get us home.”

“I remember you trying to act like you knew what the fuck was going on.”

Dean reached out and wrapped my fingers in his. His face suddenly went serious. “You’re magnetic, you know that, Mera? There’s just this… sense about you that I couldn’t ever ignore. Even when you weren’t mine to want, I just liked being near you.” A small smile turned the corner of his mouth. “And maybe I was trying to impress you.”

Seth, Evening, 9:08 PM

I turned the corner into the hallway where the trainer’s rooms were set up. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to see Dean and Mera sitting together just outside the door. They were holding hands and talking. I hated how it made me feel something when I saw them together.

It reminded me of sitting on the steps in my basement bedroom, looking at the low-quality videos of the shows I used to put on in the front yard. Mera was always the one who ran the video camera. She was amazing at it. I remembered her, covered in splotches of paint as we decorated the cinderblock walls of my bedroom.

I ignored the turn in my stomach, the memories that came unbidden when I saw her with someone else.

We’d broken up ages ago. It shouldn’t bother me.

But it did.

________________________________________________________________

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#waking up in vegas #WUIV #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #mera reynolds #dean x mera #real person fanfiction #ofc #oc #romance #smut #angst

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inyourwildestdreamslove · 6 years

Text

Upside Down Chapter 11

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Summary: You don’t know much about Sweet Pea, except for what you hear in the hallways around school. You pass him on your way to and from classes and you’ve perhaps brushed his arm a hand full of times. You don’t know him and he doesn’t know you.

That is until you save his baby sister from the Ghoulies all while simultaneously getting involved in a world you want nothing to do with and events you would rather stay out of.

Too bad the Ghoulies have other ideas…

Get caught up with the Masterlist!

Chapter 11: Girl Meets Manipulation

Among the Serpents one, Monty Rogers, was known for all the trouble he likes to stir up. It is well known that Monty and Sweet Pea do not get along and usually they stay out of one another’s way. However, that doesn’t mean the two Serpents are ever any more than reluctant allies, especially when given an inch it would be all over for one of them. Monty wanted what Sweet Pea had in the form of one: (First Name) (Last Name).

The entire student body of Southside High share in your confusion when Monty begins to follow you around like a lost puppy. It seems like everywhere you turn there he is lurking near you. You don’t pay too much attention to him at first, but when a particularly nasty Ghoulie attempts to mess with you on your way to class it is Monty who steps in.

“You know you practically have a target on your back now that you and your bodyguard are over.”

“Nothing is over between Sweet Pea and I… We weren’t together for anything to be over.”

“That’s not how the rest of the school sees it.”

“What do you mean?” you ask in confusion.

“You are Sweet Pea’s girl, he made that abundantly clear to everyone.

“Yeah… Everyone except me…”

“You know that’s why he didn’t want you near Jughead right? He wants you all to himself… He’s possessive like that.”

“He’s not possessive!”

“Really? What’s his problem with your other friends then?”

“I- I don’t know…”

“Exactly, he’s possessive and controlling and your better off without him…”

“Look… I wouldn’t go that far…” You mutter softly.

“Then why did he say all those awful things about you? And not want you to hang out with other guys? He’s not your boyfriend right?”

“Look I don’t know… I just have to get to class…”

You have not heard much from Sweet Pea in the last couple of days and while you are still upset at him. You don’t think he’s a bad person.

Monty on the other hand begins to shower you with complements.

“You look gorgeous as ever today,” he says with a charming smile while handing you your favorite morning beverage.

“Oh… Umm… Thank you Monty,” you mutter softly, “you didn’t have to get me anything though…”

At first his attention makes you a little uncomfortable, you aren’t sure what his angle is.

“You’re just so smart maybe we can do the math homework together? You can even invite your other friends, I’d love to meet them!”

However, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy when Sweet Pea wasn’t around.

‘Maybe Pea just brings out the worst in him…’ you think to yourself as you walk down the hallway to the door. The students jostling you suddenly stop when an arm is thrown around your shoulder. You feel yourself relax for just a moment until you realize the scent surrounding you isn’t the familiar musky scent of Sweet Pea. You glance up and Monty is sending you a charming smile.

‘He isn’t bad to look at when he isn’t scowling either…” you send him a soft smile back.

“You ready to head to Pop’s? Your friends are there right? Lughead? Right?

“Jughead!” you say with a laugh as you pass by Sweet Pea and Fangs. You send Fangs a sweet smile and a wave. He returns it hesitantly before quickly dropping his arm. Sweet Pea just looks at you like you’ve killed his puppy. You don’t pay any attention to him as you and Monty head out to his bike in the parking lot.

When you get to the diner you see Betty and Jughead sitting in their usual booth. Their work spread out in front of them.

“Hey Betty! Hey Jughead!” you greet as you and Monty walk in. The two look up and send you both a smile.

“Who’s this?” questions Jughead as you and Monty sit down in front of them.

“This is Monty, he wanted to join the study session tonight. I hope that’s okay?”

“Yes of course it is,” Says Betty as she sits up straighter.

“Monty this is Betty and Jughead, I’ve told you about them right?”

“Yeah yeah, it’s good to meet you guys.”

His arm drapes across the back of the booth and you try to push aside the rush of emotions. You aren’t sure if it’s nostalgia from another arm or if you actually like him as more than a friend.

“You okay?” he asks softly in your ear.

“Yeah, just having trouble concentrating.”

He drops his hand onto your back and begins to rub it, “You seem stressed out, anything I can do?”

You glance up at the sincerity in his eyes and smile, “No I’ll be okay…”

“What’s your favorite milkshake?”

“What?”

“You need something to pep you up, I’m going to get you your favorite milkshake.”

“Oh um… chocolate malt…”

“Coming right up beautiful!”

You falter as he jumps from his seat and heads over to the counter.

“You should keep this one…” says Betty as she glances over her shoulder at him.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s obviously into you, and he’s being super sweet! You need someone to be sweet to you after all that happened with Sweet Pea.”

“Look… it’s not a big deal, he’s just being nice!”

“Trust me… that is not what ‘just being nice’ looks like,” she says with a knowing look.

Betty clams up as he walks back over to you carrying your chocolate malt milkshake. He sets it down in front of you before dropping back down into the booth next to you.

“Go on, you’ve had a rough week,” he says with a sweet smile before you take the milkshake and begin to happily sip on it.

The next week is much the same, Monty begins to fill up your entire day. He brings you coffee in the morning and walks you to class. He gives you a ride home and stays at your house to study and your mom loves him. He hangs out with you and your friends and encourages you to have your space with them. He showers you complements and small tokens of affection. And slowly, Sweet Pea, especially with the distance that you’ve put between the two of you, drifts from you mind.

Monty is everything in a guy you could ever possibly want...

...and it’s killing Sweet Pea...

Dare and Tori are on either side of you as you walk down the hallway.

“So you still aren’t talking to Pea?” questions Dare.

“He’s hasn’t made an attempt to apologize for what he said about me.”

“Wait. What did he say about you?” Questions Tori.

“He said I was just a slut and I was just using the Serpents until I find someone better.”

“I’ve never heard him say anything like that…” says Dare suspiciously.

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

“I mean that boy talked about you like you were the goddess Aphrodite herself.”

“Well he was super jealous of Jughead… and he didn’t have a reason to be…”

“Pea’s used to losing people, everyone he’s ever cared about has left him, well except for Gumdrop and Fangs. I mean you know his mom just up and split a few years ago right?”

“I mean yeah but...he didn’t have to lash out at me like that…”

“No he didn’t, but he doesn’t really know how to deal with certain emotions without anger. He’s getting better but when he feels threatened by someone in the form of taking someone away from him, he gets pissed.”

“That’s just it! Jughead wasn’t taking me away from him!”

“Well we know that… but did he?”

You had not spoken a word to Sweet Pea in two weeks, ever since your epic blow up at the Wyrm. That means it’s been three weeks since you had started to fight with him and you missed him. You weren’t sure you could admit how much you missed him even to yourself.

“Well when he’s ready to apologize I’ll listen to him… I have it on good authority that he said some pretty awful things about me.”

“Who is your ‘good authority?’’ asks Tori as she slings an arm around your shoulder.

“Monty, he said that Sweet Pea was going around saying a bunch of horrible things about me.”

“And you believed him?”

“What? Well not entirely at first….”

“You seriously believed Monty when he said that Pea was talking shit about you?”

“Monty has been nothing but nice to me!”

“Yeah… to get to Pea…”

“No! He genuinely likes me!”

“Girl… Monty has had it out for Sweets for years! Of course he’s been sweet to you! He’s trying to drive Sweet Pea crazy!”

The three of you are almost knocked down when there is a flood of students rushing from behind you. You can hear the distance chant of ‘Fight’ as you near the place where a large crowd is gathered. The three of you exchange looks and with a bad feeling and prayer you are rushing off down the hallway towards the crowd.

You can see Sweet Pea and Monty in the middle of the crowd exchanging blows. Monty whispers something to Sweet Pea and you watch a pained expression grace his handsome features. Monty’s punch catches him in the stomach and the breath is knocked from Sweet Pea’s lungs. He’s hunched over trying to protect his body from anymore damage.

“You know what the best part is? How good she is in bed… I mean that girl is a pro at riding me… She feels so good no matter what position and trust me… She’s down for anything…”

“Fuck...you...Monty...She’s not...that...girl…”

“What you think just because she isn’t giving you the time of day that she didn’t suck my cock dry? HA! I fucked her so hard she forgot about your pathetic ass!” Monty rears back and kicks Sweet Pea in the ribs and the moment he hits the floor you see red. You see your Sweet Pea broken on the floor and you lose it.

You push your way through the crowd and tap Monty on the shoulder. He turns to you and the cocky smirk on his face falls. You don’t even think as you rear back and punch him square in the nose, you know... just like your dad taught you. He stumbles back clutching his nose before you tackle him to the floor and punch him across his cheek your ring catching his cheek bone. Blood seeps out of the cut as you get him again in the eye. It’s not until you are hauled off of him that you realize what you’ve done.

“YOU THREE! MY OFFICE. NOW!” you glance up and see the principal standing over you all. The three of you freeze, you struggling to get out of Sweet Pea’s arms, Monty struggling to get off the floor and Sweet Pea is just struggling. Sweet Pea puts you down and you share an awkward glance with him. The three of you trudge to the office with Monty holding his bloody nose and Sweet Pea holding his bruised ribs.

While in the office the three of you get the mandatory yelling and 2 days suspension. You would probably be more upset about being suspended if you weren’t nervous about the fact that you know you’re going to have to talk to him.

‘What if he hates me? I can’t believe that I was stupid enough to believe Monty over him! What if he never speaks to me again! I never meant to hurt him like this… I was just mad at him!’

Your thoughts are racing as you step out of the office.

“Hey (Your Name)... I just wanted to say…”

“SAVE IT MONTY!” you yell rounding on the boy who visibly takes two steps back, “You used me to get to Sweet Pea! You paraded me around and then you said all that shit about me that isn’t true in the least bit! WORST OF ALL you LIED to me! You LIED to me about Sweet Pea and what he said to me! You wanted to drive us apart as part of a sick and twisted game! Fuck You!”

“WHY SHOULD HE GET YOU? HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOU! He’s not as good to you as I am! Wasn’t I the best friend you’ve ever had? I would not be the PERFECT boyfriend for you!” he yells.

“I can’t believe you! I’m not a prize! You don’t deserve me! You don’t deserve anyone! You are not ENTITLED to a human being!! FUCK OFF MONTY!”

You turn around and lock eyes with Sweet Pea and you feel your eyes fill up with tears.

“Pea…” you mutter in a broken voice as he closes his eye as if he’s in actual pain, “Will you forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me baby doll…” he mutter lowly as he takes a step towards you.

Your breath catches in your throat as you rush towards him and throw your arms around him. He wraps you into a hug and you start to sob into his chest. He murmurs soothing words into your ears and softly strokes your hair as he tries to calm you. You just grip onto him tighter hoping to never let go, you can’t stand the thought that you’ve hurt him. Any anger that you may have had completely melts away and all you feel is content for the first in a long time.

Notes: I’m sorry I haven’t updated! I’ve been busy with birthdays, weddings, fashion shows, and photoshoots! It’s been crazy! I’ll try to update when I have in the next couple of weeks but I have work, a full weekend of weddings, consultations and photoshoots THEN I HAVE A VACATION!!! WHOOOO! I’ll let you know when that happens! Anyway I hope you enjoyed this! Please drop me some feedback! Also, if you haven’t been added to the list DO NOT SEND ANOTHER ASK ABOUT IT. I have’t finished updating it and I’ve tagged some people twice because of it.

