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citrinesparkles · 3 years

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welcome home.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 2,086 words. notes: requested by an incredibly flattering anon as part of my hundred followers celebration! thank you again for the feedback, and for enabling me :) also was subconsciously influenced by this piece. warnings: arguing, discussion of danger, reader gets accidentally threatened, patching up wounds, lots more swearing than my usual (but it's all mild language). angst and comfort, i think. super dialogue heavy. this is so long and a little (lot) messy just. prepare yourself

"man," a robotic voice echoed dangerously through the dark living room, sending chills through you. "did you pick the wrong apartment."

luckily, the voice was familiar. "um, the one i live in?"

he choked out your name, startled, and you flicked on the light switch to find him frozen in place with a gun in his hand.

"right." you said tensely, glancing at it- which made him jerk his hand down, shoving the gun into its holster as though it burned him- and looking back up at the eyes of his helmet. "so, uh, i'll turn a light on next time."

"you shouldn't be home yet," he said stiffly.

"i texted you like, three hours ago to let you know i'd be home a day early."

he swore quietly. "my phone's in the river."

"how did it- you know what, at least that explains the radio silence. you didn't think to have someone else- anyone else- let me know?"

"uh." he paused, tensing almost imperceptibly for a moment. "no. i was, uh, i was busy. i'm sorry."

"busy, huh?" something felt very wrong, and not just the fact that he had nearly shot you. "okay, i'll bite, busy with what?"

"nothing important."

the sinking feeling in your stomach intensified and your eyes narrowed dangerously. "important enough that you forgot to tell me you weren't dead in an alley somewhere, when you knew i'd be texting to check in anyway. leaving me worrying in a hotel room in another city."

"nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about." you were really getting sick of the sound of his modulator, but he continued before you could say anything. "go back to what you were doing, babe."

"yeah... uh, no." you stepped forwards and he flinched back defensively, making you freeze. "seriously, what is up with you tonight?"

"noth-"

"jason, i promise if you say nothing one more time, i'm going to lose my mind."

he shifted his foot back slightly, and you took a deep breath.

"okay," you conceded, raising your hands up in surrender and moving backwards yourself. "respecting your space now. that wasn't my best decis-"

your voice cut out when something under his jacket caught your eye.

something red.

"holy crap, jason, what the hell?"

he winced quietly. "you weren't supposed to be home yet, okay?"

"take that stupid helmet off already, would you?" you snapped, already moving to get the first aid kit.

"i would've gone somewhere else if i'd known, okay?" his voice, now clear and crisp without the filter, followed you down the hall.

"that does not make this better!"

"can you please not yell at me right now?"

you dashed back into the room, shooting a vicious glare at him. "jacket."

he slid it off gingerly, dropping it on the couch next to his helmet.

"can you get the armor, or do i need to help?"

even despite the domino mask he was wearing, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. "if i couldn't do it on my own, why would i have come here if i didn't think you'd be home?"

"hm," you took the piece he handed you and carefully set it on the couch, "maybe because you're a stubborn jackass?"

he grunted, sliding his undershirt off and passing it to you. "i don't wanna stain the couch with that."

"your priorities suck."

"it's the nicest piece of furniture we own!"

"it's still a couch!"

"it was expensive!"

"oh for crying out loud-" you threw your hands up again, this time in frustration. "fine! fine. i'll go put this in the tub and get a soak going. you-" you shoved the kit towards him pointedly- "start washing that off."

"how come you're calling the shots?" he snapped back petulantly.

"because my torso's in one piece."

"i have way more experience with this, i should be making the decisions here."

"oh, of course, my apologies!" your voice was absolutely dripping in sarcasm. "what, pray tell, would you have us do?"

he scowled at you for a moment before reaching for the first aid kit and flicking the lid open. "whatever."

you turned on your heel, stomping into the bathroom.

the shirt got thrown into the tub and the tap got tossed all the way on, and as the water crashed into the gray fabric, you took the opportunity to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply.

you opened your eyes a minute later, finding the water dyed a rusty almost-red from blood.

his blood.

you turned off the tap- gently pushed the handle, this time, the fire in your chest now largely extinguished- and made your way back to the living room to find him running a rag over the space below his ribs.

"may i?" you asked softly, stopping a few feet away and holding a hand out to him.

his jaw clenched and relaxed three times in quick succession, but he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders before holding the rag out. "yeah, c'mere."

you worked in silence, being as gentle as possible. jerking your hand back and mumbling apologies when he hissed.

"s'okay, comes with the territory."

you pressed the alcohol-soaked towel back against him, and he sighed.

"that was stupid, huh."

a small laugh escaped you. "it so was."

"can we..."

"try that again?"

"yeah."

you pulled back, standing up straight to meet his eyes. "only if i can take the dumb mask off of you."

"i thought you liked the mask," he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"jason."

he chuckled, wincing again when it jostled his wounds. "ouch. uh, yeah, mask. g'head."

you gently pulled it from his face, setting it neatly on his other gear before running your thumbs across the line of adhesive it left on his cheekbones. "hi there."

"hey." he leaned into your touch, vibrant eyes fluttering halfway shut. "so uh, welcome home."

"thanks. could've done without the gun, though."

a choking sound tore from his throat, his eyes flying back open. "holy shit, baby, i almost-" he jerked back from you, no regard for his side. "you almost- shit, shit, are you- i'm so sorry, i didn't-"

"okay, woah, hey-"

"i could have killed you."

it was a whisper, horrified and harsh, and while it was technically true, his tone teetered on the edge of a dark space you had seen before and really didn't want him falling back into.

"yeah."

you desperately searched for the right thing to say, rejecting variations of "but hey, you didn't actually", "maybe you should be more careful about waving a gun at people", and one particularly unhelpful "no shit, sherlock".

finally, you settled on a quiet, calm "but i'm still right here, okay?"

his hand flew up to cover his mouth, doing absolutely nothing to hide the near panic written on his features. "i could have killed you."

"okay, so, in the future, we'll... we'll uh, we'll come up with some kind of system for letting you know when i'm home, or something."

"oh, like a phone?" he asked harshly. "the one i was stupid and sloppy enough to dunk in the harbor?"

"that wasn't- i'm guessing that you had a lot on your plate." you waved the cold, bloody towel in your hand at his wounds. it made him curl in on himself slightly, stepping backwards again until his back hit the arm of the couch.

"no excuses. i could have killed you."

"i-"

"no, i almost shot without saying anything!" he exclaimed, brow furrowed and eyes stormy. "i thought someone had broken in, and i got so- i don't even know, damn territorial or some stupid shit- that i almost put a bullet between your eyes. i could have-"

"jason!"

he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair. "i almost-"

"but you didn't. okay?" every fiber of your being wanted to hold him, to tug him into you and put his hand against your ribs and show him you were okay and breathing, heart still pumping, but he looked enough like a cornered animal that you half expected him to bite you if you tried. "c'mon, jaybird. a life like yours, can you really afford almosts?"

"life like mine, i can't afford to let anyone close to me. apparently, if the goons and thugs don't kill you, i will."

"that's not-"

"what if i hadn't said something?" he snapped venomously. "what if i'd lost more blood and was loopy from it? what if i'd come home with a concussion- again- and didn't think past 'point and shoot'?"

"jason," you finally interjected. "you think i haven't thought about that?"

his eyes, grim and vicious and so full of emotion that you thought you could drown in them, dropped to the floor.

"because it's not a secret that your life is risky. you're risky. i know that. but you're worth every ounce of danger, okay? i'm choosing this, choosing you, knowing full well what i'm getting into, because you're worth all of it."

"i'm not worth any of it."

"that's not your call to make."

"it-"

"you think i need you to make my choices for me?"

"no, of course not."

"you think im stuck here?"

"do you feel like you are?"

"absolutely not." you inched forward again. "i'm here because i want to be."

"...i just... i don't..."

"don't want me to get hurt?"

he finally looked back up at you, eyes watery and jaw tense. "or worse."

"i know, baby. i know," you sighed. "but that's part of life, right? and if the hurt's inevitable, i want the rest of my time to be as nice as possible, and you make my life better. make me better."

"by putting you in danger?"

"it's gotham, handsome, i'm gonna be in danger either way. at least with you, i know i have someone looking out for me. right?"

"always," he said immediately.

"okay then." you took the last step between the two of you slowly, watching for any resistance. meeting none, you brushed your knuckles against his. "i can't think of anywhere i'd feel safer."

"you know that's crazy, right?"

you hummed quietly. "nah."

"i'm being serious."

"me too."

he studied your face silently. you smiled softly at him.

finally, a sigh escaped him and he scooted his hand forward, wrapping his index finger around your own and squeezing gently. "you're sure you want this? i can set you up with a place downtown for a bit. you'd never have to see me again, never have to worry about... all of this."

"i've never been more sure of anything." you said it firmly, confidently, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before popping one eyebrow up playfully. "why, need to make room for a side piece?"

a startled choking sound escaped him. "excuse me?"

"i mean, when you were talking about being busy, it felt kinda suspicious."

"what is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperation and laughter coating his voice.

"listen, you were being evasive!" his head fell forwards, resting on your shoulder as he laughed.

"i didn't want you to know i was bleeding all over the place!"

"why, didn't want me to worry?"

"exactly!"

you reached your free hand up, gently resting it on the back of his head and playing with his hair. "then maybe, just maybe, you should have gotten someone to tell me your phone went for a swim."

"fair enough."

you stood quietly for a long time, running your fingers through his hair and enjoying the feeling of his breath against your collar.

"i..." he muttered, pulling back to look in your eyes. "i don't think- um. i don't think i'm..." he groaned, gaze darting to the ceiling. "i love you. but the minute you have enough of- of all of this-"

"i won't."

"but if you do, i'll... i'll understand, okay?"

you squeezed his finger gently. "okay." you inhaled deeply, dropping the bloody towel you were still clutching and slid your hand forward to hold his completely. "can we get a bandage on that and go to bed, now?"

"....yes please."

---

"wait!" you yelled, throwing the first aid kit haphazardly onto the bathroom counter and racing after him into the bedroom, where he whirled around with wide eyes. "i love you too! i never said it back- i love you too."