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transdarkwingduck · 6 years

Text

Worries and All

Darkwing Duck (fic under the cut)

Pairing: drakepad babey

Warning: Non-graphic violence

Summary: After foiling a F.O.W.L. plot and a perilous fight with Steelbeak, Darkwing Duck and Launchpad are victorious. Unfortunately, DW has been injured in the fight. Having seen LP and Gosalyn's reactions the last time he had gotten hurt enough to warrant medical attention, he isn't so keen on telling his sidekick.

ao3 link here

“That felonious fiend is finished!” Darkwing Duck proudly announced watching St. Canard’s finest drag the fainted form of Steelbeak into the Police Transport Vehicle. Well, until F.O.W.L. busts him out again, Darkwing added silently. No matter! Whatever feeble attempt at world larceny Steelbeak cooks up is no match for the likes of Darkwing Duck!

Foiling Steelbeak’s future plans could wait. First, he just had to take care of the nick Steelbeak had dastardly dealt him before he managed to get the upper hand in the fight. Jeez that smarts. He pressed a hand to his right side, grimacing at the throb that originated from the wound. I ought to keep pressure on it, doesn’t seem too bad but Goslayn would sooner wring my neck than let me accidentally pass out from blood loss. He thought to himself, a faint smile on his face.

“DW! Great job out there,” Launchpad, his fateful sidekick and civilian partner commended as he walked over from where he’d been helping herd the remaining F.O.W.L. Eggmen into the police van. “I really thought ol’ Steelbeak was gonna take a chomp outta ya!”

Darkwing’s face flushed, thankfully hidden by his mask and hat, “Nonsense I had everything under control.” He boasted. His eyes flickered down to where his hand was pressed to his wound, obscured from Launchpad’s vision by the cape. Well, not everything. The masked duck opened his beak to inform Launchpad of his predicament when he quickly shut it and frowned.

Drake Mallard, Darkwing Duck or otherwise was always getting injured. It was just in his nature, his hands-on approach sometimes called for him getting walloped by a bad guy. But he always managed to bounce back! Usually that is. He recalled a particularly nasty encounter with Negaduck roughly six months ago that had resulted in a broken rib or two and the worst stomach laceration in his career. The nerve of that guy amirite? His frown deepened as he remembered the frantic and terrified expressions on his partner and daughter’s faces when they caught sight of him bloodied on the ground and gasping for air. Not to mention the particularly glum look of Gosalyn’s when she lied to the Muddlefoots claiming Drake had merely fallen off the ladder trying to do some repairs on the roof.

Drake didn’t necessarily want to make Launchpad and Gosalyn relive that again. He was pretty handy when it came to first aid, he’d taken care of worse on his own easily. No need to concern them. He’d just fix it up on his own no problem. The pain for the most part was fading anyway, so long as he didn’t jostle the wound, he’d be able to make it back to Darkwing Tower fine. His thought process was interrupted when a feathered hand waved in front of his face.

“DW? You good buddy? You kinda zoned out on me there.” Launchpad said with a chuckle, his forehead still wrinkled with concern. Darkwing shook his head to clear his thoughts, pushing down Launchpad’s arm away from his face.

“I’m alright, just beat after that fight. Crime fighting’s hard work.” DW said with a false yawn. He fished out the keys to the Ratcatcher from his pocket with his free hand, holding them out to Launchpad. “You mind driving back to the Tower? Don’t want me falling asleep at the wheel.”

Launchpad smiled, relieved it was merely exhaustion that had DW down, nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. He clasped Darkwing’s shoulder, giving him a pat and taking the keys. “Sure thing DW.” He replied, releasing his hand and walking towards the parked bike.

Darkwing Duck forced a cheerful grin onto his face, resisting the urge to wince as Launchpad’s accidental strength behind the pat jostled his injury. He always managed to forget how strong his partner was. The fake grin slipped off his face once LP had turned and focused on starting up the bike, he didn’t exactly trust himself behind the wheel while wounded. But Launchpad didn’t need to worry about that.

Launchpad sat down on the Ratcatcher, making sure his aviator hat was well secured, aware Gosalyn had already lectured DW about the safety of riding without any protection. He fumbled with the keys for a moment before finding the correct one and sliding it into the ignition. He started the engine, keeping the motorcycle in neutral until the engine warmed up and DW climbed into the sidecar.

His gaze flickered over to his partner as Darkwing removed his hat and secured the helmet to his head, noticeably using only one of his hands. LP frowned, he swore DW looked pale… Was it just the lighting from the streetlamps over their heads? Come to think of it DW didn’t often give up the keys to the Ratcatcher, he enjoyed driving it too much and complained the fairing shield in the sidecar didn’t stop his feathers from getting messed up by the wind. He shook his head attempting to dispel the thought from his head, he was just being a tad paranoid. DW was just tired, probably had a few bumps and bruises from the fight that could be fixed up just by taking it easy. When your husband makes a living putting St. Canard’s scariest scoundrels behind bars you tend to worry from time to time. Even if you were Launchpad “danger buff” Mcquack.

DW gingerly climbed into the sidecar, trying not to make his injury ache more than it already did. He looked up to Launchpad who met him with a warm smile, Darkwing after a moment’s hesitation returned it with one of his own. How Launchpad managed to improve his mood with merely a loving smile eluded him, but he found it always did. He wanted nothing more than to return home and curl up in his partner’s arms before the sun rose; but the last thing he needed was a wound like this getting infected and putting him out of commission for a few days.

The Ratcatcher rumbled to life as Launchpad shifted gears and sped towards the Audubon Bay Bridge. Darkwing looked at the streetlamps they passed with muted interest as he formulated an excuse that would permit him to slink off and take care of his laceration without Launchpad growing worried. Passing over a particularly large speed-bump caused DW to let out a hiss of pain as he was jostled, thankfully the roar of the engine muffled the noise to Launchpad.

Thanks to the Ratcatcher’s speed they arrived at Darkwing Tower in a matter of minutes. Launchpad killed the engine and hopped off the bike. With a light smile, he outstretched a hand to DW in a considerate gesture to help him step out of the sidecar. Darkwing scoffed at the chivalry, poorly hiding an amused smile as he took the hand and stood. Immediately after rising, spots danced across his field of vision and a dizzying sick feeling overtook him. Maybe he wasn’t as well off as he believed. Instinctively he clutched Launchpad’s hand tighter until his vision cleared, and the dizziness became manageable. It only took a moment to have it under control, but it was long enough for Launchpad’s face to become filled with concern.

“DW are you alright??” His partner asked worriedly, reaching his other arm out to support him and keep him from falling should Drake stumble. DW waved the arm off and released Launchpad’s hand.

“I’m fine, LP. Just stood up too fast. Don’t worry about it.” He reassured, stepping out of the sidecar, frowning at the worried expression that remained on LP’s face. “I’m okay, Launchpad.”

Launchpad seemed unconvinced, his brows furrowed but he nodded. “If you say so DW…” He mumbled, looking uneasily at his companion.

Drake felt a pang of guilt, this had been the exact opposite of his intentions. He loathed that worried and uncertain expression that he had brought to Launchpad’s face. Blasted blood loss botching up his attempt to ease his family’s fears! He removed his helmet, setting it down on the seat of the Ratcatcher. Drake feigned a smile, “Hey, at least my feathers managed to stay unruffled despite the wind.”

Launchpad let out an amused huff, “For the most part that is.” He said, smoothing down a stray feather sticking up on the side of Drake’s face, sporting a small smile.

Drake’s smile became more genuine, “That frustrating feather! What would I do without you?” He declared in a playful manner.

That earned a laugh out of Launchpad, “Okay, okay Mr. Dramatics let’s hurry up and get home. I’m beat.” LP replied, his smile having widened at Drake’s eccentrics.

Drake faltered for a moment before he regained his composure and remembered his fabricated explanation, “Yes of course. Why don’t you go on ahead? I oughta submit a report to S.H.U.S.H. about Steelbeak’s plans while they’re still fresh in my mind.”

Launchpad hesitated, “Gee DW, are you sure? That seems a bit above our paygrade. I thought you were tired?”

“Well it is but that stick in the mud Gryzlikoff would never let me hear the end of it if I learned something pertinent to the investigation and didn’t say anything. Crime never sleeps, and while I, Darkwing Duck, still require a few hours I can manage for a little longer!” Drake replied, itching to hurry this conversation along so he could take care of his injury. He swore his hand pressing the cloth of his costume to his side felt slick, maybe he was just clammy from nerves. Yeah, nerves, that was it.

The pilot sighed, “Okay DW, don’t work yourself too hard. I don’t mind waiting here while you finish up.” He said.

Drake gave him a weak smile, “Great. I’ll be done in a bit.” He responded, turning away and fully intending to retreat to one of the more isolated areas of the Tower to tend to his injury with one of the many med kits he’d stashed around. He didn’t get the chance, Launchpad placing a hand on Drake’s right side and giving him a quick peck on the beak. An endearing gesture of affection LP would do often, which DW had no qualms with and was in fact fond of. However, as luck would have it, Launchpad’s hand was on the wrong side.

He inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth to keep a yelp from escaping him as pain shot up his body. Blathering blatherskite that hurt. His whole form tensed in response to the sudden shock to his system. As much as Drake applauded himself for retaining his composure -tears threatening to spill aside- his acting wasn’t as good as he had hoped. Launchpad immediately released the gentle hold he had on him, not wanting to cause Drake any further pain. His expression was one of stunned dismay, concern soon overtaking it.

“DW! I’m so sorry- Are you okay??” Launchpad exclaimed in a flurry of words, continuing to apologize. He looked unsure of what to do, his first instinct was to hold onto his partner to provide comfort or support should Drake fall over. But he didn’t know what caused the sudden reaction in the first place.

Drake took a shuddering breath, attempting to smile which looked more like a weak grimace. “Y-Yeah I’m fine LP, just got some bruising there… took me by surprise.” He replied, a slight wheeze to his voice.

Launchpad narrowed his eyes, taking in Drake’s slightly hunched frame, the way he favored his left side, his right hand’s ‘mysterious’ lack of use, now that they weren’t relying on streetlights for visuals, he could properly see just how ashen Drake’s face looked. “Bullshit. DW you’re hurt. Let me see.”

Drake shook his head, “Really Launchpad its fine-“

“Let me see, DW.”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“DW-“

“You don’t need to worry, honest!”

“Drake. Please…” Let me see, I’m worried about you were the words left unspoken.

Whatever retort or excuse Drake planned to respond with died on his tongue upon seeing the look on Launchpad’s face and the quiet desperation in his voice. He let out a sigh, rubbing at his temples with his free hand. “Okay okay…” He relented, “Don’t freak out, it’s really not that bad.” Drake unclipped his cape, discarding it to the floor. He lifted the coat and turtleneck of his costume to reveal the wound.

His partner blanched upon looking, which did not reassure Drake in the slightest. “Not that bad’ my ass DW you need stitches!” Launchpad exclaimed upon seeing the injury, his eyes wide with disbelief.

For the first time since Steelbeak stabbed him, Drake got a good look at the wound for himself. If even possible, he managed to grow even paler. “Okay,” He started in a small voice, “It might be a bit worse than I thought.”

The incredulous yeah-no-shit look Launchpad gave him in any other situation would’ve been hilarious. Not so much this one. LP gave an exasperated sigh and rubbed at his face. He straightened and walked over to DW to get a better look for himself.

Despite DW’s instinctive reaction to brush off Launchpad and insist he’d take care of it, he let his partner examine the injury. The worried furrow in Launchpad’s brow didn’t seem like it was leaving his face any time soon.

“Might as well keep putting pressure on it while I get you situated and get the first aid kit.” His partner instructed with an expression that was soft with concern but unyielding to any protests Drake might voice. “Now stay still. I don’t wanna make this anymore painful.”

Drake complied and found himself being lifted, ever so gently by Launchpad; who seemed to be taking great lengths to avoid jostling his injury. Launchpad’s arms wrapped around him, careful to steer clear from wound. As much as Drake wanted to object to the treatment and claim how unnecessary it was, he couldn’t help but feel comforted in his partner’s warm and secure arms- not to mention it felt great to be off his feet. He found himself relaxing into Launchpad’s hold, resting his head on Launchpad’s chest. Maybe he was sleepier than he realized.

Drake blinked the tiredness out of his eyes, trying to keep himself alert as he was gingerly deposited onto the couch. They’d installed it in the Tower after Gosalyn complained a few too many times about there being no place for her to lounge while her Dads were on a case. Drake found his head resting on a throw pillow and laying across the full length of the couch. Before he had even registered his partner was gone, Launchpad reappeared with a first aid kit, a water bottle, and freshly washed hands.

Launchpad set down the supplies on the coffee table beside the couch, fumbling with the buttons on Drake’s coat. His masked partner lightly shooed his hand away, mumbling something about being able to do it himself. He unbuttoned his costume and lifted his turtleneck to remove any obstruction of the wound while Launchpad fished out the gauze.

Launchpad pressed the gauze against Drake’s side, taking notice of his husband’s grimace that followed. “So, you wanna tell me how this happened DW?” He prompted, wanting to keep Drake engaged while he slowed the bleeding.