"don't yell like that- i thought something was wrong!"

"me not saying it back is urgently wrong, jason!"

#citrine writes #this was. this was a monster #i sure hope you enjoy because i'm unsure how quality it is #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #imagines #dc #dc imagines #dc imagine #blood cw #medical cw

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jstarswrites · 2 years

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Graduation

So, here we are, at the end. When I finally finished writing this chapter, I had to have a 30 second dance party for myself. 4 days, 48,000 words, and 14 chapters. But I loved every minute of writing this fic, and I hope you all had as much fun reading it! Sadly, this isn't canon, but then we might be asking too much... but they could at least have left Eddie alive. Sads :( Anyway, I hope this fic has fixed that and left you with better memories of Eddie.

I have a few more ideas rattling around for Eddie fics, but as always you won't hear about them until they are completed and then I'll schedule them to come out. This is just so I don't abandon fics, should my depression rear it's little shit of a head.

Anyway, enjoy, my lovelies! And thank you for reading!

The Outcasts Masterlist

It was the last week of your senior year, and Monday was dragging on. It wasn’t even lunch yet, and you were already bored. Well, okay, it was almost lunch. Like, five minutes to lunch. But you were still staring at the clock, willing it to go faster. Beside you, Eddie was asleep, his head on his arms, brown curls hiding him from view. You’d got your GPAs back at the end of last week and you were all going to graduate. Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, had taken you both out to dinner to celebrate and told Eddie he’d be in the front row at the graduation ceremony next weekend.

You’d never been prouder of your boyfriend. Well, apart from that time he’d played guitar in the upside down. ‘Cause that was pretty damn cool. Knowing he was going to graduate had given Eddie a permanent smile on his face ever since. And he’d finally been able to relax at school. He was gonna get his diploma and wave his middle finger in the principal’s face, just like he said he would. You were really looking forward to that, actually, since the principal had gone ahead and made Jason Carver class valedictorian and you had an intense hatred for him.

Finally, the bell rang, and you turned to Eddie to wake him up. He looked up at you bleary-eyed and smiled. You leaned down to kiss him gently. ‘Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Time for lunch.’

Eddie got up, stretching as he did so, winking at you when he saw you watching him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders loosely, and you entwined your fingers with his hand. You met up with El as you walked to the cafeteria, and she gave you a bright smile and started chatting with you about Eddie’s upcoming D and D week. You had finally decided to hold it at the Henderson house, since you guys had the most room and there would be thirteen of you all crammed in. Your mom was going to visit an old friend, so you’d have the house to yourself.

It was as you were waiting in line in the cafeteria that it happened. Mike came running up to you, kissed El quickly, and then turned to you, clearly out of breath. You raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Someone on fire, Noodle?’

‘What? No. There’s a rumour going around that you punched Jason Carver,’ Mike gasped.

You shrugged. ‘And?’

‘Did you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Y/N! You have to tell me, come on!’ Mike yelled, making everyone stare at you.

‘I tell you what Noodle, why don’t you go sit at our table and wait and see what he looks like when he walks in here, huh?’ You suggested, as Eddie smirked beside you.

‘Okay, but why did you hit him? You know who he is-’

‘He pointed a gun at Lucas. He tried to hurt Max, and Eddie, you know, my boyfriend, the man I love.’ Eddie leaned down to kiss you at that. ‘And he allowed his friend to hurt Erica.’

‘Who told you about that?’ You asked, turning to your boyfriend.

‘Is that why you gave Andy a concussion?’ Mike asked, staring at you in wonder.

‘Not me, I swear,’ he promised.

‘So you did? Y/N! What if they don’t let you graduate?’

‘What if the guy that held Erica down and threatened to break her arm got what he deserved?’ You returned, folding your arms. ‘Besides, my grades are too good. And no one knows it was me. And even if they did, you think Andy’s gonna admit he got hit in the face with a bat by a girl?’

‘You used a bat?!’

You shrugged. ‘It was all I could find.’

‘It was that or a spear,’ Eddie pointed out.

‘But why?’ Mike asked, clearly confused. ‘You’re not normally so…’

‘Punchy?’ Eddie volunteered, making you giggle.

‘Yeah.’

‘Mike, you know how I always tell you all I’ve adopted you, and I’m your big sister?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, someone hurt my brother. They hurt my sister. They tried to hurt my other sister. And they were hunting my boyfriend. Given what you know about me, do you think I’d just let that go?’ You asked, handing over your money to the cashier and turning towards your customary lunch table.

‘Uh, yeah, okay,’ Mike said, nodding his head as you all sat down. ‘That does totally fit with you, actually.’

‘Of course it does,’ you smiled.

Everyone else was already sitting down by the time Jason Carver walked into the cafeteria with two nasty looking black eyes. Your table erupted in cheers and whistles and, though he clearly looked like he wanted to say something, Jason kept his head down and went to his own table without a word.

‘Why has he got two black eyes?’ Dustin asked curiously.

‘Eddie took care of the other one for me,’ you replied sweetly, kissing your boyfriend, who was wearing the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

‘Nice,’ Dustin said, high fiving Eddie.

‘Oh, y/n, I was gonna ask if you still wanted to decorate our caps together?’ Robin asked you. It was a longstanding tradition for the seniors to decorate their graduation caps before the ceremony. You and Eddie had already figured out what you were doing with yours, all that was left was to paint them.

‘Yeah, of course! Want to come to mine tonight?’

‘Ooh, yeah, you always have the best ideas,’ she said.

‘I invited Smalls to help,’ you told her, grinning at Will down the table. He gave you a bright smile in return. ‘Since he’s our artistic genius and all.’

‘And you can’t draw for shit,’ Robin pointed out.

‘Exactly.’

You got up to throw your trash away, and when you returned, Eddie pulled you onto his lap and kissed you soundly, making Dustin and Mike make gagging noises. Max, who had been back at school for two weeks, threw grapes at them until they stopped. You pulled away, smiling at Eddie. ‘What was that for?’

‘Do I need a reason, sweetheart?’ He asked, grinning at you.

‘Not at all,’ you said, and kissed him again.

You all headed out to the parking lot once you were done eating. Eddie lit a cigarette as you fiddled with the stereo in your car, letting Metallica’s Master of Puppets blare out at top volume. This started an impromptu air guitar competition, with the winner getting Robin’s bag of m and ms. You both neglected to mention that the bag had been in her backpack for a while now.

Dustin won the contest due to his sheer dramatics, and he triumphantly gobbled down the suspicious m and ms. Eddie held out a hand to you and you took it, letting him pull you into the dancing that was now going on. One more week of school. One more week and you’d never have to come back here again, save for your graduation ceremony. And only two months until you and Eddie went on the road with Corroded Coffin. It felt strange to be leaving, but also the start of something new. And it did feel like time to not move on precisely, but to start the next phase of your life.

It wasn’t like you were running away. Hawkins was safe now. You were leaving your brother in the very capable hands of Joyce and Hopper. Jonathon was staying for community college, and so was Robin. Nancy had got into a great college to study journalism, and you and Eddie were touring with his band until you hit LA, where you’d be going to nursing school. You’d already started your research into the schools out there. Life was changing, but it wasn’t a bad thing.

‘You seem to be thinking hard about something, sweetheart,’ Eddie said softly, pulling you in close.

‘Just thinking about this being our last week of school,’ you told him, looking up to meet those warm brown eyes you loved so much.

‘I know. I wasn’t expecting it to go by so quick,’ he said, pressing a kiss to your knuckles while his hand rested on your waist.

‘Yeah, so much has happened in such a short amount of time,’ you replied.

‘You looking forward to what comes after, though?’ He looked a little worried, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘Of course I am. We’ll be together and that’s all I need.’

‘That and the kids all need to be okay.’

‘Well, that goes without saying.’

He laughed and kissed you softly. ‘They’ll be fine. They’re all way too smart for their own good, but you know Steve, Robin, and Jonathon will look out for them. And we’ll come back for thanksgiving and Christmas.’

‘And anytime they need us.’

‘Well, that goes without saying.’

‘And that is why I love you, Edward Munson,’ you said, smiling at him and leaning up to kiss him.

‘Just that? Nothing else at all? Not my pretty eyes? Or my excellent ass? Or my talented fingers?’ Eddie asked, nuzzling your neck and making you giggle.

‘Oh, those too, of course.’

‘Of course.’

You laughed and let him kiss you again, letting your worries fade away as your mind filled with thoughts of Eddie.

You pulled into the parking lot at Hawkins High as a senior for the last time. Today was graduation day. A day that had always seemed so far away until after spring break. Every time you’d dreamed about graduation before, you’d always thought about it being in the way off future. But now, here you were, boyfriend sitting beside you in the passenger seat, your best friend, Robin, sitting in the middle in the back, Jonathon and Nancy on either side of her. All five of you were graduating today. Today was your last day at this school.

Four years here hadn’t made you love the place, or anything, but it still felt strange to be saying goodbye. No more walking down the halls with Eddie. No more making stupid comments in class with Robin. No more emergency party meetings in the parking lot. Steve had already given you the talk about weird it would feel, and how awesome it would feel at the same time. But you guessed a small part of you hadn’t taken his words in, because the amount of feelings that hit you as you pulled in still surprised you.

It was worse when you got out of the car. All of a sudden it really hit you, for good this time, that you would never be coming back here as a student. You were officially an adult now, and you could do whatever you wanted with your life. No more rules, no more teachers telling you what to do, no more parents telling you what to do. It was just you and the entire world spread out in front of you. And despite the sadness you were feeling, and the fear that things would go wrong, you were still so damn excited about your future. Because for the first time, you had someone to share it with.

You’d already told Eddie how handsome he looked in his graduation cap and gown. The cap was decorated with the Hellfire Club symbols. He even had a baseball bat to match your own cap. Yours was decorated with little stick figures, six to be precise, all holding hands, a baseball bat to commemorate your time in the upside down, a dice for D and D, and flames licking the sides. Robin’s was decorated with a scene from one of her favourite movies, Children of Paradise. Jonathon’s had a camera with polaroids spilling out around it, and Nancy’s had a newspaper, notebook, and a quill.

Eddie came to stand beside you and took your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

‘You ready, sweetheart?’ He asked softly.

‘For this? Oh, yeah,’ you said, grinning slowly.

You followed the stream of people heading inside, moving into the cafeteria, and waving to the kids and Steve, who had come together. Your various parents were sitting in the front row, Wayne chatting with your mom. You all sat in the chairs at the side of the room, waiting for the ceremony to begin, joining Jeff and Gareth, who were already waiting for you. You and Eddie yawned your way through Jason Carver’s speech, whose two black eyes looked like they were covered with makeup, making both you and Eddie clap your hands over your mouths as you struggled not to laugh. Thankfully, his speech wasn’t long, though it did receive a lot of cheering, sadly.

Principal Higgins came onto the stage, said something vaguely cheerful about the class of 86 and then began calling students’ names. It was in alphabetical order, which meant it would go Robin, Jonathon, You, Eddie, and then Nancy. The others waited for you and Eddie, staying by the stage until he got up to get his diploma. He waltzed across the stage, took the diploma from Principal Higgins, and then stuck his middle finger up and waved it in the principal’s face. Laughing, you cheered for him with his uncle and your friends.

When you were all standing in a line in front of the parents, and everyone was told to clap for you, your party, including the kids and Steve, all stood as one and flipped off the principal, Jason Carver who was still on the stage, and anyone else that was up there. There was a lot of cheering, some scolding, but none of you could hear them over the sound of your laughter. You all flooded back outside together, Eddie’s hand in yours, for pictures and congratulations.

Jonathon handled the pictures, promising to send you all your copy of the reel once he’d developed them. Your mom came over and fussed over you, your relationship better than it had been. Dustin and the kids all piled on you, giving you hugs and congratulating you. It was a while before the pile up cleared and they moved on to Eddie, who disappeared into the pile laughing loudly. Joyce and Hopper were there, and they swept you up into crushing hugs, telling you how proud of you they were. Eddie’s uncle gave you a hug and thanked you for helping his nephew graduate, and you and Robin hugged each other hard, both of you crying for an unknown reason.

You all piled into the cars and headed for the diner. There were so many of you, it was lucky you had booked ahead. After an excellent and nutritious dinner of waffles, which you piled high with cream and sprinkles, sharing a grin of delight with El, who had done the same with hers, you all made your way to Steve’s house for your graduation party. His parents were out of town again, so you had the place to yourselves. Which was probably a good idea, given how excited and loud you all were right now.

You jumped into the pool to play an intense game of water volleyball, refereed by Max, who still had her arm and leg in a cast. The game lasted for over an hour and a bitter rivalry was borne between the girls and the boys when the girls won 6-0. Steve had music blasting on the stereo, and you and the girls did a victory dance that turned into just dancing when the music changed. Steve had made sure there was plenty to drink, and you spied your boyfriend sitting in a deck chair, beer in hand, talking to Steve and Dustin.

You joined him eventually, wondering what they were up to, plonking yourself down in Eddie’s lap, who immediately kissed you. ‘What are we discussing, my fine friends?’ You asked, wrapping an arm around your boyfriend’s shoulders.

‘How we managed to lose when we had the basketball champion on our team,’ Steve said.

You laughed. ‘Never underestimate the power of four girls who want to rub it in the boys’ faces that they’re better than them.’

‘You’re not even good at sports,’ Dustin protested loudly. ‘And neither are we.’

‘Doesn’t mean we don’t want to beat you, though,’ Nancy put in, swimming up to the edge of the pool with Jonathon.

‘Besides, we’re just better than you, Squish,’ you said.

‘Are not.’

‘Are too.’

‘Are not.’

‘Are too.’

‘Are not.’

‘Are too.’

‘Not.’

‘Too.’

‘Not.’

‘Too.’

‘Not.’

‘Too.’

‘Okay, I say we move on before the Henderson’s start a fight,’ Steve cried.

‘Ooh, truth or dare!’ Robin shouted, coming to sit beside Steve on his deck chair.

‘Oh, come on, really?’

‘What, are you too chicken?’ Robin started making chicken noises, you only half a second behind her. By the time he finally agreed, everyone in the party was making chicken noises at him.

You started off slow; Steve had to revive his keg chugging skills and drink a nasty smoothie you and Dustin concocted for him. Will had to draw a caricature of Nancy. Eddie had to serenade you with a song. And Robin had to swap clothes with Mike. Then you really got into it; Jonathon got given a makeover by Max and El. Steve had to bench press Will for as long as he could, which turned out to be two minutes. Robin had to give Eddie a piggyback, and they both fell into the pool. You gave a rousing dramatic reenactment of the moment you met Dustin, which was met with hysterical laughter and much cheering and clapping. Nancy had to make up a fashion show, and she used the boys as her models, to much applause from the girls and picture taking from you who had taken over Jonathon’s duties so he could walk down the makeshift catwalk.

It was late in the night, and the kids were playing in the pool, as the now-adults all sat around a makeshift campfire roasting marshmallows. You were curled up in Eddie’s lap as he fed warm, gooey marshmallows to you and listening to the quiet conversation taking place.

‘So you’re off to Brown in a few months, Nance?’ Robin said, almost dropping her stick in the fire.

‘Yeah, I’ve got a journalist summer course starting in July,’ she replied.

‘Wow, I think you’re the only ones with plans before college starts,’ you told her.

‘You’re not doing anything before you leave?’ Jonathon asked you.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Nah, just a chill summer before we go on tour.’

‘Still think that’s the coolest idea ever, man,’ Steve said, as the others nodded.

‘Works out best for us,’ you smiled, looking up and meeting Eddie’s eyes.

‘How’s Dustin coping with it?’ Robin asked.

‘He’s okay, actually,’ you said. You and Eddie had a long talk with him about you going on tour and possibly moving to LA once you were done. Dustin wasn’t thrilled, but he knew you’d keep in touch and come back to visit whenever you could. And if he needed you, you would be on the next plane out.

‘He’s not thrilled, of course,’ Eddie continued. ‘But this is the best plan for both of us. Y/N’s smart enough to get into any nursing school she wants.’

‘That’s what you want to do?’ Nancy asked, surprised. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that like it’s a stupid idea. I meant it more like, wow, that’s so cool!’

You laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I got you. And yeah, I figured maybe an ER nurse.’

‘Ooh, you’d be good at that,’ Robin said, nodding at you.

‘Yeah, you patched me up,’ Steve added.

‘And you’re always taking care of the kids when they get hurt,’ Jonathon put in.

‘Amazing, isn’t she?’ Eddie grinned, kissing you loudly and making everyone laugh.

‘Thanks guys,’ you smiled. ‘It means a lot to me that you all think I’d be good at it.’

When dawn came, the party finally wound down. The kids had all crashed in the living room, and everyone else had pretty much slept where they fell. You and Eddie were sitting outside on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, sharing a cigarette as you watched the sunrise.

‘Today was a good day,’ you said softly, leaning your head on Eddie’s shoulder.

‘The best,’ he said, grinning. ‘Though there are probably going to be some amazing days to come.’

‘Of course there are. How could there not be when we’re together?’

‘I love you, Y/N Henderson, now and always.’

‘And I love you, Eddie Munson, from now until the end of time.’

You shared a sweet kiss, the rising sun bathing you in its rosy glow.

Taglist: @efvyqrs @gnnnne @smc777 @okilover02 @itsjenna2u @linkpk88

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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liberty-barnes · 3 years

Text

Oh, goodie

Holland Brothers & Holland!Reader

Request: “I didn’t fall. The floor looked lonely so I wanted to hug it.” “Then why are you crying?” “It was an emotional reunion.” Could you do this with Holland!sister and all the brothers and she is clumsy? + Ohhhhhhhh congratulation on you’re finishing you’re exams. Please can you do Holland!sister having some kind of medical condition and the brothers all being really comforting and helping her? Have a great day

Warnings: mentions of injuries, cursing, but we already knew that

Word Count: 800 words

Estimated Reading Time: 3.5 minutes

A/N: Combined those two requests cause they just fit so well together. Have fun reading this cause writing it made me laugh very hard.

Masterlist | Miah’s Comeback Sleepover

You held the gun closer to your chest as you panted, keeping a sharp eye out for any stragglers. Your chest, legs, and arms were splattered in red, your whole body aching. You pressed your hand to your stomach, where the most recent bullet had hit.

Sam came up next to you, equally as splattered as you.

“How’re you feeling?”

You glared at him and sneakily looked over the barricade, trying to spot your enemies.

“Like I’ve just been shot, dumbass. What kind of question is that?”

He shrugged and fire a shot into the distance, smiling at the answering groan.

“Haz is on the other side, we need to draw them away from their base so he can get out.”

You nodded.

“Run on three?”

With one last confirmation, you got ready to go.

“One. Two. Three, go, go, go.”

You started running in zig-zags so they’d have a harder time hitting you, jumping over obstacles and focusing on getting away. You heard footsteps behind you and quickened your pace. You couldn’t afford to be slow, right now.

A bullet hit your leg just as you were about to jump over a barricade. It threw your momentum off and you felt your foot get caught on the top. There was no time to think, only react, as you put your right hand up to cushion your fall, left hand still holding the rifle. There was a sickening crack as your body hit the ground.

“Oh, fuck!”

You turned on your back and cradled your arm to your chest.

“Time out! Everybody regroup, (Y/n) got hurt.”

Tom called and put the rifle down next to you, body splattered in blue from where you managed to hit him.

“Hey, you okay, that was a nasty fall.”

You scoffed, but your voice sounded pinched.

“I didn’t fall. The floor looked lonely so I wanted to hug it.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It was an emotional reunion.”

He brushed away your tears and helped you sit up, taking off both of your masks.

“Hey, what happened, is she okay?”

Harrison kneeled next to you, Harry following with a heavily splattered Paddy behind. Sam was probably already taking care of everything, the responsible idiot.

“She just fell but from the looks of it, it might be broken.”

The blonde nodded.

“I’ll get the car ready for the hospital, I can get changed faster than you. You’ll just meet us there.”