Drake let out a frustrated huff, “Steelbeak just caught me off guard ‘s all… Honestly LP it’s not worth all this hubbub, we both know I’ve dealt and defeated worse.” He replied, not meeting his partner’s eyes. Sinister Steelbeak just had to be a huge spoilsport and cause all this trouble. His gaze flickered to LP’s hands over the gauze.

He recalled the scuffle they got into after Darkwing foiled the rooster’s plans while Launchpad dispatched the Eggmen nearby.

“You just have to ruin everything, dontcha Dipwing?”

“What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

They exchanged some repartee which Steelbeak didn’t seem to be much in the mood for judging by the furious swinging of his knife he’d snatched from an Eggmen after Darkwing disarmed him of a laser gun. One misstep dodging sent him crashing to the floor with Steelbeak in tow. Next thing Darkwing Duck knew, he felt a knife being yanked free from where it had embedded in his side. Instinct resulting in him kicking a webbed foot directly into Steelbeak’s face. Shortly after the fight had turned in his favor, adrenaline and desperation probably playing a large factor. Thankfully Darkwing had experience fighting while injured.

Launchpad frowned as Drake averted his eyes, “ ‘Doesn’t matter, you should’ve said something…” With one hand still staunching the blood flow, he reached over and passed the water bottle to Drake along with the ibuprofen from the med kit.

Drake made a noncommittal grumbling noise but complied and took the ibuprofen, chasing it down with water. If LP was right about stitches, then he’d need the painkillers. They found themselves lapsing into silence, Launchpad slightly miffed and worried about his husband, and Drake struggling to find the words to explain his reasoning for hiding the injury.

A short while passes and Drake is snapped out of his thoughts as Launchpad gently removes his hands from Drake’s side. “Looks like you’ve stopped bleeding, lemme get out the Saline.” Launchpad said, turning to rummage through the med kit. Drake spared no expense when it came to medical supplies, every trip to the hospital was another risk to his identity so it was best for them to avoid it when possible. Not to mention a hefty medical bill S.H.U.S.H. wouldn’t be happy about paying.

As Launchpad searched, Drake tried again to explain himself. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it… It’s just that you shouldn’t have to worry about this kind of stuff, LP. I’ve fixed up way worse by myself when I was solo.”

Launchpad’s shoulders drooped as he turned to look at his husband. “But DW, honey, you don’t have to do that anymore. You’re not solo, you have a family.” He spoke softly.

Drake felt his heart get lodged in his throat, his protests and excuses dying on his tongue. A family. Yeah, he sure did have one of those. Worries and all. Sometimes just hearing the words aloud was enough to make him stop in his tracks. “I- I know…” He replied, feeling just the least bit misty-eyed.

His partner’s face melted into a fond smile at Drake’s expression. “I know you know. Just lemme take care of you right now, okay?” At Drake’s nod he retrieved the Saline to clean the wound. His free hand he intertwined with Drake’s. “Squeeze as hard as you want to when it starts to hurt. I promise you’re not gonna bother me, I’ve arm wrestled with Scrooge Mcduck and that man has an iron grip.” Launchpad joked.

DW snorted, “Are you telling me that Scrooge Mcduck the cushy old billionaire is stronger than me, Darkwing Duck?”

“An injured Darkwing Duck, yes. Remember he used to be a pretty wild adventurer, though if you’re that keen to arm wrestle him be my guest. Now hold still this is gonna sting.” Launchpad instructed, struggling to keep a straight face at Drake’s antics.

Drake rolled his eyes with fond exasperation but complied and made sure to keep still. He was plenty familiar with the process of cleaning wounds, but he still appreciated the hand Launchpad offered him.

Launchpad got to work disinfecting the wound with his free hand. Drake kept still and silent, but his mouth pressed into a thin hard line from the effort. Saline did a little more than just sting with an injury like this but it was far better than the alternative of letting anything get infected. His hand unconsciously grasped Launchpad’s a little bit tighter.

Drake breathed a sigh of relief as Launchpad finished, relaxing his shoulders he’d instinctively tensed in as the pain faded. He released Launchpad’s hand and offered his husband a reassuring smile that was only a tad shaky. Launchpad of course returning it with one of his own. It was times like these where he had never felt more relieved that Launchpad knew so much about first aid. Being around Scrooge Mcduck and co. gives you plenty of medical experience in the field it seems.

He watched as Launchpad dug through the med kit yet again in search of sutures and other supplies needed to close the wound. Launchpad located the items he needs and quips something about organizing the med kits better, so they don’t have to dig around as much. Drake finds himself agreeing with a laugh. Thankfully the painkillers had already begun to kick in, so when Launchpad gets to work the pain is a manageable level. The wound isn’t as bad as Launchpad had initially thought now that the bleeding had stopped, DW would only need three sutures from the looks of it.

Drake lets them fall into a comfortable silence, not wanting to distract Launchpad from the task of stitching him back together. It’s not till Launchpad has started dressing the wound that he speaks again.

“…Thanks LP. I’m sorry for being such a pain. I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

Launchpad looked up from where he’d kneeled to bandage the injury, his beak curled into a soft smile. “Yeah, you should’ve. I’m not mad at ya though. How come you didn’t tell me you got hurt? We’ve taken care of each other’s injuries plenty of times.” He asked.

Drake sighed, his eyes downcast. “I was going to tell you, I just… Do you remember that fight with Negaduck six months back at that old sports warehouse?”

His partner made a face, “Yeesh, yeah how could I forget. Gos and I found you barely conscious with the wind knocked outta you on the ground. ‘Scared the hell outta us.” Launchpad said, continuing to tend to DW’s wound as he spoke.

“…Yeah, I had fallen off the catwalk.” Drake grimaced at the reminder, “Point being, as out of it as I was, I still was awake enough to see you guys walk in-“ He sucked in a breath, “-Seeing you and Gosalyn’s faces, how terrified you both looked, knowing I caused it- It wasn’t a great feeling. Then tonight with Steelbeak, I thought about that and how I hated to make you worry, and I just clammed up. I thought I’d just take care of it on my own and everything’d be fine.” His beak quirked into a rueful smile, “Although that obviously didn’t work out now did it.”

Launchpad had finished securing the bandages and cupped Drake’s face gently, a tender expression on his face. “I worry more when you don’t tell me DW. I’m your sidekick and your husband, I’m here to support you. You don’t have to hide anything from me okay?”

The mallard’s rueful smile became more genuine as he leaned into Launchpad’s touch, “I know. Trust me, I don’t plan on pulling a move like that ever again… I love you.” Drake replied, taking advantage of Launchpad’s close proximity and giving him a peck on the beak.

“I love you too.” Launchpad said with one of his beautifully bright smiles, “Now, how are you feeling?”

“A lot better, taking care of injuries is much more enjoyable when I have my stupendous sidekick to help.” Drake said, a mirthful gleam in his eyes seeing Launchpad’s grin in response to his alliteration. “Although now I’m tired for real this time.”

“We ought to get home then. I’m sure Gos is waiting on us.”

Drake raised an eyebrow, “This is way past Gosalyn’s bedtime, do you really think she’s up?”

Launchpad looked at Drake with an amused expression, “DW it’s the weekend. Of course, she’s up. Probably watching one of those late-night movies she likes so much.”

Drake rolled his eyes, hiding a fondly exasperated smile, “Fair point. I recant my previous statement, she’s definitely up. We should send her off to bed as soon as we get home… Although…. I suppose I could be persuaded into sharing some microwave popcorn and finishing the movie with her provided I get to spend time with my two favorite people in the world.” He mused aloud, pretending to really think it over.

Launchpad let out a laugh, “Consider it a deal. As long as she’s up that is.” He joked.

“LP, this is our daughter. She’s up.”

The duo rose, ready to head home after Launchpad cleaned up the leftover supplies and threw away the used gauze and surgical thread. His husband insisted upon carrying him to the chair set that would transport them home to 537 Avian Way, Drake in no way complaining. As ‘luck’ would have it, Gosalyn was wide awake and delighted at the prospect of finishing the movie with popcorn, especially if it meant she wouldn’t be sent to bed early. The Mallard-Mcquack family found themselves curled up on the couch, a bag of popcorn in Gosalyn’s lap. Launchpad continued to ask her about what they had missed in the plot of the movie while on patrol. Meanwhile, Drake had fallen asleep shortly after sitting down, exhausted from the events of the night and feeling secure so close to his family. After the movie Launchpad planned to move Drake up to their actual bed, but for now DW seemed content to snore peacefully by Gosalyn and Launchpad.

#drakepad #darkwing duck #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #mine #fic

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coffeekaspbrak · 6 years

Text

Tires- Hanbrough fic (part 1/2)

Pairing: Mike Hanlon x Bill Denbrough (side reddie sorta)

Summary: Mike shows up late to the quarry with slashed tires and Bill can’t shake a funny feeling.

It’s a hot, sunny day at the Derry quarry and summer is going out with a bang. August is breathing it’s final breaths as the sun beams harshly on the faces of children anxiously preparing to go back to school. Six such children lay easily on their backs, causally awaiting their last friend to join them for one of their swims. Their sophomore year of high school is a measly nine days away. Well, five are casual, Bill Denbrough is the odd man out as he waits for the sound of Mike Hanlon’s bike.

Bill was always a little anxious when someone was late. After all that’s happened, he doesn’t take much to the idea of anyone being by them self. Still, he tries to swallow the lump in his throat and enjoy the sunshine and his company.

The sound of light footsteps on the trail leading to the rocks cause him to jolt him out of his thoughts. His eyes fall on a disheveled looking Mike Hanlon, sporting dirt on his denim overalls and exhaustion on his face. He’s holding his bike handles, basket empty and tires flat.

“Holy hell! What happened to you?” Bill hears Richie’s loud, distinctive shout as they all come to meet him.

He sees Eddie rush over to him, tiny legs carrying him furiously. He grabs Mike by the shoulders and ushers him over to the rock his fanny pack had been tossed aside on earlier that day. “Are you hurt?” Eddie blurts, sitting him down before digging around in the contents of his bag. He stops fumbling only to scan Mike for cuts and bruises with his sharply trained eyes. “I don’t think so Ed.” Mike says, gently. His smile only tugs at the right side of his face, absent from the rest of his features.

“Relax Eds.” Richie says, approaching them followed by the rest of the group. He wraps an arm around Eddie and ruffles his hair, “Kid uses band aides like it’s the end of the fucking world.”

Bill feels the words jumble in his mouth as he stares at Mike, “Wh-Wh-what h-ha-happened?”

Mike lets out a sigh, “Some assholes slashed my tires while I was doing a delivery.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bev says, sunglasses resting lower on her nose.

“Yeah,” Mike responds, it’s tired and weak and Bill feels that same drop in his heart.

“Maybe your meat gave someone something and this was revenge,” Stan theories with a finger to his chin. Richie lets out a cackle, “Oh my god... too good Stan the Man.”

Stan’s eyes sharpen and wrinkle, “you know that’s not what I meant you sick fu-.”

“Now is not the time for dick jokes or bickering you guys,” Ben states. Richie laughs again, “Oh my dear Ben, it’s always time for dick jokes. But enough with the cliff notes, give me the full scoop, Mikey.”

He looks at the ground, “There really isn’t much to tell. I just came out and my tires looked funny. I tried riding my bike anyway because it’s a long walk but I fell over. I just want to forget about it for now, guys.”

“But don’t you want to know who-“ Eddie starts. “L-Let’s just swim,” Bill blurts out with surprising clarity. Mike’s thankful expression isn’t lost on him as they share a short glance that causes inexplicable heat in Bill’s cheeks.

“You heard the man!” Richie shouts in his “British” accent, “jump in Eds!” He pushes Eddie towards the cliff side. “Don’t fucking don’t that!” He screeches, digging his feet in the ground. “Why? You wanna skinny dip instead? I’m down.” Eddie’s cheeks noticeably turn pink, “You’re so fucking weird.” And everyone erupts into laughter.

“Last one in is a loser!” Bev shouts, running to the cliff side. The four boys run after her, giggling and shouting.

“Give me a hand?” Mike asks. “Huh? Oh, s-sure,” Bill lends his hand to the sitting boy. Mike pulls himself up, “thanks,” he smiles. Bill is glued to the ground as Mike’s gaze remains on him. “Aren’t you going to go in?” Mike asks with shifting eyes.

“I-I c-can w-wait,” he stumbles out.

“Well I was going to get into my-“ Underwear. To swim. Jesus Christ. “Oh r-right, s-s-sorry.” Bill felt his tongue swell up in his mouth, lost on what to say. Why was he being awkward around Mike? Mike was his friend, he’d been nervous when they’d first met but there was no reason to be anymore. “I’ll see you down there.” Mike smiles again. Bill nods.