You shook your head as your older brother helped you get to your feet.

“That’s really not necessary. It’s probably nothing, just a little ice and-”

Paddy slapped a hand across your mouth.

“Shut it Miss I’m-Fine-When-In-Reality-I-Had-A-Concussion.”

Okay, that’s a low blow.

“I was young, naive, and careless about my health.”

“That was six months ago.”

You should maybe stop talking about your injuries.

You walked to the entrance of the war zone.

“So, does this mean we won? At least Haz was halfway back to our base with your flag in hand.”

The opposite team shared a look.

“Yeah, alright, we’ll let you take it.”

You cheered.

“Yes! Paintball wars are fourteen to thirteen for us!”

----------

“Be careful, you’ll get hurt!”

With how much you’ve been rolling your eyes the last two hours, it’s a wonder they aren’t stuck to the back of your head.

“I can make my own tea, Samuel, thank you very much.”

He guided you to the table and sat you down.

You see, there’s a reason why you should never get hurt in the Holland household: no matter what age you are, you still get treated like a bloody baby.

“I am an eighteen-year-old independent woman will you just let me live?”

“You’re my baby sister and you have a broken wrist, stay still and let me take care of you.”

Fucking Holland men with their fucking overprotective streak.

“We’re back!”

Thank God your Mum and Dad were here to save you.

“Why’re you out of bed, love? You should be resting that wrist of yours, go lay down, we’ll bring you whatever you need.”

Correction: thank God your Mum was here to save you cause your Dad was just as stupidly overprotective as them.

“You know, I have a broken wrist, I’m not paraplegic. I can still take care of myself.”

Your Dad hugged you tightly, paying close attention to the glaringly pink (Tom’s choice) cast.

“I know, but we’re here and we love you, so we’ll take care of you until your full recovery.”

You watched Harry and Paddy bring up the “Sick Bell”, probably to install it in your room, while Sam and Tom were setting up the “Care Schedule��, so you’d “never be alone” and “always have someone available to help you”.

“Oh, goodie.”

These were going to be a long two months.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

*insert [they had us in the first half] meme* DIDJA LIKE IT? I DO, VERY MUCH SO

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG

@adriannajackson123 @evermoreholland @inlovewithmobtom @andycanbeemotional @officiallyunofficialperson @lost-in-the-stars03 @jeezkiddo @a-singleboat @parkersbliss @highlydisfunctional1 @inthecornerchair @harishaanne @anjalika03 @peterspideyy @lozzypoz321 @mendes-marvel @sovereignparker @sofyluv17 @dracoswhore007

HOLLAND & CO.

@just-here-to-escape-from-reality @onelovesr @agentnataliahofferson @zeusmyster @parkerpetertingle @juliebean247 @joyleenl @quaksonhehe @clara-licht @frustratingpaperclip @hungryforfood-blog @tutuabby28 @tacobacoyeet @thegirlwiththeimpala

#Libby’s stuff #libby writes #miah’s comeback sleepover #holland!reader #holland!sister #tom holland #sam holland #harry holland #paddy holland #dom holland #nikki holland #harrison osterfield #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #sam holland x reader #harry holland x reader

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badgirlcovenrep · 3 years

Note

omg chenrich prompts? hell yeah!! Okay so how about immediately after the council meeting? Steph taking Alex to the hospital because u KNOW its steph who takes her to get treated

As is expected I got a little carried away 😁

So this is a bit of a mix between chenrich in the hospital and medical grade painkillers Alex lol

Hope you enjoy!

No one could have prepared them for that community meeting. Steph shook all over just to think of Jed luring Alex into the woods. Of him leaving her for dead in some awful mining hole.

It made her so furious. Even hearing him cry, blabbering like a sad shadow of the man she'd known (the man that was all a charismatic lie, showmanship, to hide the disgusting truth) her anger, her hurt was too fresh for the girl to gather any sort of sadness for him.

"I'm sorry, Ryan," Alex repeats, standing at the bar with them.

Ryan is staring, speechless, at his father's crying shadow.

"I'm so sorry-" she tries to take a step forward, but her feet falter, and Alex nearly topples over to the ground, grunting in pain as Steph jumps to hold her elbow and help steady her into the floor once again.

"Fuck, Alex, you need a doctor." Steph insists. But Alex is looking at Ryan with so much concern that she can't get her to move.

"It's not your fault, okay?" Ryan finally speaks, breaking out of whatever haze he'd been in to look back at her, "It's not your fault. I just- need a moment to process all this. Go with Steph, you're hurt."

Alex finally looks at her then, and Steph can feel herself plead with her eyes - because she might not know a lot about these sorts of injuries but she's smart enough to know - just by the way she's swaying back and forth on unsteady feet - they probably have another minute, at most, before Alex collapses.

"You did it." Steph mumbles, voice filling with unbridled pride as well as urgency, touching down Alex's arm to hold her cold hand, "You did it, ok? You can settle down now."

Her brown eyes are hazy, blinking back to Steph with rapidly heavying eyelids.

"Good. That's- That's good." Alex slurs back, the last reminiscent of adrenaline leaking out of her body in a heavy huff, "very, very good-"

Steph barely has a second to process what is happening before Alex's body gives out. By some miracle, she's able to flip her arms around her shoulders just fast enough to stop her from falling to the ground.

****

Pike helps her take Alex to the local hospital before going back to deal with Jed's arrest.

It's a small hospital and probably has about ten rooms, but given that these sorts of things (bad things) rarely ever happen in Haven Springs, they're quickly given a private room, and Alex is just conscient enough (before she passes out from the painkillers) to tell the staff she could stay.

Steph doesn't think she would have left either way. Not without knowing Alex was alright, but it's good to have permission to sit by her as she fluttered in and out of drug-induced, heavy sleep.

The doctor had given her the run-down of the other girl's injuries. Five broken ribs, stage two trauma to the head - probable concussion to be assessed once she was more awake - a punctured lung, internal bleeding all around the ribcage, and a bullet wound to the shoulder.

She was an absolute mess of scars. A walking, breathing miracle.

Steph had heard the doctor talking to the police when she stepped out to get some snacks at the vending machines. "She should be dead." He said, with such conviction and surprise, it made her stomach turn.

Steph felt that she could do nothing but sit by Alex's sleeping form, slowly realizing that she was absolutely screwed. Because she already liked this girl way too much - and God, what a roller-coaster of emotion she'd been put on the last month - but how could she not? When Alex just waltzed into everyone's lives like this determined, selfless little light? When she was so obviously a rare soul, made of so much sweetness, and softness, and strength, Steph doubted she'd ever come across someone like her again?

Looking at the circumstances from the other side now, it seemed as inevitable as any of it.

"I can feel you thinking." Alex's voice startles her out of her thoughts. Steph looks up to meet her tired brown eyes, looking so soft and vulnerable without her glasses and surrounded by clean hospital sheets, "You've been broody lately."

Steph giggles, choking on her own emotion, "Guess I'm still mad about Jed." It's not a lie. She is upset. But there was a lot more than that, more about how her insides swelled with emotion when Alex looked at her - but she leaves it the way it is.

"I forgave him." She shrugs. And Steph knows she did, she was there after all, but that didn't mean the drummer was quite as ready herself.

"Well, I didn't." And maybe that makes her childish - resentful - but she can't take the image of him pointing a gun at Alex out of her head. The image of him pulling the trigger, sending her off to what could very well have been death - "at least you made him cry like a baby."

"Jerk." Alex smiles, eyes squinting back at her in humorous indignation before they slowly turn more vulnerable as she adjusts herself on the mattress, patting the empty space beside her body, "Can you- come lie down with me?"

There's nothing, truly, that Steph would have liked more. She would take any chance of being closer to Alex (and of getting off the uncomfortable hospital chair) but she was also still afraid - still scared something might go wrong and they'd lose her. "Are you sure? You're hurt."

"Please?" Alex pleads, blinking back at her with honest-to-God puppy eyes, even if still a little glassed-over from the amount of Vicodin they were pumping into her veins. For the umpteenth time in the past few days, Steph has even more confirmation that she is screwed.

Because, honestly, there's nothing Alex couldn't get her to do with just a slow blink of her brown eyes.

So she gets up and climbs into bed with her. It's incredibly tight for two people, and they are instantly pressed together as Alex scoots over the pillow so they can look at each other, alone in this hospital room that smelled like industrial-grade detergent.

Alex reaches forward and takes her cheeks between her palms, so very close Steph can't help but catalog all the cuts and bruises covering her face.

"You're so pretty." The girl says, finally, and Steph can hear the tiny slur in her voice. She's probably still drunk on a shit ton of medicine, but it does nothing to stop the drummer from blushing profusely, "you're, really, really pretty. Have I told you that?"

"Hm- yeah you sorta- do that when you're on painkillers." Steph comments, and her eyes can't help but fall to Alex's mouth.

She has a tiny cut on her lower lip, and Steph's fingers itch to touch it. To feel her skin again, like that night on the roof, when she felt so warm and tingly, like a live wire of electricity that could swallow Steph whole. For now, she holds her distance.

"But it's true." Alex pouts, "and you're really hot when you're protective too."

Now that- that was different from anything she'd said before. And when she looks up, the girl realizes Alex's eyes have turned to stare at Steph's lips too.

"Yeah?" She asks, a little too cocky given the situation, but oh well, you can't blame her for the swell of pride that takes over her chest.

"Yeah." Alex teases back, "Thank you. For taking care of me. For being mad at Jed for me- even if you can't do anything about it." Her tone turns sincere, and her eyes flutter everywhere but Steph's face, Alex's dead giveaway that she was trying to hold something back.

"Oh please, I'll rip his mustache off." Steph jokes, because it's her default strategy when she doesn't quite know what to do, "You have lost your right to upstanding citizen facial hair, sir!"

"Fuck, Steph, don't make me laugh." Alex says as a few stolen giggles escape her lips, creating ripples across her shattered chest that made her hiss with pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Steph apologizes, and on instinct, she leans closer to run her hands over Alex's arm in reassurance, holding the weight of her body above Alex with her elbow.

From this angle, they were even closer, and Steph was staring at her from above, watching Alex smile at her, head on the pillow and a half-lidded, humorous expression on her face.

"Oh, this is nothing. Just a few cuts compared to my fighting days." She jokes, and Steph's heart is filled with so much concern, so much love for this girl she can't help but fluster with anger.

"Shut up. You're gonna hurt yourself if you don't take it seriously." Steph says, "you're like, seriously hurt, Alex, you could have died."

Steph wants to ask, but Alex's free hand reaches forward and pulls her closer, fist tightening around the collar of her button-up shirt, and suddenly they are so close her hand shakes with the itch to touch her, "See? Protective Steph is so hot."

"I know. I'm sorry." Alex has the decency to look reprimanded, smoothing one hand over Steph's shoulder in a simple act that sends calming waves over Steph's flushed skin, "I'm okay. I promise" she's being sincere, Steph knows she is by the way she frowns slightly in concern. However, there's a quiet, teasing smile spreading across her face.

And Steph honestly used to think she was smooth.

She made girls blush by the minute. Awoke the bisexuality in at least a few of her drunk makeouts on the way from California to here. She used to be a real flirt, ready for anything a pretty girl could throw her way. But sitting here, with her torso half hovering over Alex Chen's body, her tongue feels heavy, and her brain can't conjure a single thing to offer in response.

It's at least a relief that she doesn't say anything, because a second later, Alex is smiling at her with her coy, knowing little smirk, and pulling her in for a kiss.

Steph is far too focused on not crushing her further, very deliberately placing her hands on both sides of her head to better hold her weight, but she still feels the strong, dizzying zap of electricity as Alex's lips touch hers, her lungs filling with liquid, warm waves of emotion.

And maybe, Steph thinks, it'd be fine if she never breathed air again.

#chenrich fanfic #send me chenrich prompts #i dare you #chenrich #alex chen #alex chen × steph gingrich #steph gingrich

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

The Right Chapter 2 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hello besties, laptop is going haywire but for the moment we are back!!

Read chapter 1 of this fic here!

TW: This chapter contains swearing and descriptions of domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion!

wordcount: 2.6k

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 DM to be added to the tag list :)

Josh fell asleep on your ride home. You roused him gently as you pulled into your designated parking spot outside of your apartment.

“Josh,” You whispered, pushing at his shoulder gently. “Come on, we’re home. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

He jerked awake. “Fuck. I was sleeping. Jesus.” He barked.

“Sorry, baby. We’re home.” You repeated.

“Don’t know why you even bother calling it home. You’re never fucking here.” Josh grumbled, clumsily unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out the passenger seat of the car. He went on ahead as you went into your backseat to gather your go-bag and purse. When you got to the front door, he was still fumbling with his house key.

“Here, let me.” You took the key from his hands gently, unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door.

Before you could even turn around, you were on the floor in the doorway, your nose slamming into the carpet. You were bleeding onto the floor, your blood soaking the tan fibers. It takes you a moment to realize that he’d pushed you.

“Josh, what the--” a well placed kick to your hip cut off your protest before you could finish it. You rolled over, looking up to see him panting, with angry eyes.

“You think you’re real slick huh? Staying late at work with the boss? Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were better than getting a promotion on your back.”

“We were working, Josh. There’s nothing else going on there.” You argued, scrambling backwards away from him and propping yourself up on your elbows. You know that there should be some sort of instinct kicking in, one that allows you to disarm him as if he were an unsub, but you feel helpless as you struggle to put distance between the two of you. He followed you across the room, kneeling over you and pinning you against the floor before delivering another harsh slap to your already-swollen cheek.

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you.” He growled, and you gulped. He smirked, before grabbing you by the hair and throwing you against the closest wall. You see stars, but you will yourself to stay awake. You’re scared of what he might do if you can’t fight back.

“Oh yeah? Just working, at 2AM when everyone else is gone? And what was that he called you? Invaluable.” He spits out, pulling you up roughly by your forearms. He leaned in close, presumably to intimidate you. You don’t give him the satisfaction, looking him in the eye and doing your best not to let your glare betray your fear. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He smirked, reaching an arm around to take your gun out of its holster, placing it against your chin. Your face dropped.

“Josh… Joshua, you’re drunk. Let’s just go to bed, okay? I’m sorry I was out late. I’ll make it up to you in the morning. I swear.” You’re frantic, your training leaving you once again. De-escalate, de-escalate, de-escalate. “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll request a transfer so I don’t have to travel anymore.”

He chuckled. “Okay, dear. We can talk in the morning. I’m going up to bed. Get that blood out of the carpet, will you?” He placed your gun on a nearby end table.

He kissed you on the forehead before he went to the bedroom, but the gesture had never been less comforting. He left you there, standing against the wall, blood streaming down your face. You slid down the wall, knees curled up into your chest on the floor, regulating your breath for a few minutes before you rose again. You holster your gun before tending to the blood on the carpet, realizing belatedly that you can’t get it clean because you’re still dripping all over the stain. You chuckled a little, although none of this is really all that funny, sitting back on your heels and looking up at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck you ended up here. Realizing you had no clue what time it was, you reached out your work phone, seeing a missed text from Aaron.

Please let me know that you’re safe.

You looked around, at your blood on the carpet, at the dent your head had made in the drywall when Josh threw you against it. You brought a gentle hand to your face, feeling how your nose was definitely not in the same place it was when the day had started, and you sighed. Things with Josh were never perfect-- but this was too far. You texted Hotch back.

I need help.

Hotch could have easily blamed his inability to fall asleep on the cups of coffee you both had been drinking well into the evening, but he knew that wasn’t the case. If that were so, there was no reason for him to be flicking his eyes over to his phone every three minutes. But here he was, in his study, file open in front of him, and not a word of it absorbed.

Finally, finally, his phone buzzed. He unlocked it fervently, anxious for the assurance that you were fine. Your text provided no such assurance.

“Are you safe right now? Do you need medical?” He texted back, trying to keep his head for your sake.

“Not urgently. Can’t stay here.”

“You alone?”

“He’s asleep.”

“On my way. Pack a go bag.”

“Don’t come in. Light sleeper. Just text.”

You were suddenly grateful for the load of laundry you’d left in the dryer that morning, tossing it all in your go bag without folding it. When you realized that you didn’t know when or if you’d be back here, you took the lockbox off the top of the fridge and pulled out all of your important documents-- your passport, birth certificate, social security card--you tuck them all into a file folder as you feel your phone buzz.

“Outside.” Hotchner texts you plainly. You gingerly pick up your bags and slip out the door, careful not to make any noise.

Hotch is out of the car in an instant once he sees you-- he doesn’t know what he expected, exactly, but somehow you look worse, even from a distance.

“Hey, hey, give me that.” He said, taking your bags from you. “You said you didn’t need medical.” He said, accusatory, but not mean.

“I said not urgently. I didn’t want you to send an ambulance.” You told him. “I feel fine. I just need advil.” You said as the two of you climbed into his SUV.

He looked you over, incredulous. Your nose was definitely broken, and he couldn’t tell in the dark of the night, but he was pretty sure you were still bleeding. Your cheek was swollen from where he slapped you, and you were sporting a black eye, likely a complication of the nose. And that was just what he could see. He shuddered, although he tried to hide it from you.

“We’re going to the hospital.” He said, turning his key in the ignition and taking off.

“Hotch, I just want to sleep. Please. I’ll take myself to the hospital in the morning, I promise.” You practically begged.

He turned his head towards you. The only thing he wanted more than to give in, in that moment, was to make sure that you were safe. “Did you hit your head?” He asked,

“What?” You asked.

“Did you bump your head at all, when everything happened?”

“Yeah,” you told him, running a hand over your head and feeling the tender bump that was forming there. You cringed, and Aaron caught it.

“I’m sorry, but we need to take you to the hospital. You probably have a concussion.” He apologized.

“I really don’t want to go through the whole ‘you were clearly involved in a domestic dispute’ thing that they’re going to do,” you complained.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer. I just need to make sure you’re okay. Everything else goes at your pace.” He promises you, sneaking a glance away from the road and over to your face. You’re already looking back at him.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Already looking back at the road, Hotch took one hand away from the wheel and gave your forearm a quick squeeze in response. You drove in silence for a few moments before Aaron pulled into the hospital.

“Alright, let’s get this over with so we can get you to bed.” He told you, climbing out of the car before coming over to your side to help you walk. Truth be told, you didn’t really need assistance, but your hip hurt so badly that you were limping, and it seemed better to have Aaron slowed down by helping you, rather than just by watching you.

The emergency room was, thankfully, deserted, and you were seen relatively quickly. Aaron offered to stay in the waiting room but you asked him to come with you.

“I, uh. I don’t really want to be left alone right now, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course not.” He said, standing and following you and the nurse.

“What brings you in, dear?” The nurse asked, moving slowly to accommodate your pace.

“My boyfriend beat the shit out of me.” You said, figuring she might make it easier if you just bite the bullet, and Aaron shot you a glance. You shrugged in response, and then noticed the nurse’s eyes shifting between the two of you.

“Oh, no. Not him.” You assured her with as big of a smile as you could muster, given the amount of pain that you were in. “He’s a friend. He picked me up.” You explained as she led the two of you into an exam room, shutting the door behind you. Aaron helped you up onto the exam bed gently, choosing to stand nearby rather than sit in the chair provided.

“Okay, ma’am. Our policy for domestic disputes is not to involve police unless requested by the victim.” You cringed at her word choice. “We don’t want this to be more stressful than it already is. What we do instead, is we take a detailed account of everything that happened to cause you bodily harm, and if you decide to pursue any legal action, we can send those records along on your behalf. So can you tell me what happened tonight?”

You glanced over at Aaron before you started, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like this. You told the nurse, clinically, what had happened, leaving out the things he had said to you for Aaron’s sake. You did your best to keep your emotions in check, although regurgitating everything that had happened was making you feel sick. You glanced over at Aaron-- his jaw was set, his mouth in a straight line, nostrils flaring, even as he stared at the linoleum tile on the floor. You closed your eyes and attempted to zone out as you continued, as if you could distance yourself from the emotions by imagining that it was just a story you were telling.