In the water, he finds his eyes resting on Mike more often than not. His peaceful smile and eyes look they hung the sun itself to him. His laugh fills Bill’s chest with something fluttery and warm. Almost like he needs to throw up. “You alright, Bill? You look pale.” Eddie asks, ripping away his stare. Richie swims over, “He’s always been a vampire, Eds. Quit being paranoid and get on my shoulders. We’re playing chicken.”

One by one the losers leave the quarry. Well, actually, in groups. For safety Bill insists. Ben jumps to accompany Bev when she says she should be getting home soon, Stan joins them. Richie and Eddie leave a little later, Richie covered in bandages and groaning in pain. “I told you not run up the trail, Rich, there’s rocks everywhere.” They leave with Richie’s arm slung around Eddie’s neck for support. Bill didn’t think the situation called for that, but who’s to say with those two. Now there’s only him and Mike, lying on rocks sunbathing. Bill was enjoying their comfortable silence. They could talk, they share a lot of the same interests and Bill certainly likes the sound of Mike’s voice drenched in passion for a topic, but it’s peaceful like this. A change of pace from their lovably loud friends. Bill finds that his eyes are drawn to his friend again, sprawled on his stomach. The unwavering sun shining on his smooth, bare skin and highlighting his slight muscles relaxed in his leisurely state. Bill can’t get himself tear his eyes away no matter how hard he tries. When Mike shifts to face him, Bill screws his eyes shut tightly.

“Bill, you asleep?”

“Y-yes,” he answers with eyes still closed. Mike lets out a laugh that Bill thinks could solve all of the world’s problems. “I should be getting back soon, supper is probably almost ready.” He says as his arms stretch over his head and he stands on his tip toes. Sleepy never looked so good. He shakes the thought out of his head and realizes he didn’t exactly hear what his friend had said. “W-what?” Mike gives him a puzzled stare, “You alright, Big Bill? You’ve been acting funny all day.”

“S-s-s-sor-r,” he sighs and curses himself, “s-s-o-r-r-“. “There’s no need to be, I just want to make sure you’re alright.” Mike mercifully cuts in. Bill smiles, “I’m f-fine. Now w-what where you saying?”

“I should get home.”

They dress in relative silence as Bill tries to keep his gaze to the ground. He changes quickly and waits for his friend to finish, averting his eyes. As if he has a vendetta against Bill’s sanity, Mike walks towards him with his shirt only covering his torso, pulling it down as he approaches him. “Ready?” Bill gulps, like he’s going to choke, and nods.

They approach the bikes and Bill feels a little more calm as Mike starts rambling about the book he’s reading at the moment,

“It’s on the reading list for my English class but I got a head start. It’s history and romance and it’s a little gory sometimes but it’s good.”

“W-what is it again?”

“A Tale of Two Cities. I know we all have to read it this year anyway, but I think you should read it before. It’s awesome, you’d love it.”’ Bill feels himself red again, the mention of him from Mike makes his mind buzz, like he has a headache. “W-what makes you s-say that?”

Mike kicks a rock out of his way gently, “I don’t know, it reminds of the way you write,” he looks back to Bill again, “when you let me read it, that is.”

The bikes come into their view and Mike’s face falls. “It’s okay to go ahead of me, I gotta walk it.”

“I sh-shouldn’t have even let you c-come here by yourself, nobody should be out alone. N-not in this t-town.”

“Bill-“

“I’m serious.”

Mike knew more than most, but he lets it go. There is silence for a beat and Bill fiddles with his lips, biting the top one swollen and pink as he thinks something over.

“H-here,” Bill says, gripping his bike handles, “W-we can ride double. Your dad can c-come back in his truck and g-get your bike r-right?”

The well loved rust and sheen of silver is still big for Bill despite his wiry teenage limbs. Seeing it fly down the street, Mike sometimes worries Bill will be jolted into the air, made weightless by the speed. Bill is unaware of that fact as Mike nods and climbs on behind him.

Mike’s arms, made strong by years of farm work find their way to Bill’s waist as he kicks up the kickstand. It makes a creek that cuts through the sound of the gentle wind that sways branches to dance. The leaves jostle like the flutter in Bill’s stomach upon Mike’s grasp. The sunlight twinkles between the emerald jewels of trees that have laid their roots here before Bill was born. A thought pops into his head then, light and profound somehow simultaneously, like the last days of summer,

All is green and all is good

With Mike’s arms around him.

He blushes at the realization, but holds himself the same,

“R-Ready?”

“As I will ever be, Denbrough.” And Bill can hear his smile in his words.

They zip down the dirt path surrounded by trees and into their home town. The burning pavement is made hotter by the Silver’s speeding tires and Bill feels a tighter grip around him as they fly down Main Street. It’s a while to his farm, but Bill doesn’t think it lasts long enough. The last bits of sun linger as the Bill pedals backwards. Mike untangles himself.

“Thank you,” he says.

“A-anytime,” with a side smile. They are still very much in one another’s space when Mike leans over. He does something then, he kisses Bill on the cheek. Soft and quick. “I’ll see you later,” he takes a step away towards his house.

“L-l-later,” he can barely breathe out. Mike walks into his house as the sun disappears. Bill rides home, stopping every couple of blocks to find the phantom mark on his cheek and smile.

#hanbrough #hanbrough fic #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie #this wont get any notes but it was a labor of love #my stuff #🌿💛💚#bill denbrough x mike hanlon #mine

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nutbrain · 6 years

Text

A short fic about a pining Bandit I wrote from a discord suggestion. I tried a writing style a little different from what I’m used to, so please let me know if you like it! (~4800 words)

Bandit wasn’t quite sure when the feeling started. It had been insidious, one thing slowly building on top of another, nagging at the back of his mind until the thought was finally brought to his attention; he was starting to get old. It wasn’t something he’d really let bother him until recently. Retrospectively, Bandit realized he’d started to notice courtesy of several offhanded comments. The German had vaulted over a stairway’s railing to finish off a couple terrorists a floor below and hurt his knees on the (admittedly poor) landing. Kapkan had laughed his head off when Bandit had radioed in that since the building was finally clear, he was going to remain on the floor until his legs stopped throbbing. He still cringed at the fact that Mute had to eventually make his way down to pick him up. The young Brit asked him if he required LifeAlert, and of course Pulse had joined in. The helicopter ride back was miserable with his knees still hurting more with every jostle and those idiots living it up through the comm system which he was ordered not to turn off. Kapkan of course wouldn’t let him nurse he wounds in peace when they got back and instead radioed it in to Doc.

“We have no casualties aside from Bandit’s pride,” Bandit flipped him off which only encouraged the Russian more, “the idiot decided to take up gymnastics and didn’t quite stick his landing. I’d give it a 2.5/10 from what I saw on the cameras.” Kapkan winked as the others started chortling, debating whether or not he deserved more or less points for killing the terrorists on the way down.

Doc had let out a long-suffering sigh when Bandit was hauled into the infirmary by a highly amused Mute. From the looks of it, the doctor had been planning on heading out for the night with his team, as Doc had thrown his white coat on over his sweater and khaki pants while the rest of the GIGN was lazing around the infirmary in their civvies. Twitch fixed him with an unamused look and he flipped off Rook just out of sight of Montagne as the younger man opened his mouth to say something. The shield bearer smiled at him as he limped past, but Bandit steadfastly refused to make eye contact, offering him a quick nod instead. He was already embarrassed enough.

Doc ushered the pair into the office and closed the door after Mute left, giving the German a lightning fast check-up before launching into one of his signature tongue lashings. While the whole tirade was grating on its own, it was Doc’s comment as he cleaned up that really tipped him over the edge.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know. Not that you should have been pulling those stunts ten years ago, but you have to be even more careful now.” He gripped, passing Bandit a bottle of prescription ibuprofen for the swelling and pain. The German glared and silently accept the meds, waiting to leave until he was dismissed. Bandit maybe a bit rash at times, but even knew better than blow up on the doctor (Doc was a force to be reckoned with on his own, but with the rest of the GIGN already upset that they weren’t currently at dinner, there’s no way that would end well).

However, if the Keurig that Doc and the others from the mission happened to use had its water laced with laxatives the next day, well, what could he say.

While Bandit certainly wasn’t the oldest operator in Rainbow by any means, he also wasn’t nearly as young as some. After lamenting to Blitz about the comments from the others, the younger German had a few ideas that Bandit wasn’t quite sure he was willing to accept.

“I think you’re just hitting your midlife crisis.”

“My what?” Bandit looked at him as if he’d grown another head, though it wasn’t quite as effective since he was currently laying upside down on the couch while Blitz sat in the recliner, making a valiant effort to type up his mission report while also playing counselor to Bandit.

“Your midlife crisis. From what I hear it happens to people around your age. I mean, you bought that ridiculously expensive motorcycle last month,” Blitz held up his hand as Bandit started to protest, “your pranks have shifted to focus mostly on the younger operators, you actually trimmed your beard within the last week, you’ve started buying work jeans with even more holes in them, and you’ve finally purchased civvies that don’t make you look like a homeless stoner.” Bandit flipped around on the couch to level a proper glare at the other man, whose only response was to roll his eyes.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been meaning to buy that bike for years, thank you very much. And how dare you insult the distressed marks on my jeans. I don’t know if you’ve tried, but it’s actually very time consuming to create that look for yourself.” Blitz quirked his eyebrow, disbelieving.

“Listen, all I’m saying is maybe this would be a good time to find someone nice and give dating a chance. I know it’s hard with our lifestyle, but we’ll all have to retire eventually and you need someone to keep you company when the nights are long.”

“Ya, you’re probably right,” now it was Blitz’s turn to look at him strangely, not used to hearing those words come out of Bandit’s mouth. “I probably do need a good lay like what you have with the baguette boy.” Blitz’s expression turned to one of horror as his face lit up bright red. Bandit cackled as he exited the room, leaving a sputtering Blitz behind.

Despite the jesting, Bandit took Blitz’s words to heart. He spent the next week running through his dating options. Ideally, another operator would be best suited to handle and understand his current lifestyle, so that narrowed down his options significantly. Montagne, Jackal, Lion, and the Russians were out immediately for a variety of reasons. Montagne was so far out of league it was unreal, so he wasn’t even on the list to be checked off. Jackal was attractive and older, so he was one of Bandit’s first thoughts, but the other man was too suave and had enough baggage not to be able to handle any of Bandit’s. Moving on, Lion, as far as Bandit knew, was interested in the fairer sex. As intriguing as the challenge of converting him sounded, he also didn’t think he’d be able to stomach his haughty attitude for long. As for the Russians, they were so tight knit it would be extremely hard to even start to approach one, and in the event that they ever broke up, Bandit had the distinct feeling that he would no longer have to worry about reaching retirement.

Rook, Blitz, Mute, and Smoke were already in relationships, and as much as Bandit enjoyed chaos, he wasn’t about to be labelled as a homewrecker, especially not where Blitz was concerned. After finishing his run through, the only other operator he hadn’t completely ruled out for one reason or another was Jager.

Bandit started weighing the pros and cons of their theoretical relationship. Pros: They’d been friends for awhile and at this point knew each other well, so they could skip a lot of the awkwardness that accompanied getting to know someone new. Not to mention the man was incredibly smart and easy on the eyes. Cons: The problem lay in the fact that Bandit preferred to be pursued rather than to pursue. And knowing Jager, his toolbox had a better chance of picking up on the fact that Bandit was flirting with him. Not to mention he’d be risking their current friendship if he took the direct approach and was rejected.

Bandit sighed a flopped back on his bed, attempting to devise a strategy to ask the mechanic out while also being able to play it off should his advances go awry.

As the weeks went on, Bandit occupied his free time with fantasies about pursing Jager. He’d started to grow accustomed to the idea of dating the other German, despite how strange the notion had felt initially. Before Blitz put the idea in his head, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask Jager out. The two defender’s friendship had taken long enough to progress to where it was today, with more than a few fights scattered throughout and so Bandit was loathe to potentially ruin what they had. At this point, however, he was committed to winning over the other defender, despite the nagging sense that this whole thing was fueled by a little too much desperation. His usual sounding board, Blitz, was of little help; the man turned to a blushing pile of mush at the mere mention of sex and Rook had all but fallen into his lap, so he was useless for that as well.

Getting Jager’s attention was just as hard as he thought it would be, much to Bandit’s despair. His attempts at flirting were taken as compliments, and all he accomplished was inflating Jager’s already significant ego. At one point it had gotten so bad, everyone was worried the pilot was turning into Echo with how much he was boasting about his ADSs (a statement that said man was highly offended by). Smoke thankfully took him down a few notches by rolling a stink bomb past his ADS during training. Jager had been stuck in the raunchy room until Castle came back to take down his barricades, taking longer than necessary to check all the rooms before finally arriving to rescue the poor German. Bandit felt guilty even if what happened wasn’t his fault, so he decided he’d better switch tactics.