“And then he pulled my gun out of my holster---”

“Ma’am, do you have a gunshot wound?” The nurse interrupts you, voice slightly panicked.

Oh, shit. You probably didn’t need to include that part. Your eyes are open in an instant, and you look over at Hotch. He’s pissed, and not looking at the floor anymore.

“No, no. Sorry, that is um--- that’s clinically insignificant. He didn’t fire the gun or strike me with it. That’s how it ended.”

“Okay, hon. Why don’t you get changed,” she said, handing you a hospital gown, “and I’ll send the doctor in in just a second.”

“Thank you,” you said, and Aaron echoed his thanks.

“Clinically insignificant?” Aaron asked incredulously as the nurse shut the door.

“Can you turn around? I need to change.” You deflected.

He turned to face the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He pulled a gun on you, (y/n).” He shook his head as you quickly changed.

“I know. I’m sorry. You can turn back around now.” You told him.

“No, I’m sorry. How long has this been going on for? How did I not notice?” He asked as he turned to see you, practically swimming in the oversized gown.

“I think we all work really, really hard not to be profiled, Aaron.” You tried to comfort him.

He was interrupted before he could respond by the doctor knocking and then swinging the door open.

“Good evening, folks.” The smiling blonde woman said. “Let’s get you home so you can sleep some of this off, yeah?”

It takes a couple of hours, but you’re sent home with a nose that’s set back in place, as well as a prescription for enough pain killers to put a large dog in a coma, in addition to the confirmation that you did, in fact, have a concussion. Your hip, thankfully, was just bruised.

“She needs to be woken up every couple of hours for the rest of the night and the day tomorrow. Just to be safe.” The doctor told Hotch.

“Not a problem.” He said resolutely.

“Do you have any questions?” She asked, turning to you.

“When can I go back to work?”

“Well, if you work at a computer--”

“I work for the justice department. So, I guess I’m really asking about field work.” You clarify.

“At least ten days, and that’s if you’re feeling better.” She said, giving you a stern look. You visibly deflated, knowing that if the doctor said ten days, Hotch wasn’t letting you in the field for at least twenty.

“Thank you, doctor.” Hotchner said, placing a hand on the small of you back as she opened the door and allowed you both out.

“Of course. Call us if anything changes.”

You trudged out to the car in an exhausted silence, sure that you’ll fall asleep as soon as the car starts moving. Once you’re buckled in, Hotch speaks.

“I’ll tell Strauss that we aren’t coming in today,” he says offhandedly as he cranes his body back to pull out of the parking spot, his arm strewn across the back of your seat for leverage.

“We?” You questioned.

“You need to be woken up every two hours. I can’t exactly do that from the office.” He reminds you.

“I can just set an alarm on my phone, it’s not a big deal.”

“Uh huh, and when the alarm doesn’t wake you up because you have a brain bleed?” He’s teasing you, but you also know him well enough to know that there is a very real twinge of anxiety behind it.

“Hotch,” you scoffed at his joke, breaking into a smile despite yourself. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” You added more seriously.

“I know you don’t.” He placates you. “But will you let me do it anyways? Plus, you’re not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.”

“I guess that’s my fault.” You admitted.

“Hey, I’m glad you called me. And I’m also glad the bureau has a generous sick leave policy. We both need it right now.”

You can sense that this is an argument that you’re not going to win, and even if you could, you don’t have the energy to try. You close your eyes and lean back against the headrest in the car, giving him a resigned nod before you fall asleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n

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andvys · 3 years

Text

Longing (part 8)

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, nightmares

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

“(Y/n)?”

“(Y/n) can you hear me?”

“Please wake up! I can’t lose you too!”

“Her pulse is weak.”

You heard voices but it sounded like you were underwater, you couldn’t open your eyes. Everything seemed so heavy.

“Come on (y/n) please!” Ellie screamed, sobbing.

Holding your head in her lap, brushing hair out of your face. She didn’t know what to do, Joel is dead and you seemed close to death as well. She couldn’t lose you too. Ellie felt overwhelmed by everything, having witnessed the murder of Joel and now you wouldn’t wake up. After the man smashed your head against the wall and the way you fell down she wasn’t sure if you’d wake up at all.

Poor Tommy had to wake up to see his brother laying dead on the floor and now he had to collect his body off the floor to bring him back home, so he could be buried. Ellie watched how Tommy and Jesse carried Joel away, feeling tears running down her face she looked back down at you.

“Ellie?” You whispered weakly, trying to open your eyes.

“I’m here (y/n).” Ellie said, relieved that you woke up.

“I’m sorry, Ellie.” You said, letting a tear fall.

“It’s my faul-.” You said, closing your eyes, feeling lightheaded again.

“No (y/n), hey! Don’t close your eyes!” She begged you, touching your face.

“Ellie come on, we gotta go.” Jesse said, coming up in front of you to take you.

“She woke up but I think she’s unconscious again.” Ellie said, wiping her tears away.

“Come on, I got her.” Jesse said, moving down he grabbed you from her arms, carrying you to your horse.

Ellie stood back for a second, looking at the ground where Joel was laying just a few minutes ago, in his own pool of blood. Ellie couldn’t bare this pain, she started sobbing quietly.

“I’m sorry Joel.” Ellie whispered, before leaving the room.

Jesse put you on top of your horse, letting your form slump over slightly. The back of your head was bleeding and you seemed to have gotten a few punches in your face as well. Jesse felt bad that he hasn’t gotten there earlier, he has never seen you this way before.

Ellie came out of the room, seeing your unconscious form on your horse and Joel’s dead body on his horse. Not being able to look at Joel any longer, she went over to Shimmer.

No one said anything, Jesse got on top of his horse, grabbing the reins of Helios he started guiding your horse back. Tommy did the same with Joel’s horse. Ellie and Dina right behind them. Dina kept glancing at Ellie and you in concern, not knowing if she should say anything or if she should stay quiet.

Waking up again, you were on your horse. Looking beside you, you saw Joel’s dead body on his horse, Tommy guiding his horse back home. You could feel tears in your eyes at the sight of Joel. You couldn’t just go back home and let his killers go. Suddenly sitting up on your horse, your head started spinning but you kept yourself up. “I have to-“

“Whoa (y/n), take it easy.” Jesse said, halting his horse. Everyone else looked over to you.

“(Y/n)!” Ellie called out, getting off her horse she walked towards you.

“I have to go back.” You said, looking around, your friends looking at you in concern.

“I have to- I have.”

“Kid don’t make it harder than it already is, we’re going home.” Tommy said.

“I- we can’t just let them go!” You said, looking around bewildered.

“They’re not getting away with this but we have to go home first.” Ellie said, she was barely holding herself together but she had to stay strong.

“I-“ “you have a concussion (y/n), you can’t just go after them now.” Jesse said.

Nodding your head you looked down. Ellie looked at you one last time before getting back on top of shimmer.

Arriving back home in Jackson, Maria and the guards rushed over to Tommy, gasping at the sight of Joel’s dead body. You couldn’t stay, you would start crying again. Getting off your horse, you almost collapsed if it wasn’t for Jesse holding you up.

“Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary.” He said.

Looking back at Joel one last time, you started walking away.

“Alright, you definitely have a concussion. You need to rest as much as possible, your head is gonna hurt for a while. I’ll give you some pain killers but like I already said, you need to rest!” The doctor ordered but you weren’t even listening, you were just thinking about Joel.

Jesse stood back, leaning against the wall, he looked at you in concern. He noticed you weren’t listening to what the doctor said.

“Alright thank you doc, I’ll bring her home now.” Jesse said, walking towards you.

The doctor nodded his head, giving Jesse the pain killers. “You make sure that she rests, young man.” He said.

“I will.” He said “come on (y/n).”

Ellie waited for you in front of your house already, you didn’t want to see her right now. You couldn’t look at her not when you felt like it was your fault that Joel died.

“Hey I got it from here, Jesse.” Ellie said, coming up next you.

“Alright, here some painkillers.” He said, giving the bottle of pills to Ellie. “She needs to rest.”

Ellie nodded looking at you she noticed you were avoiding her eyes.

“Bye guys.” Jesse said, before leaving.

Opening your door you went inside, shutting the door and locking it, Ellie took of her jacket and helped you out of yours.

“You can go home, Ellie.” You said, your voice still weak.

“I’m not leaving you and I- I don’t want to be alone right now.” Ellie said.

“You shouldn’t be with me.” You said, feeling yourself tear up again, you sat down on your bed.

“I want to be with you.” She said, sitting down next to you.

Sighing you looked down, nodding. You knew that she would hate you if she found out that you saved Abby but you wanted to be with her one last time before she would shut you out forever.

“I’m so sorry Ellie.” You said, looking at her you noticed she had bruises too. You didn’t even notice them earlier when you were avoiding looking at her face. Touching her cheek, you ran your thumb over the bruise on her face. Closing her eyes, she started crying silently. “Come here.” You said, pulling her into you. She immediately latched on to you, hugging you tightly, she started sobbing.

You held her, crying with her. You didn’t even know what you were feeling in this moment. You felt every emotion but you also felt numb. You felt like you were missing a big piece, one that could never be replaced.

Laying down with Ellie, you held her in your arms, with her head on your chest. She was still crying, you were running your fingers through her hair.

After a while she fell asleep, you still held her tightly not wanting to let her go. Single tears escaped your eyes, looking up at the ceiling, you knew that this was probably the last time you would hold her. Your little romance seemed to be short lived, she would go back to hating you once she finds out what you did.

You didn’t sleep at all that night, you spent the night thinking about Joel, holding Ellie in your arms you knew you wouldn’t see her for a while and you didn’t even know if you’d come back alive. You wanted to spent the rest of your few hours in Jackson with her, even if she was asleep.

Looking at her, you allowed yourself to admire her for a while. Ellie lost him, she lost the man who was like a father to her, you’d have to stay strong for her. You knew what you had to do. You promised yourself that you would go after them, you’d kill everyone of them and leave Abby for last. She was going to suffer the way she made Ellie and you suffer.