However, his next option, gifts, were also a no go, as they were immediately met with deep suspicion and adamantly refused on the off chance that Bandit was pulling a prank. Despite trying everything he could, Jager still refused to take any of the offered food items or tools. After several attempts on multiple occasions, Doc and Montagne were starting to appreciate the edible items he grudgingly passed their way. The tokens had at least gone a long way to smooth things over after the laxative prank claimed Montagne as an unintended victim. Doc of course had made Bandit eat something from the box the first few times he came by, both to prove nothing was poisoned and to make sure they didn’t taste terrible. As for the tools, which were not electrified as Jager insisted, he kept for himself or passed onto a grateful IQ.

The whole ordeal was a trial in itself, but to make matters worse, the other operators in the workshop had picked up on what was going on and were increasingly amused with Bandit’s failures. He was furious when noticed that the SAS defenders had started a betting pool at his expense, worried that it’d somehow work its way back around to Jager. So far the two had kept their promise to the pilot out of the loop, given the fact that Jager turned down Bandit’s latest gift of his favorite box of German chocolates.

Sighing in frustration, Bandit stalked out of the workshop and headed back towards his room. On the way, he passed the common area where Montagne and Rook were watching some film in French. He veered over and dropped yet another box of chocolates off to a now beaming Montagne, not allowing the other man a chance to speak before he disappeared around the corner without a word.

Two weeks and five failed attempts, Bandit had finally ended up at his last option, but refused to take the final step. His attempts had gotten increasingly farfetched and he’d managed to run up a long list of people infuriated with him as he compensated for his anxiousness with pranks. In a rare occasion, both the Bosak sisters were looking to murder him for swapping the contents of closets and lockers (luckily for him, they still had yet to actually work together), he’d switched out all of Thermite’s chemicals with either baking soda or vinegar, resulting in little volcanoes forming all over the lab, and sniffed out the location of Buck’s good maple syrup to replace it with the cheapest liquid sugar he could find.

As if ticking off four operators wasn’t enough, his most recent stunt had Glaz absolutely livid. Bandit had passed out invitations to a ‘gallery’ he’d opened up, which consisted entirely of the Russian’s empty canvases that he’d pelted with paintballs and hung around the common area. While some of the operators were snickering at his latest escapade, they all quieted down upon seeing Glaz enter the room. After a narrow escape from the sniper, the German was constantly checking over his shoulders for the rest of the Spetsnaz, who were currently doing their best impression of a kicked hornet’s nest.

The operators that had been so far unscathed were much jumpier and were anxiously trying to keep him in their peripherals. The younger members of the GIGN in particular had been watching him carefully, knowing they were among his usual targets. In all honesty, Bandit had avoided the GIGN not out of respect, but because he knew if he made Rook cry, Blitz would end his life. And if Bandit was worried Montagne would give him that same confused and disappointed look he had after he ruined his coffee, he certainly wasn’t about to admit it.

IQ finally approached him in the GSG9 common area, where he was sprawled out on the couch contemplating life. She sat down heavily, taking the place that Blitz had occupied weeks before when he first put Bandit’s plans in motion.

“Listen, I’m getting real tired of putting out all of your fires. I found a set of plans today that Kapkan had written up as a way to ‘accidentally’,” IQ made exaggerate air quotes here, “break both your kneecaps during training. I managed to talk him down, but you’re buying Glaz brand new canvases, and they better be the highest quality crap you can find.” Bandit rolled his eyes. While he didn’t like being told what to do, he passed his phone to IQ all the same, showing her he’d already placed an order for new canvases. He’d been planning on offering them as an olive branch after seeing the devastation on the sniper’s face when he first recognized his art materials. The woman huffed and relaxed further into her chair as she tossed his phone back.

“Listen, I know this isn’t usually the kind of thing we talk about, but I’ve heard the rumors. If you’re going to ask Jager out, just rip off that band aid. No matter what he says, it’ll be easier than putting up with you trying to start World War III with the rest of the operators because you’re too much of a chicken to make a move.” As Bandit stared, unsure how to respond, IQ hauled herself out of the chair and shuffled off to her room, closing the door behind her a bit more forcefully than necessary. Bandit buried his face in the crook of his arm and sighed. IQ was right as usual, and if she felt the need to say something, then it really must have gotten bad. He sat up and began brainstorming the best way to word everything.

Much later in the afternoon, Bandit wandered down to the workshop and slowly waited for the other operators to clear out. Kapkan and Fuze seemed to be attempting to glare him to death, but even they finally left, leaving Bandit, Jager, and Echo in the lab. Jager had his headphones in and was bobbing to a beat Bandit could hear from across the room, so his next actions would go unnoticed. He first attempted to make eye contact with the other operator before giving up. Bandit resorted instead to crumpling up a wad of paper and hucking it at Echo’s head. When he looked up, Bandit mimed towards the door and mouthed “GTFO”. Echo just smirked and shook his head, glance towards Jager and making a kissy face. Time to change tactics. Grabbing a pencil and another piece a paper, Bandit wrote out: ‘I will murder EVERY last member of your drone family.’ The look on Echo’s face went from surprised, to amused, and finally terrified as Bandit connected the paper (and a piece of carefully concealed graphite) between the alligator clips of his battery, sending them up in flames. The Japanese man’s face lost its color as he scooped up his drone and held it to his chest. He hastily gathered his work materials in his one open hand and made a quick exit.

Jager pulled out one of his earbuds and sniffed.

“Do you smell smoke?” He asked, peering around curiously before his eyes settled on the smoking pile of ashes in front of Bandit.

“It could be because you’re smoking hot.” Bandit finger gunned and winked. Okay, maybe not his best move he thought as Jager let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to his work. Alright, he just had to do this like pulling off a band aid; nice and fast. A ‘Bandit aid’. Oh gosh, he was going insane and needed to do something now before someone came in, he lost his nerve, or started actually saying half the crap he was thinking right now.

“Sooooooo, I’ve been thinking about something for a little while.” Bandit wandered over and leaned on the edge of Jager’s work table. The man responded with a noncommittal grunt, but removed both earbuds to better hear what Bandit had to say. It was now or never.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to date me. I mean we have similar work schedules, we’re both attractive, we’re both German, so we wouldn’t have to worry about intercountry nonsense, uhm, and IthinkIkindoflikeyou.” Bandit had steadfastly refused to make eye contact and that last bit came out a little too fast, but he was sure the other man still understood. When Bandit finally looked over at Jager, the other man was staring before giving him an amused look.

“Haha, no.” That was…unexpected. Bandit had to admit it felt like being slapped, and while he knew rejection was a possibility, he at least expected Jager to turn him down a bit more graciously.

“Why not?” Anger seeped into Bandit’s tone as he recoiled back, readying himself for a fight if only to make sure the pilot couldn’t see the hurt that was surely written all across his face. Jager set down his tools and ran a hand down his face, leaving a greasy smear in its wake.

“Because, I don’t want to ruin what we have here. Not to mention the fact that if we ever broke up, not only are we in the same CTU, but we’re also both defenders. We’d never be able to go on the same mission again, and I’d hate to lose that.” Jager broke eye contact and started fidgeting with a screwdriver, his voice quieting for his next statement, “Dom, you’re the only person I completely trust to watch my back out there and I don’t want to lose that. I was kind of hoping that if I didn’t respond to any of your weird attempts at flirting you’d just kind of let it drop and I wouldn’t have to hurt your feelings. Besides, you’re not really interested in me, you’re interested in the idea of having someone and I’m your easiest option.” Oh. The rejection still stung, but Bandit’s shoulder relaxed as he settled back down, Jager’s words hitting home as the pilot had read the situation much better than Bandit had given him credit for.

“I guess you’re probably right. I really don’t want to screw up our friendship either, though I suppose I’ve just made it incredibly awkward.” Bandit was lost at what to do. He felt like an idiot, but now he couldn’t leave without at least attempting to repair what he’d just potentially ruined. Jager snorted.

“Naw, I figured you’d pull some stupid stunt like this after Blitz mentioned the conversation you two had. You’re too much of a chicken to ask any of the other operators out.” Jager playfully poked Bandit in the side with the butt of his screw driver to accent his words, as the other German attempted to swipe it away. Jager sighed as Bandit proceeded to stare at floor, the sides of his mouth pulled down into an unhappy grimace.

“Why don’t we go out and get a drink this weekend? You can save face with the other operators and we can get drunk enough to laugh about this whole thing. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward, Dom. Besides, I’m getting tired of having you being too nervous to sit next to me in here. I’ve had to bounce my ideas off of Fuze recently, and that man carries a conversation about as well as a brick wall.” Snorting at what Jager said, Bandit gave him a nod and smiled before standing up. “Sure, why not. First round is on me.” The mechanic smiled at him proudly, obviously relieved that he’d accepted the peace offering.

Slapping Jager on the back, Bandit headed towards the door of the workshop, leaning back around the door to tell Jager wipe the dirt off of his face before sauntering off to nurse his wounds. Jager heaved a sigh of relief and texted IQ and Blitz to ask them to keep an eye on Bandit just in case he wasn’t as okay as he said he was. The three operators had been attempting to divert this disaster after Jager had expressed his reservations, and while the situation had turned out well, the pilot still felt guilty for not addressing it sooner. After receiving replies from his teammates, he confirmed a time and date with Bandit for meeting at the bar, before sending off another quick text and smiling at the reply.

Saturday came around and Bandit rode his motorcycle out to the bar that Jager had specified in his text. The other man had to do some things in town, so they agreed to arrive separately. With his helmet in the crook of his elbow, Bandit wandered into the building and glanced around the room. It was a small, dimly lit dive bar that the rainbow operators frequented, with a couple pool tables in the front and a smattering of booths around the walls. Tonight, there was a group of people playing pool that glanced up upon his arrival and a lone man sitting at the bar, but no Jager anywhere in sight. Bandit was purposefully fifteen minutes late, partly to keep up appearances and partly to make sure he wasn’t left sitting alone at a bar, nursing his minor heartbreak like a loser. Shifting his helmet so he could tug out his phone, Bandit texted Jager informing him that he was a loser who had better get here soon. Resigned to wait, Bandit sauntered up to where the bartender was cleaning glasses.

As he got closer, Bandit realized he recognized the man sitting at the bar, and for all the world couldn’t think of why he would be there. Sensing his approach, the man glanced over and smiled brightly as he recognized Bandit.

“Hey there Monty. What brings you to this crap hole?” The bartender looked unamused but was by now used to some of the operators being a bit abrasive. Bandit dropped a twenty on the bar and the man passed him his usual, Montagne still smiling like the angelic being he was. Just his luck, not only was he about to get wasted, but now Montagne and the rest of the GIGN would likely be here to watch him drown his sorrows. Jager had better get here soon.

“I’m here to meet a hot date. It’s our first one, so I’m trying to make a good first impression.” Bandit laughed as he leaned his back against the bar looked around, one of the lights in flickered off and on in the corner and someone angrily shouted from one of the pool tables.

“You sure picked one hell of a place to try and do that. Hopefully she doesn’t mind the fact that nothing’s been updated in the last century.” Montagne’s smile brightened even further and he leaned forward to rest one of his elbows on the bar and turn the rest of his body towards Bandit.

“Well, I don’t think he tends to mind places like this,” Bandit perked up at the change in pronouns, swinging back around to look at the Frenchman in a new light, “but the place was picked for us by a mutual friend.” Hope was starting to wriggle its way up into Bandit’s heart, despite him doing his best to smoosh it down. He simply blinked at Montagne, before switching to an attempt to feign disinterest with a half-hearted, “Oh ya?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Bandit. Do you mind places like this?” Bandit blinked, once, twice, then three times as Montagne’s expression gradually started to dim from his lack of response. The large man leaned back in his chair and Bandit suddenly noticed how close they had been for this entire conversation.

“I, um, I mean, if you’re not interested that’s completely fine. I just…you’ve been giving me an awful lot of gifts that you could have passed off to Blitz or IQ since Jager didn’t want them. And then Jager messaged and said you were interested and that this was the time and place, so I just figured… I mean I suppose…. Maybe I jumped the gun a bit?” The Frenchman started fidgeting, the expression on his face looking for all the world like Bandit’s had when he’d finally asked Jager out. Seeing something so uncharacteristically anxious from the normally confident man was strangely endearing. After staring for another beat, Bandit allowed a smile to creep into his expression

“You’re right, I don’t mind places like this. I am a pretty hot date if I do say so myself.” Bandit winked before scoffing and finishing off his beer. “I guess this means that Jager’s not coming after all?” Montagne’s smile returned in full force and he shook his head laughing, Bandit sliding into the seat next to him and ordering another beer. While their conversations were awkward at first, neither knowing where exactly they should start, as the night carried on, they grew more relaxed in each other’s presence and the conversations flowed easier. After several beers, Bandit recounted the last few weeks, and after several probing questions from Montagne, finally slurred (after even more beers) how he’d thought Montagne would never be interested, so he didn’t bother even trying. By the time the bar closed, Bandit was gotten absolutely trashed with Montagne not far behind. Knowing that neither was fit to drive, Montagne checked them into a nearby hotel and the two passed out blissfully on the beds, content with the other’s company.