Getting up from under her, you made sure you didn’t wake her up. Getting out of bed, you walked over to your backpack, putting some stuff in that you would need, you grabbed your gun holster putting it on your leg, getting your jacket on, you stuffed your swords into your backpack and grabbed a few water bottles.

You went over to Ellie, looking at her one last time, brushing some hair out of her face, you leaned in kissing her forehead before you turned around, you wrote a quick letter to Ellie and left.

Walking past Joel’s house, you looked at his porch. Thinking about how just a few days ago you were sitting there with him, drinking coffee and talking not knowing that it was the last time.

Breaking into the armory was not something you thought you’d ever have to do but you didn’t have the keys and you needed more guns if you wanted to go after the group. Ellie told you they were from Seattle, you didn’t even pick up on that but Abby had a patch on her sleeve that said W.L.F, they were probably something like the fireflies and you hated the fireflies.

After you grabbed some more weapons you went over to the stables, getting your horse out, you knew an older man named Darren was on guard duty today and he had the tendency to fall asleep, usually you would get angry at him for falling asleep while he had to look out for any danger coming close to Jackson but today you were relieved. This would make your escape easier.

Walking over to the gate, you opened it just enough so you and Helios could fit through it. After you got out, you shut the gate again. Getting on top of Helios you kicked your heels against him, making him speed off into the woods.

The next few days would be difficult for you. The concussion was definitely going to be a problem. You felt tired and a little lightheaded. The guy that smashed your head against the wall did a good job at making sure that you stayed down, you were looking forward to seeing him again.

You were riding for hours now, it must’ve been around noon now. You were thinking about Ellie, she must’ve been up by now. You knew as soon as she would find your letter she would run to Tommy and Maria begging them to let her go after you or join you, you knew she wanted the wlf’s dead as much as you did.

Ellie woke up to an empty bed, she didn’t think anything of it at first, thinking you were in the bathroom or something until she saw a piece of paper with her name written on it laying on the bedside table. Taking it in her hand, she turned it around, reading it slowly. Eyes widening at the mention of you going after the W.L.F’s.

“Shit.” Getting up from the bed, she quickly put on her shoes, grabbing her coat she left your place. Running over to Maria’s house, she saw her and Tommy walking out of their house.

“Maria! Tommy!” Ellie called out, running towards them, almost crashing in to them.

“Hey Ellie, slow down.” Maria said, putting her hands on Ellie’s shoulders.

“It’s (y/n)!” She said, out of breath.

“What’s wrong with (y/n)? She okay?” Tommy asked, looking at her in concern.

“Yes I- no.. I don’t know. She’s gone.” She said. “She went after them.” Giving them the letter. Maria and Tommy glanced at each other before taking the letter to read it.

“Maria!” A man yelled, running towards them.

“Someone broke into the armory, a few weapons are missing and a horse is gone.” The man said, trying to catch his breath.

Tommy ran a hand down his face. “We’ll deal with it right away, Rafe.” Maria said.

“But-“ “I said we’ll deal with it.” She repeated sternly.

Nodding his head, the man left.

“That was (y/n).” Ellie said.

“We know.” Tommy said.

“I’m going after her.” Ellie said, looking at them.

“Like hell you will.” Maria argued “go home Ellie.”

Ellie looked at Tommy. He must be considering going after them as well, they killed his brother after all. He looked down at her “we’ll talk about it once we buried Joel, Ellie.” He said. “Until then just stay put, (y/n) is a tough kid, nothing will happen to her out there. We’ll catch up to her before she arrives in Seattle alright?”

Nodding her head, Ellie turned around going home. She’d stay for Joel’s funeral but after that she would go after you and Joel’s killers.

It was getting dark out, you’d have to set up camp soon. You wondered if they buried Joel already. You wanted to be there but you felt like you didn’t deserve being a part of his funeral not when you were the one who saved his killer.

How ironic, saving her lead to Joel being killed. You wished you could turn back time, you would have never helped her, you would let the infected kill her but it was too late and Joel was dead because of you.

You were riding through a small town, looking for a place to set up camp. The streets were empty and quiet, no signs of infected. A small house with an open garage catched your eye. Getting off Helios, you led him towards it. Leaving him there you went inside to check out the house, making sure that no infected were inside. After you secured the place you went back into the garage and closed the gate.

“Alright helios, looks like we’ll stay here for the night.” You said, patting him.

Going back inside you left the door to the garage open, sitting down on the couch in the living room, you put your head in your hands. Your mind was racing, all sorts of thoughts plaguing your head. Laying back down, you looked up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. You needed some rest, especially if you planned on going after a whole group and who knew how much more people they had back at their base. Closing your eyes, you started falling asleep slowly.

“I was wrong about you (y/n).” You recognized this voice but you didn’t know where it was coming from.

“You made it far but at what cost?” Turning around you still couldn’t see him.

“You lost the only person that cared about you because of your mistake.” Walking through the hallway, you opened a door to see if he was in there.

“I always told you, you can’t defend yourself. I was wrong. You keep getting out of bad situations without an issue but it seems like protecting yourself isn’t very important to you anyways not as much protecting others is and yet you failed. You failed him.” The voice was getting closer now you turned around to see him standing there. Your father.

“You killed your own father and now you killed the man you came to see as a father.” He said, chuckling.

“I didn’t kill you.”

“No you just left me to die, same thing.” He said, shrugging.

“What do you want from me?!” You yelled at him, feeling tears build up in your eyes.

“I want you to understand what you are.”

“What I am?”

“You’re a monster, everywhere you go people die.”

“No.” You whispered, shaking your head.

“Your mother.”

“No, stop.”

“Me.”

“You did it yourself.”

“The man you killed.”

“He deserved it, he was bad.”

“Joel.” Your father said, coming closer to you.

“Don’t say his name!” You screamed at him, pushing him away but he was gone suddenly.

“What the-“ turning around you saw someone else standing there. Eyes widening at him standing there.

“Joel?” You whispered, a tear slipping down your face. He was bleeding, blood running down his face from the open wound on his head.

“It’s your fault.” He said, angrily, walking towards you.

“Joel.” You sobbed, walking backwards.

“All of it! You killed me and you’re gonna kill Ellie as well!” He screamed at you

“No please stop!” You begged, crying.

He pulled out a gun pointing it at you, pulling the trigger.

“NO!” You screamed out, gasping for air. You sat up on the couch. Looking around the room, breathing heavily, you realized it was just a nightmare.

“Fuck.” You whispered, clutching your chest, trying to calm down. You noticed tears were streaming down your face.

You already thought that it was your fault that Joel died, hearing him say it himself put you into even more pain, even though you knew that it was just a nightmare.

Could you ever forgive yourself?

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams #tlou ellie #tlou imagines

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orangeoctopi7 · 3 years

Text

@forduary Welll, I’m late and I’m ignoring all the prompts, and I likely won’t be able to do the next couple of weeks due to a family vacation, but at least I’ve got SOMETHING this year!

Don’t blame me, blame Pokemon taking all of my free time. Featuring that ADHD thing where you don’t finish processing what a person has said until after you’ve already reacted. Or is that just me?

As it turns out, instinct took over and I punched him right in the face.

I feel kind of bad about that!

Stanford Pines had made mistakes. Severe, catastrophic mistakes. Perhaps not as numerous as some other people, but he knew this was a case where the quality far outweighed the quantity.

But Ford was determined to do everything in his power to fix them.

Some mistakes were beyond his power to fix. He’d been pushed out of his home dimension before he’d had a chance to dismantle the portal, or to let Fiddleford know he was right, or to look after the burn he’d inflicted on his brother. But the very worst mistake of his life was trusting Bill Cipher, and after thirty years of work, he finally, finally had a solution!

With the quantum destabilizer, he’d finally be able to kill his greatest enemy, and the peril he’d put the multiverse in by building the portal would finally be averted. And when Bill was finally gone… well, Ford knew better than to hope he would survive the encounter. But if he got lucky once more, perhaps he could finally try and find a way back to his home dimension. When the Nightmare Realm was no longer teaming with Bill and his ilk, it might actually be safe to attempt opening a passage back.

Speaking of Bill and his ilk, the triangular demon had sicced what seemed to be every last one of his goons on Ford the moment he’d arrived. But the scientist had been planning this for years. The quantum destabilizer wasn’t the only weapon he’d brought with him. A few concussion grenades, his laser gun, and a death ray made quick work of the oncoming army.

But not quick enough.

Ford looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of his nemesis through the injured foes floating around him. He couldn’t have lost his chance already!

No… there! He glimpsed a yellow corner just before it disappeared into a cluster of architecture that appeared to be made up entirely of optical illusions. A large sign floating above dubbed it the Quadrangle of Qonfusion. Ford grit his teeth, both at the erroneous spelling, and the fact that Bill was getting away.

Kicking off the prone body of one of Bill’s kronies, he practically flew across the space to his target. The Quadrangle seemed to rush to meet him, and he reached the entrance much faster than he expected, almost like space had warped to his will.

Just as he’d hoped, he found Bill inside the bizarre building. The optical illusions made real left him guessing whether the triangle was right in front of him, or far away.

“WELL, WELL, WELL! LOOK WHO’S COME BACK TO ME, LIKE A KICKED DOG!” Bill said smugly.

“I’m here to destroy you!” Ford seethed.

“RIGHT, LIKE I HAVEN’T HEARD THAT ONE BEFORE.” Bill rolled his eye.

“If you’re so confident, then why are you running?”

“OH SIXER,” Bill reached out across the indeterminate distance between them and flicked Ford’s nose, “I HAVEN’T LASTED THIS LONG BY STICKING AROUND AND LETTING PEOPLE TAKE POT-SHOTS AT ME!”

With a wordless snarl, Ford tried to grab the triangle’s wrist, but it wasn’t where he thought it would be, and his hands closed around empty space.

Bill laughed cruelly. “YOUR STUPID THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN WILL NEVER FIGURE THIS PLACE OUT. OF COURSE, YOU ALWAYS WERE A SMART GUY, RIGHT IQ? THAT’S WHY I PICKED YOU, AFTER ALL! MAYBE YOU COULD REACH ME… IN ANOTHER 12 YEARS! MY HENCHMANIACS SHOULD BE ABLE TO CATCH YOU BY THEN.”