Despite the fact that Bandit was over the moon after this recent development, Jager didn’t get off completely for standing him up. Bandit hid his tools throughout base and followed him around to tell the pilot if he was hot or cold until an exasperated IQ returned with a Bandit’s treasure map of hiding places and threatened bodily harm should Bandit attempt to re-hide anything.

Bandit also made peace with the Spetsnaz, replacing all of Glaz’s canvases and then some. Glaz, though still miffed, was grateful and it went a long way in smoothing tensions with the Spetsnaz. Bandit couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that grew in his chest as Montagne later told him how proud he was that he’d done the right thing. While Bandit played it off, he made a mental note to buy Blitz something nice for setting this whole thing in motion.

The ensuing relationship wasn’t what Bandit had imagined would happen with Jager. There was a lot of getting used to new routines and hanging out with different people. He got to know Rook a lot better, something that made Blitz unreasonably happy and so was probably worth it. As he and Montagne approached their one-month anniversary, Bandit realized that while they might not last forever, he was more than willing to risk the heartbreak in order to give their relationship a chance.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s bandit #r6s jager #r6s montagne #Bandit is a tire fire as usual #maybe less so here though?#That man's character is hard to pin down

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writekindofwrong-blog · 7 years

Text

Training Wheels - Jason Todd x Reader

Anon Requested: scenario where jaybird teaches his s/o how to ride a bike. tons of fluff

A/N: Ok my very first dc imagine and its for my fave batboy and I managed to get this out on his bday :D So after a clarification from the anon this is about a teenage (maybe 16ish?) Jason and reader, they aren’t dating yet but are both crushing on each other. Also I never learned to ride a bike so not sure how accurate this will be. Hope you like it anon, thanks for the request and sorry for the initial misunderstanding.

Y/N Took a deep breath as she walked up to the door of Wayne Manor and rung the doorbell, jostling the bag which contained her school books. Jason had suggested that she come over to study for an upcoming literature test.

Not that Jason needed to study, especially when it came to literature, he was going to pass with flying colours. Honestly Y/N was feeling pretty confident too, but she was always happy for an excuse to spend time with Jason.

As Y/N waited for the doorbell to be answered she looked up at the building in front of her. Even after coming here over a dozen times to see Jason, the house was still a bit intimidating. That was surely the reason for the butterflies in her stomach... and the fact that her heart was beating a bit too fast...Yeah, it was the house.

Nothing to do with the fact that she had a crush on Jason.

Nope, nothing to do with that.

She didn’t have to wait long before the door opened and revealed Alfred, clearly not surprised by her visit.

“Hello Miss L/N, lovely to see you, please do come in” Alfred greeted warmly before gesturing for her to come inside.

“Hey Alfred” Y/N couldn’t help but smile widely as she walked in and Alfred closed the door behind her. He was very adept at putting guests at ease, her earlier nerves had almost completely evaporated.

“Master Jason informed me that you would be coming over” Alfred informed her as he escorted her through the house.

“Yeah we have a date” Y/N said and almost stopped in her tracks.

Where on Earth had that come from? Why would she say that? This was a hell of a time for a Freudian slip.

”Um I mean...it’s y’know a study date...not a date, date...obviously” Y/N spluttered out, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

”Obviously” Alfred replied with a knowing smile.

By this point they had made it to the Living Room (or one of them at any rate), inside which Jason was waiting.

”Um, Alfred could you maybe not mention any of that to anybody...especially Jason” Y/N looked up at Alfred with pleading eyes.

”My lips are sealed” Alfred reassured her as he opened the door and gestured for her to go inside.

”Thanks Alfred” Y/N breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the large room.

Jason was sat on one of the large, comfortable looking red sofas, cross legged and with his nose in a book. But he looked up when he heard the door open and greeted Y/N with a bright smile, which made Y/N’s heart skip a beat and her stomach do a somersault. She smiled in return and headed over to take a seat next to him.

As she sat down however, Jason uncrossed his legs and shuffled up so he was sat much closer to her. Y/N could feel her cheeks begin to heat up again, very aware of their close proximity.

She was mercifully saved from further embarrassment by Alfred asking if they’d like some tea, which they both did. Y/N busied herself by setting her books down on the table in front of her, praying that the blush in her cheeks had receded.

The majority of the afternoon, fortunately, passed without much incident, she and Jason tested each other with some practice questions that Jason had found on the internet and to Y/N’s surprise she managed to get full marks on nearly all of them.

But all too soon, Alfred had entered the room to inform Y/N that her mother was here to pick her up, Y/N tried not to be too disappointed that her time with Jason had come to an end so quickly, after all she would see him at school on Monday.

”Well” said Jason, polishing off the last of the cookies that Alfred had provided for them, alongside their tea. “I’d say we’re both gonna ace this test Y/N, no doubt about it”

”You know I think you might be right” Y/N said brightly as she began to gather up her books and pack them away.

”So...um, today's been fun”

”Yeah as fun as studying can be” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes.

”Well I was actually thinking that, um, we could, y’know hang out again tomorrow...and not just to study this time”

Y/N looked up at Jason, was it her imagination or did Jason seem nervous? No it was surely just her imagination. What did he have to be nervous about?

”Yeah sure that sounds like fun, I’m free all day tomorrow”

”Great!” Jason began grinning enthusiastically. “See cause there’s this really cool spot on the outskirts of Gotham, it’s got a really nice view of the city, you’d have to ride a bike just to get there so it’ll be nice and quiet and I thought that you and I could take our bikes down there and...Um... I dunno take a picnic or something and just hang out” Jason’s looked at Y/N hopefully.

Y/N’s heart sank, and her stomach, for a second time that afternoon, did a somersault.

”Well...Jason...I mean that sounds great and all but-” She started attempting to explain, but Jason cut in before she could finish.

”No, no don’t worry about it, it’s fine. It was a lame idea anyway” Jason stood up and avoided making eye contact, he seemed to almost visibly deflate.

”No! Jason, wait” Y/N reached out as Jason went to walk away and ending up grabbing hold of his hand. He turned back round to look at her and his eyes quickly darted to where their hands were connected, Y/N flushed pink and promptly let go, intertwining her hands together in her lap nervously.

How was she supposed to explain this? It was embarrassing enough when she had to explain to a stranger let alone Jason.

What if he laughed at her?

No. Jason wouldn’t do that...would he? Y/N took a deep breath and started to explain, careful to avoid looking at Jason.

”What I meant to say was that I would love to do that, it sounds like a great idea, really. But...I can’t because...I can’t ride a bike, I um...never learned how”

Y/N waited for a moment but when Jason didn’t say anything she chanced looking up at him. Whatever reaction she had imagined, it wasn’t this.

He was smiling but not in a cruel or mocking way, he actually looked...relieved?

“Oh thank god I thought you didn’t-” Jason started but stopped mid sentence and shook his head before starting again.

“Well then I’ll just have to spend tomorrow teaching you how to ride a bike won’t I?”

****************************************************************************************************

“Okay here we are” Jason said as he wheeled his bike up the path, Y/N walking beside him and buckling a helmet on her head”

They had come to a part of the grounds of Wayne Manor that was nice and secluded by trees, and had a wide, flat stone path running up through the center, it was perfect.

Y/N had explained that she had started to learn to ride a bike as a kid but then they’d moved house and there hadn’t been anywhere for her to practice nearby, so she had just never picked it up again. Jason had been very understanding and had deduced that since she had started learning it probably wouldn’t take her long to pick it up, Y/N certainly hoped so.

“Right. On you get” Jason said, holding the bike steady for her as she did so.

“So your brakes are here, but don’t squeeze them too hard or you’ll stop dead and...”. The rest of what Jason was saying was sort of lost as Y/N stared down at her hands.

Jason’s hands were covering hers, squeezing the brakes to show her how much pressure to apply. His hands were so warm and strong, and Y/N tried desperately not to imagine one of those same hands holding hers as they walked down the street, or resting on her hip as they cuddled on the sofa or cradling her cheek as he smiled down at her before leaning in and-.

“You okay Y/N?”

Y/N was brought out of her daydreaming with a start. She turned to say something to Jason, only to find his face close to hers. He was wearing a look of concern, his brow furrowed, he was so close that she could she the faint freckles on his nose and the small scar just above his lip, she could almost feel his breath on her face; If she just leaned in a little closer then she could press her lips against his, just like all those times she’d definitely not imagined doing exactly that.

Y/N blinked before turning away, feeling her cheeks grow hot. Seriously? She should just paint her cheeks with bright red paint, it would save her a lot of trouble.

“Um yeah I’m fine, just...a little nervous I guess” She really hoped Jason wouldn’t notice how flustered she was.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to” Jason reassured her.

“No!” Y/N replied, perhaps a little too quickly. “I mean...I want to learn, and now we’re here we shouldn’t waste the opportunity”

“Right... So put your feet on the pedals, that’s it. Now you start to pedal and I’ll run along beside you and hold you steady, okay?” Y/N only nodded in reply.

And then they were off, she was moving her feet against the pedals and the bike began to pick up speed along the path, whenever she started to lose balance Jason was there to correct her. when they were almost at the end of the path, Jason warned her and told her to start braking.

There were a couple of problems with that plan.

For one thing she hadn’t actually been paying attention when he’d shown her how much pressure to apply the the brakes; for another, thinking about Jason’s hands on hers was very distracting.

So when Y/N did eventually brake, she may have used a bit too much pressure than she had meant to and the bike tipped forward as it came to a halt. Luckily, Jason was there and, by wrapping his arms around her waist he managed to pull both Y/N and the bike back onto solid ground before any real damage was done.

They stayed like that for a moment, with Jason’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist, holding her close to his chest. On some sort of strange instinct, Y/N let out a breath and leaned her head against Jason’s chest.

She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, it was only when she heard it speed up that Y/N realised what she was doing and quickly moved away, adamantly avoiding eye contact with Jason as he in turn, quickly let go of her waist and stepped away, coughing awkwardly.

“So, um, we’ll just turn the bike around and you can have another go...If you want to I mean” Jason proposed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sounds great” Y/N replied nodding, still avoiding looking anywhere near his eyes, and feeling an all too familiar heat spreading across her cheeks.

Of course if she had looked at his face, she might have seen an identical blush on Jason’s cheeks.

#jason todd x reader #jason x reader #batfam x reader #dc x reader #jason todd #my writing

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tossing-cookies · 8 years

Note

“I think I’m going to be sick…”  SICK YURIO MAYBE?! (Possibly Otabek, Katsuki, or Viktor taking care of him?)

Hello friend! Thank you so much for your request! This one was actually written by a very special person to me, and I think it came out so perfectly. It takes place after the skaters have coffee the first night Otabek and Yurio became friends. Let’s call my friend Cupcake

Yuri had never been much of a coffee drinker, nor did he particularly enjoy tea. His coffee, if he were to drink any, would have to be something hot, composed almost entirely of frothy milk and sugar. That’s why, when he went for coffee with Otabek he ordered exactly that: the sweetest, most calorie-dense drink on the menu. Yakov wouldn’t be happy, but Yuri figured he was entitled to a treat every once in a while.

When he was halfway through his drink, and his and Otabek’s faces seemed much closer than they were earlier, the rich drink began to take effect. The milk settled uncomfortably in his stomach, the heat making his skin prickle. His throat seemed fight every sip. Even so, he smiled at the Kazakh man across from him and continued their playful conversation.

Everything had been going smoothly, other than Yuri having to turn his head every once in a while to stifle burps into his fist, until Victor Nikiforov and his band of misfits entered the quaint coffee shop and marched over to their table. Yuuri glanced quickly at Yuri’s fingers, which were annoyedly tapping the surface of the table, and looked like he wanted to say something before Victor began speaking.

“Oh good, you’re here! You two should come have dinner with us! Chris and Phichit are invited too!” Yurio noticed the two women behind Yuuri, his sister, Mari, and his ballet teacher, Minako, were practically vibrating with excitement. Before Yuri could politely decline, Victor said, “I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Not normally one to cater to Victor’s wishes, Yurio wanted to protest, but Otabek was already putting on his jacket and standing up to leave. Reluctantly, Yuri followed suit and stood. The coffee in his stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he decided against taking the last few sips. He left the mug on the table and walked out.The restaurant at which they were to eat was less than a block away, and Otabek decided to leave his motorcycle in the lot of the cafe in favour of walking. Yuri trudged along behind everyone else, partially doubled over. The liquid splashing around his stomach was sending pangs of nausea through his system, reaching his throat. Yuri attempted to stand up straight, and the feeling in his stomach worsened. He his stomach bubbled, and he burped quietly, bringing a mouthful of foul-tasting liquid with it. He quickly swallowed it down.

Luckily, dinner passed quickly, and with little conversational effort from Yurio. The others around him had decided to order food for the table, and share it between them. Secretly, Yuri was glad. This way, no one would notice if he wasn’t eating. When the waiter brought the meal, Yuri’s stomach felt as though it were rising into his throat. The smell of the food made his mouth begin to water in a most foul way.

After nearly an hour of feigning disinterest, Yuri was finally given the cue to leave as everyone else stood up. Jean Jaques Leroy had appeared, someone Yuri found even more insufferable than Victor and his piggy-turned-fiancé. His stomach churned once more as he stood up, his mouth once again filling with metallic saliva. He had been battling with it all evening.

“Let me drive you back to the hotel.” Otabek proposed. It was not a question, it was an order. With every step towards the motorcycle, Yuri’s stomach protested more. He unleashed a maelstrom of wet burps into his fist, distrusting each one as they became more forceful.

“You’re quieter than usual tonight.” Otabek observed. Yurio shrugged, not wanting toped his mouth for fear of being sick on Otabek.

With a small degree of relief, and a large amount of panic, the two boys reached the bike. Otabek retrieved their helmets from under the seat, and handed the one to Yuri. Yuri took it soundlessly and placed it gently on his blonde head before climbing onto the back of Otabek’s motorcycle. His stomach settled slightly once he was sitting down. He wrapped his arms around Otabek’s stomach and let himself relax. The relaxation did not last long, however, because not long after, Otabek started the motorcycle, and pulled away from the curb.

What had been a fun ride in the middle of they turned out to be hellish at night. Although Yuri thought it was impossible to get sick on a motorcycle, he might’s well have been on a rollercoaster with how well his stomach was handling it. The coffee had unsettled his stomach more than it ever had before, the few bites of food at the restaurant exacerbating the nausea. Every bump on the road jostled him more than the last, and the feeling in his stomach grew more intense.

Otabek did not listen to music as he drove, and for that reason, Yuri had no distraction against the pain in his gut. Conversation on a motorcycle was a difficult feat, and Yuri had no intention of openings mouth unless it was absolutely necessary.

The motorcycle turned sharply, and Yuri, unable to breathe through the feeling anymore, tapped Otabek’s stomach rapidly. Otabek began to slow and pull to the side of the road. “What’s wrong?” He asked, emotionless.

“I think…I’m going to be sick,” Yuri confessed, and clambered off the seat. Otabek had stopped near an alley, and Yuri was grateful for that. The last thing he needed were publicized images of him being sick all over himself.

He wandered into the mouth of the alley, careful not to go too far. He made it into the shadows in time to retch painfully. He doubled over, placing his hands on his knees. He took a gasping breath and retched again. There was a tug in his gut, and suddenly the small dinner he had had was gushing past his lips in a thick stream. He coughed forcefully, spitting more vomit onto the pavement in front of his feet.

Otabek had stood his bike up and joined Yuri in the mouth of the alleyway, and stood beside him, trying to avert his eyes. It wasn’t often that Yuri fell ill, and it was even more rare to be without his grandfather or Yakov when it happened. His breathing ragged, he attempted to choke down another gag, only to have sick force it’s way up his esophagus of it’s own accord. The warm, burning liquid dripped from his nose as more acid splattered onto the ground.

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, forced out by the powerful retching. He coughed loudly.

“Are you done?” Asked Otabek softly. Yuri shook his head without looking up, and gagged up another mouthful of sick. His body ached from the effort and his nose and throat burned. His mouth tasted foul. He took a shuddering breath and swiped at his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand.

To his surprise, the tears kept coming. He kept his head down, staring into the puddle of brown sick.

“Alright,” Otabek grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. To his credit, he did not wince at the tears, or the vomit under Yuri’s nose and mouth. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

#yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky #otabek altin #otayuri #sickfic #vomiting #emeto

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withoutbringingmedreams · 8 years

Text

Eyewitness fic pt. 16 FINAL

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7| Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | Pt. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15 or AO3

They can’t talk while they ride, and that’s perfect. He doesn’t have the words right now. Phillip’s arms are so tight around him they’re nearly crushing him, but that’s good, too. He can focus on the pressure, focus on the slap of the air on his skin. Focus on the sound of the wind and the rumble of the engine. Anything but what the hell he’s just done.

He can go on for hours like this. Maybe he will. Except Phillip might actually have to loosen his grip a little before he’s severed in half.

As if in response, Phillip frees one of his arms to point toward an open field they’ve used for filming. Lukas almost ignores him, but now that he’s no longer being squeezed to death, he can’t blame Phillip for the fact he’s still struggling to breathe.

He veers off the road and into the thick green. He’s barely slowed to a stop before Phillip hops off and tears away his helmet, leaving his hair an adorable mess. A mile-wide smile stretches across his face, complete with wind-pinked cheeks.

“Lukas, I can’t believe you…I mean, I know it was kinda vague, but still, I can’t believe you…you just…”

Phillip trails off as Lukas carefully dismounts from his bike. He takes off his own helmet and crouches down, resting his head on his knees.

You can do this. You know how to breathe.

Phillip kneels beside him. “Lukas?”

He’s able to lift his eyes, but his breath hasn’t sorted itself out yet. He watches Phillip’s chest rise and fall and concentrates on making his own match. It’s not that bad, this time. Either he’s getting better, or getting lucky. He falls into a cross-legged position once he’s got it all under control, and Phillip does the same.

“What’s wrong?” Phillip’s voice is low and shaky, the earlier excitement sucked right out of him.

Nothing is on the tip of Lukas’ tongue. His go-to denial. It’s always worked for him in the past.

Then again, has it?

“Sometimes…sometimes it just gets hard for me to breathe. Stupid, huh? Helen said maybe I should talk to someone about it. Like a shrink or something. Someone who fixes crazy people.”

Phillip puts an arm over his shoulder. “You’re not crazy.”

“Yeah, right.” He rolls his eyes and pushes back the hair clinging to sweat on his forehead. “I mean, you went through worse than what I did, and you’re not going nuts.”

“First of all, I didn’t get shot and lie in a coma for days, so not exactly the same thing. And secondly, the only reason I’m not…” Phillip stops and swallows. “Not ‘going nuts’ is because…I have you.”

Shit, that nearly takes the air from his lungs again. But in a good way, somehow. In the I mean something to the person I love way. And he really cannot stop thinking that L word, can he?

Still, it’s a little hard to believe. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Phillip tugs him closer, into his embrace. “I have you making me go outside, go back to school. Making me remember how to laugh and smile again. Reminding me what being happy feels like.”

He’s really doing all that? Well, damn. That’s a confidence boost. Maybe even more than the one he got from the discovery of his mad blowjob skills.

“This may come as a surprise to you…“ Phillip’s hand slips into his and they play their dancing fingers game. “But I’ve been through tough times before, without you, and it…it wasn’t good, being alone. It’s much better with you.”

Lukas sighs and presses a kiss to Phillip’s temple. Phillip is a warrior compared to him. “I’m sorry. After everything you’ve been through…you’re amazing, really.”

Phillip shifts in his arms. “I…haven’t always been amazing,” he says quietly. “There were some really shitty moments where I wasn’t amazing at all.”

The words cause a swift plummet back to reality—to the truth of Phillip’s tough times. No matter how hard things ever were for Lukas growing up, he always had food in his stomach and a roof over his head. But Phillip…Phillip’s seen a much darker side of the world.

“Hey.” He gives Phillip a little jostle. “You made it here. That counts for a whole hell of a lot.”

Phillip lifts half his mouth in a sad grin. “I guess so. And it was worth it. If I actually had…uh, given up any of the times I wanted to, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Lukas closes his eyes, a desperate but pointless attempt to block out just what given up really means. He can’t think about that, can’t imagine a life without Phillip in it. If any tough times come near Phillip again, he’ll raze them to the fucking ground. It’s his job to protect Phillip now.

“And if I hadn’t met you,” Phillip continues, his smile growing, “I wouldn’t have been there to see you kinda sorta starting to come out to your friends today.”

Oh, right. That. Lukas’ stomach plummets into a whirlpool of sick fear and his breath catches in his throat again. “Huh. Yeah.”

“I mean, I’m not sure they’ll get what you meant—“

“They’ll get it. Keith Horner saw us hugging on the roof and the rumors had already started.”

“Oh.” Phillip blinks. He scoots back slightly so he can face Lukas. “So you like, actually came out.” His eyes grow wider with every word, filling with excitement and wonder. “You came out and you told everyone we’re together.”

Shit, he looks so fucking happy. It’s enough to calm some of the storm in Lukas’ gut. This day was coming, one way or another. At least he’s taken charge—kind of sort of accidentally—and impressed the hell out of Phillip. He should really just let them bask in it.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be like how you want it to be,” he blurts out instead. Why enjoy the moment when he can go for Lukas-style awkwardness?

“Huh?” Phillip’s delight is wiped away by a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Great. Instead of celebratory sex, he now has to explain all the deep, dark worries swimming around inside him.

“Out here.” He clenches his jaw and inhales slowly, just to make sure he still can. “It’s not like the city. It’s not gonna be some fairy tale. People are gonna make fun of us and talk shit and be jerks. Not everyone, but some people for sure. Some adults, even.”

Phillip nods slowly. “Yeah, well, people already make fun of me and talk shit about me, so no real change there.”

“It is for me.” Lukas frees his hand from Phillip’s and sinks it into the dirt. He’ll be strong—for Phillip—but that sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s looking forward to the coming shitstorm. “It’s gonna suck.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Lukas concentrates on digging a hole in the ground, since he’s done just about the same to this conversation.

He can feel Phillip’s sad eyes on him, tracking his progress. “Then why’d you do it?” Phillip asks quietly.

Lukas snorts. “Uh, because I love you.”

Oh, holy shit. He did not just say that out loud.

Phillip’s jaw drops open and his brows rise up so high they’re lost behind the flop of hair on his forehead.

So…yeah. He’s said it out loud. Perfect.

That sort of shit is supposed to be said in the right moment. And romantically, like it’s super important and meaningful…not with the same tone of voice he uses to say things like duh.

Phillip closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His lips tremble slightly. “Wh-what?”

Well, the damage has been done, obviously, and backing out now would only make it worse. “I love you?” Lukas repeats, only this time it comes out as a question. As in, is that okay? Because that’s how it is.

Phillip launches forward, tackling him to the ground and pinning him with a frantic kiss. His fingers scramble around in the soil until they lock onto Lukas’ and stay there, leaving them pressed together from head to toe.

Their lips are still touching as he speaks. “I love you, too, Lukas. I love you.”

And that’s how you were supposed to say it. With those shining eyes and in that breathless voice. Because hearing those words, that way, made all of Lukas’ insides melt into a puddle of sappy this-is-the-best-moment-of-my-life goop.

Shit, he’s so sapped up he might even cry. A couple of swallows fixes that, luckily, and he manages a shaky smile. “Bet you didn’t think I’d say it first.”

Phillip falls back onto him with another kiss. “You didn’t. I said it first, at the hospital. Before your dad kinda walked in on me kissing you.”

“What?” Well that was slightly terrifying—that his father might’ve known Phillip loved him before he did. “That doesn’t count. I was in a coma!”

“Not my fault you were lazing around like sleeping beauty.”

“And what, you were trying to help with true love’s kiss?”

“Oh my God, you’re such a dork, Lukas.”

He can’t let that slide, so he rolls over quickly, taking Phillip with him. Now he’s on top, staring down at the perfect picture that is a laughing Phillip. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Phillip grins up at him, and Lukas’ whole world is in that lopsided smile. There’ll be shitty days, sure, but if at the end of them Phillip can look up at him like this, like he’s actually someone, then fuck everything else.

He loves Phillip Shea. Phillip Shea loves him. That’s all there is to it.

He kisses Phillip, long and deep. It makes his legs turn to rubber, and by the way Phillip can only half open his eyes when they’re through, it’s probably doing about the same to him.

“You still wanna go to that party at Simone’s?” Lukas asks, only because he’s pretty damn sure of the answer. “We can if you want.”

“Some other time.” Phillip draws him back in for another tongue-twisting kiss. “Right now, I think I just want to be alone with you. That okay?”

“Hell yes.” Even with all he’s screwed up, he’s played enough cards right to wind up here. With Phillip in his arms, with sex and cuddling and more lazy moments spent kissing in a sunny field to look forward to. It’s almost like he’s got everything figured out.

“Besides, Helen and Gabe want you over for dinner. Said something about explaining ground rules to us or something?”

“Ew, seriously?” Well, almost figured out. “Screw that. Let’s go to the barn instead.” And just in case his message isn’t clear enough, he presses into Phillip’s groin until he gets a reaction—from both of them. Hell, maybe the field is safe enough for a little action.

“Okay, okay.” Phillip wiggles out from under him, cheeks flush. “First one to the bike gets to drive!”

“What? No way!”

He gives Phillip a head start—he has the keys, after all—before taking a deep, full breath of sweet spring air and racing after him.

Well, that’s it folks. Thank you to my 3 to 4 readers XP You guys rock. Still looking for a beta reader/writing partner for original fiction...or maybe just anyone who wants to talk about writing...this has been a quieter fandom than I’m used to.

#philkas #phillip x lukas #eyewitness #eyewitness fanfiction #When All Is Said and Done #complete

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runningaddiction · 8 years

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The Endless Hills - Trail des Gueules Noires Race Report

Going to start off this race report with a PSA about integrity. Cutting the course or cheating is still cutting the course no matter if you’re in 1st place or 100th place! This may have happened in races I’ve done in the past, but I was never an eye witness or had direct knowledge of it. In the Trail des Gueules Noires (Trail of the Miners) I witnessed ultrarunners knowingly cut the course because they didn’t want to back track and do the right thing.

I couldn’t believe it. I did realize that the group of runners I was with was in approximately 90-100th place and didn’t have much of a chance to win at that point but that still doesn’t matter when it comes to integrity or sportsmanship.

There was good group of us following the “main” trail and passed several Red/White striped flags and that should’ve been the first sign for me to stop and turn around. However, I chose to keep going with the crowd. We went off course for about four minutes according to my Strava. Then we hit the course again. Every other runner that was with me, choose to do the wrong thing and just continued on with others in the race that had been on course.

I choose to turn around and try to find where I went off course. Understandably, I probably lost a few places in the race, but I didn’t want to compromise my integrity. I also was able to catch a few others runners that had only been off course for a minute or two; they choose to go back and find the course with me.

Throughout the whole race I went off course three times. It was really messing with me because this is the first race that I have gotten lost even once. Getting off track definitely taught me the lesson of making the hard right decision to go back and get back on course, plus who wants to go the wrong way?

The next thing I wanted to bring up was that this race, “Alex Bridgeforth’d” me. If you have ever trained with me for more than a day, then you’ll know that some (probably my only) good stories are from what I like to call “adventures” with previous training partners. These “adventures” are generally really hard or stupid training runs/rides/hikes/death-marches that I’ve pulled/pushed old training partners through. This may make this post longer than it needs to be but I am going to list the ones I can find in my training record.

Might have to write a post that dives deeper into each one of these or you could just ask me when we go out for a run together.

Robbie and I supposed to be doing an eight mile run for our scheduled Sunday training run, but turning it in 26 miles;

Keith and I running eight and half miles from home in Lakeside to School in El Cajon starting at 12:18 in the middle of the day at the end of May. This resulted in one of my more inspirational pictures.

Zion and I supposed to be doing an 8ish mile trail run that turned into 16 miles because we got lost; somehow running off of Fort Gordon.

Jerad, Chris, Brad, and I doing our own marathon around Fort Gordon. I completed a 50km that day, needed add a bit extra on the end apparently.

Zion and I deciding to do our own duathlon. We road 9 miles through Fort Huachuca to the base of Huachuca Mountain, ran 5 miles up it with 1,680’ of gain, 5 miles back down, and a 9 mile ride back home.

Derrick and I doing 12 mile trail run in Phoenix starting at 9:28am in August, and Derrick having no water…

Me talking Zion into a 64 mile bike ride around the Huachuca Mountains.

Zion and I doing the Surge Saturday 53 mile ride in Sierra Vista, AZ. Zion didn’t eat dinner or breakfast prior to the ride and only brought 1 Gu…

Doing a 50k Race with Keith and Joseph, 1 week after my wedding.

Doing 14 miles at Camp Arifjan, Kuwait with Angel E. in a Sand storm.

Eric, Matt, Michael, Zion and I riding 77 miles around Augusta, GA to complete the Strava Gran Fondo challenge. Only a few cramps later and we all got it done.

Tony, Chris, and I riding 70 miles around the small towns west of Sulzbach-Rosenberg and Amberg.

Bottom line is this race “Alex Bridgeforth’d” me well. Whoever the course designer was made this course as hard as it could be. If you ever gone out for a “hard” run with me you would know that I generally try to string together the hardest climbs or hills in an area, because why not. This race would not stop, the hills didn’t stop coming until the very end.

Stepping back a bit, I want to bring up our stay at the Radisson in Liege, Belgium. I have to include this story if only for my future sanity. 9 times out of 10, Angel and I will stay in an Airbnb with the boys. One of the reasons that we will choose that route, even more now, is the reaction of our “neighbors” and one of the employees. We arrived into the town late the night before the race and Ashur was super tired and didn’t want to stop crying. This resulted in the people staying in the room next to ours pounding on the connecting door then meeting me outside and telling me that she can’t sleep because of the crying baby.

I have not been that upset at a random person in a long time. I was just thinking like what do you want me to do? Choke him? So I felt like I did the right thing and took him to the stairwell, where even though the sound may bounce, he’ll have a chance to calm down without ruining any more Belgians’ precious sleep. But no, one of the employees came up and asked me if I could get him to stop crying because it was bouncing off the walls. That was it, I finally just put on a YouTube video for Ashur and told Angel what happened when I got back to our room.

Back to the race: With my nutrition for the race, I chose, well I didn’t really have a choice. In the morning I had a local european “energy” bar. We were kind of late getting up, trying to get both boys up and out the hotel door.

I was planning on using Tailwind and 33 shake during the race. I planned on the normal 200 calorie Tailwind pack with one 16oz collapsible water bottle per hour and also take in a 90 calorie Chia Seed “Gu” from 33 shake every hour. I had tried 33 shake before once in training, so I guess that counts as not trying something new on race day.

I think my nutrition went pretty well, I probably need to start bringing something to eat in the middle of races. I wanted real food by the time I got to the two aid stations in the 33 mile race. The first aid station I was at about 2.5 - 3 hours into the race and I definitely needed fuel at that point. I also need to get more collapsible bottles, Angel could’ve had some and we could’ve easily switched out at the aid station. The 33 shake worked well, but I didn’t have enough to take it in the latter stages of the race, that was a failure on my part.

I saw potato chips at the first aid station and of course those are my favorite "bad for you" aid station food. So by the time I was getting close to the second aid station I had my mind set on getting some. The problem with that is that I definitely had too many there. One handful of chips is probably enough, but I had probably four to five maybe more. I need to find some kind of salty snack that is more healthy that will get me through my urge to have chips. Also, I drank 2-3 cups of Coke, which I don’t think hurt me. I generally drink Coke the last 25 to 33% of every race. It helps settle my stomach and gives a nice caffeine boost as well. I may have had only one stomach cramp throughout the race which came near the end. Overall, I think I was pretty solid nutritionally, which was surprising. I think a lot of that had to do with my pacing though.

Pacing, I decided before the race, I wanted to do the first 2/3 of the race at MAF, or for me (180 minutes your age) is 142-152 heart rate range. My goal was to keep it in that range on the flats and downhills. For the uphills, I knew there was going to be a lot of them, but I had know idea how many, my goal was just to push as hard as I could power hiking, which most of the time meant I was higher than my MAF.

I feel that is ok in my mind because one of the ideas of MAF is that you’re saving blood from having to always be pushing to your legs and you can let your stomach actually process some fat while your running. When you’re just hiking, your stomach isn’t jostling as much. Your stomach is able to settle and calm down more. I power hiked a lot, there seemed to be no flats. Maybe... maybe, 10% of the race was flat enough to get any kind of rhythm going.

I planned to pick up the pace starting last 33% of the race at mile 23. That didn’t happen, there was so many vertical or straight up and down hills. If you can imagine a big hill to your left with no trail then that was probably where the race was headed. I felt it was impossible to get a faster pace going. I just kept working at the MAF on flats and downhills and power hiking the uphills as fast as I could go. At that point my legs were so shot it was just a fight for every step to pass people or just having the terrain slaughter my legs even more.

I need to use Angel and the boys as more of a race cheer leading crew rather than a race pit crew. In the past, we have struggled, causing Angel stress dealing with the boys and dealing with my nutrition. So this race I decided that I was going to bring all my nutrition in my Salomon pack with me. Instead of using her to help me focus on making sure I had everything I needed, I could do that and she could focus on the boys and getting to the next aid station to see me and relaxing and hanging out and helping only when I actually got to the aid station versus having to try to fight to remember everything that I needed

I think it worked out almost perfect. If I had some extra bottles, I could’ve given those to her with some extra tailwind with no expectation that she have it ready unless she felt that she had the time when she got the next aid station. But I would still maintain all the nutrition I need. I plan on keeping that strategy for the next race. I think the aid stations being spread out like they were and even if there are more than I need to choose some for her that are at about the 2- 2.5 hour mark, so she doesn’t feel so rushed.

Another big thing in all the races I’ve done here in Europe is that everyone else speaks a different language which makes me feel like I’m running solo. At least there are other runners around, but it still catches you off guard because I’m used to being able to have a full conversation with the other runners around me. Also, since I’ve been living in Germany, I’ve gotten better at listening and speaking it, I know some questions to ask and certain things to say. This race was in Belgium, where they speak primarily French and I speak/know almost zero french. Like, zero zero.

One of the hard things with all these races is breaking through the language barrier, because you can’t expect everyone to speak english. That’s just the way it is. Even running along with people they will speak German or French to you and look at you like you’re crazy because you have no idea what they just said and because I don’t even know what to say back to them. A lot of it is trying to convey to them that all I can speak is english, so if they want to converse at all then its going to have to be in english or broken english. I was able to talk to a few different people about where they were from but its difficult for me and them to converse.

It’s always difficult running a race and not having anyone to talk to except your crew at the aid station. The race really becomes about trying to focus and stay internal. Another big thing I did this race was the last 33% I put my headphones. That always helps deal with the time. Using music as reward has always helped me out, holding out on listening to it till a certain point will be motivation to get to that point quicker. I use an app called Pace DJ which sets most of the music in my iTunes to a specific cadence that I chose, which helps keeps my feet moving.

Now a little section about gear. Start from bottom to the top. I decided to run in my Pearl Izumi Trail N1. If you don’t know, then Pearl Izumi recently decided to stop producing running gear in 2017. When I heard the news I went out and got two pairs of the Trail N1s. These were my work horse shoes a couple of years ago, so I figured I would give them a chance again. I wore them in my 100 mile race in 2013 and they worked well then. They worked out fine here in Belgium, no blisters, although from all the ups and down there is some tenderness in my forefeet and just normal foot fatigue. However, that can also come from the miles that Angel and I walked around Brussels that evening and the next few days as well. Shoes were no issue and I will continue to use them until it’s time to change them out.

For socks, I always stick with Swiftwick, I have used Injinji before and I know a lot of friends use them, but Swiftwick has never let me down, and I like that they are made in America and I rock the American flag on them. I don’t really have to mess with my feet, no cream or powder, I still got no blisters, Just throw on Swiftwicks and shoes.

The race was about 35-40 degrees the whole way. Early on I decided to wear tights, but as the sun started to come out in the morning and with how hard I was planning on going throughout the race, I decided to go with shorts. I had brought my reliable Lululemon ones, with sewn in compression shorts, body glide in the nether regions and shorts work like a charm. Legs didn’t too cold going as hard I was the entire race.

On the top I chose to go with my Ink 'n Burn christmas sweater tech t. I had originally planned on wearing my lightweight jacket from Salomon, but about 5 miles into the race I took the jacket off. I was able to pull it off through my pack and stuff it away. By the end of the race when the sun was going down or when I was farther back into the woods, it did start to get a bit chilly, but that probably helped push me. A lot of people were wearing jackets, but not this guy.

I had my normal Merino Wool, Smart Wool liners on for gloves, they work well, my hands will sometimes get cold in them, but they wick moisture pretty well. I brought Julbo glasses, put them on for a bit and then put them on my head which probably looked dorky because the sun only came out for a few minutes the whole day. I started off with my Mountain Hardware fleece cap to cover my head, but that came off early in the race as well, I put on one of my Buffs on as a headband. My head did get cold by the end of the race, but again, more motivation to get to the end of the race.

The last big thing I wanted to talk about, which I kind of alluded to in the “getting Alex Bridgeforth’d”, is the hills. You can look at the course profile online and see some hills, but it felt way worse than it looks. It reminded me of some of the parks in the hill county of Texas where it's hill after hill and they never give you a break. This race course felt like if you just continuously pointed at the hardest hill you could see and chose to go run up it. When you got done with that hill, you look for the next hardest one and you were on your way they and it never stopped.

Overall, I always feel bad here in Europe, compared to in the United States, I am much slower against the field here. At this race I finished 102 out of 192. Which is part of the bottom half, in my mind I don’t like. I am not happy with that result. Normally in the states, I run in the top 25%, and it is not like I have lost a lot of fitness. There is nothing against being slow, it just seems “slow” people don’t run ultra marathons here in Europe. I need to keep working on climbs with my “A” race next year being Zugspitze Ultratrail, super hilly, super technical. I definitely need to get back to hill training rather than just doing loop trails.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading all 3,097 words. Probably my longest post yet.

Call for Comments: How did your last race go?

- Alex

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#race #race report #Trail Running #Belgium

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