“Shut up!” The researcher screamed. He didn’t want a reminder of how Bill had manipulated him in the past.

But Bill’s threat was far from idle. He could indeed hear the monsters he’d just defeated stirring. They’d be on him in minutes. He needed to act fast.

After carefully considering his surroundings, Ford took aim and fired! He thought he had lined it up perfectly, but the shot flew wide, not even coming near the triangle.

Bill’s laughter grated in his ears like a drill on his teeth.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! I COULD WATCH THIS ALL DAY!” Bill waved his hand and a bag of popcorn appeared. Rather than eating it, he dumped the whole thing out on Ford’s head.

Ford looked up in frustration. How was Bill doing this? They were nowhere close to each other! This place made no sense, it was a complete violation of the laws of physics!

That’s when it clicked. This was Bill’s dominion. The known laws of the universe were merely a suggestion his own biased brain was imposing on his surroundings. When he’d rushed single-mindedly after Bill, the Quadrangle of Qonfusion had rushed to meet him.

Stanford cleared his mind of all other thoughts and lunged at Bill, taking aim one more time.

“You’re a dead man, Cipher!” He spat.

Bill’s single eye widened as he realized that something had changed. “WHAT!?”

The triangle was in Ford’s crosshairs, his finger resting firmly on the trigger, a single muscle contraction away from finally ending this.

A tremor rocked the entire Nightmare Realm, causing Ford to misfire yet again.

A pulsing sphere of blue light took form just outside the Quadrangle of Qonfusion, with energy crackling off it. Stanford flinched when it washed over him, but rather than hurt, it felt soothing. The general discomfort of his subatomic particles being just barely out of sync with the rest of the matter around him died away for the first time in 30 years.

This was a portal home.

Bill didn’t seem to notice yet, he was too busy laughing at Ford’s latest failure. But his lackeys, already on their way to tear Ford limb from limb, certainly had, and they were closing in fast.

Ignoring his need for revenge demanding that he take another shot at Bill, and leave his home to its fate, he rushed along the Quadrangle, using his newfound skill to bend space to his will in order to catch up with Bill’s forces.

Unfortunately, these monsters knew that trick too, and they would reach the portal first if Ford didn’t think of something to stop them, fast! He didn’t have time to fight them all again, but perhaps he could still make use of the weapons he’d brought along. The laser and the death ray wouldn’t be much help in this situation, but the concussion grenades would push the advancing creatures back, while also pushing him right into the portal.

At least that’s what he hoped. If he misplaced the explosion, he could very well end up pushing his enemies into his home dimension.

There wasn’t time to think of alternatives. If that happened, he’d dispose of them once the portal had collapsed.

With a “hup!” he lept from what he willed to be the highest point of the Quadrangle, and threw the concussion grenade behind him. He kept his focus on the portal and willed it towards him. He couldn’t even look around him to see if any of his foes would make it through the portal as it closed behind him.

After the few seconds of disorientation and nausea that came with interdimensional travel, Stanford found his footing in a dark, spacious room. The portal lab in the basement under his house. He looked around cautiously, still on high alert. Who had rebuilt the portal? Had Bill managed to trick someone else into rebuilding it? Had any of the Nightmare Realm’s denizens been able to follow him through?

As his eyes quickly swept the room, the first thing he found was his third Journal, laying just a few feet in front of him. He strode cautiously forward and pocketed it. So that’s how they’d managed it. He needed to hide this, and the other three, so the portal could never be rebuilt again.

He detected movement and words in the darkness in front of him. Someone was coming towards him, arms raised. They were speaking, but Ford’s brain was still in fight-or-flight mode, only half-processing the words. His first instinct was to punch the perceived threat.

It was only a few seconds later that his rational brain finished processing who this person was, and what they’d been saying.

“Finally! After all these long years of waiting, you're actually here! Brother!”

It was Stanley.

Ford’s brain had a few seconds to settle and catch up as Stan rubbed his jaw where he’d been hit.

“Ow! Ow, what was that for?”

“This was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal!” The researcher exclaimed, already rationalizing his actions. “Didn't you read my warnings?!”

But even as they argued and explained the situation to the three other people stuck down there with them, even as he learned that his brother had added identity theft and making a mockery of the supernatural to his list of grievances, Stanford couldn’t quell the persistent guilt resting in his gut.

The last time he’d seen Stanley, he’d accidentally burned him. Now he’d punched him. And no matter how many times he told himself that maybe Stan deserved it, after all his brother had done, Ford couldn’t shake the feeling of regret.

Even as he wrote down the days events in his Journal, he found himself writing:

I feel kind of bad about that!

Ford shook his head and scoffed at himself. Writing came more naturally to him than talking, which was usually an advantage, but it occasionally led to him recording his unfiltered thoughts like this. He crossed it out with a heavy line. Why should he feel bad about that? He’d been so close. So, so close to finally fixing the biggest mistake of his life, and Stanley had come along and messed it all up again!

Putting the Journal down with a sigh, Ford reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an old and worn photograph. Like the many times he’d looked at it before, it brought to the surface a potent mixture of emotions. Oh how he longed for the days when he’d been that smiling sunburnt boy, when he’d felt that all he needed to take on the cruel world was his brother by his side. Stanley had made awful mistakes, true, but were they really any worse than the ones Stanford himself had made? Before today, Ford would have said no, and he’d spent many a sleepless night staring at this photo and wondering what he’d do if he ever had the chance to see his own twin again. He was still mad, of course, but he also missed Stan, and he would wonder dismally if their friendship could even be salvaged if they had the chance.

Then Stan had to go and rebuild the portal, resurrecting one of the greatest mistakes of Ford’s life, when Ford had brought him here 30 years ago with the express purpose of undoing it. All this time, he’d assumed, or at least hoped, that Stan, after seeing the machine whisk his brother away, would have understood how dangerous it was and destroyed it.

But no, he should have known that Stan would stop at nothing to rescue him, even if he didn’t want it. And Ford hated to admit it to himself, but he probably would have done the exact same thing, had their roles been reversed. Ultimately, Stan’s heart had been in the right place. Unfortunately that didn’t fix things. It only made Ford’s feelings towards him all the more difficult to work out.

He thought back to earlier that evening, when he’d changed into a spare set of clothing Stan had brought him, and they’d stood in front of the mirror together. For just a brief moment, Stanford had truly been happy to be with his brother again, sharing a bad joke together. Then the enormity of all that Stan had done, and all that Ford still had to do in order to fix both their mistakes now, weighed down on him. That happiness didn’t necessarily disappear, but it became muddled with anxiety and frustration and betrayal.

Stanford put the photo away in a safe pocket, right next to his heart, and buried his head in his hands. Why did this have to be so difficult? When did things get so messed up between them?

Ford had dreamed of this day for 30 years, and absolutely nothing had gone right.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Forduary #Angst and introspection and that's pretty much it

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starlessea · 3 years

Text

Here Comes the Sun: XX. More Than A Feeling (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6480

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence, Injury.

Your head pounded like an alarm clock you couldn't shut off. The explosions hadn't done any favours for your tinnitus, either. The high-pitched ringing noise was constant, and only intensified the more you tried not to focus on it. Even now that everything had settled down, it still seemed like you could hear walls crashing around you, or feel the vibrations as the stone crumbled and settled at your feet.

Except, it wasn't brick walls that were sending shock waves over the ground; it was Daryl's footsteps as he paced. You could feel them through your own boots, and sent him a look to try and coax him to sit down.

"It's a sprained ankle, Daryl. I didn't lose my leg." You said gently, before someone cleared their throat.

You looked down at Hershel, who was in the process of wrapping the bandages, and winced as he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Sorry." You muttered, awkwardly.

Everything had gone mostly to plan. The governor and his men had been driven away, and the others had returned from Woodberry with even more survivors. You hadn't gotten the chance to see them yet, but the ruckus drifted up the stairs and you could feel the marching of the stampede as though they had been part of the army themselves.

The prison remained standing, albeit missing a watchtower and seeming a bit dilapidated in a few places - but your home was once again yours. You'd sacrificed so much for it. Lori, T-Dogg, Axel, Oscar, and Merle had all lost their lives just so that you could sit here now, complaining of flesh-wounds and mild injuries like they were the most perilous problems you could face.

Daryl didn't seem to agree, however, and narrowed his eyes at you - or more specifically, at the bandage wrapped around your head. You'd taken a bit of a fall, but it wasn't like you'd cracked it open. Though, that didn't stop the man from treating you like Humpty Dumpty - trying to fix all of your pieces despite them not actually being broken.

"I don' care!" Daryl yelled, and you felt Hershel flinch as he made another pass with the bandages.

The man slung his crossbow onto the mattress, and you felt the bed dip beside you from the weight of it. His face was all scrunched up into a scowl, and you wanted nothing more than to hold it in your hands and bring his cheek to yours.

"What the hell d'ya try an' pull tha' for?" He asked, but this time his voice had lost its fight. "You could've gotten yerself killed." Daryl said quietly, like it almost killed him to say, too.

The older man stayed silent as he continued to do his job, and you felt guilty for having let him get caught up in this.

"But I didn't." You reminded Daryl, before shooting a light-hearted smile his way. "Certain victory, remember?"

Your eyes glanced down to his hand, and at the shoddily drawn rune you'd given him with a sharpie earlier in the day. He didn't say anything back, but his pacing had stopped - and he looked straight at you as you spoke.

"And although the governor got away, don't you think he'll be easier to find with a bullet in his shoulder?"

If you had anything to show for your injuries, at least it was that. You offered a teasing smirk to the man - one that probably made him wonder if you had a concussion.

"I think I know a pretty good tracker, too." You joked, nodding in his direction.

Daryl didn't smile back. You watched as the man took a seat next to you on the mattress, and noticed the way his eyes rested on Hershel as he tended to your injuries better than he could have.

"Ya should've followed the plan." He mumbled, so quietly that you barely caught it.

You let out a sigh, unable to hide your guilt. Daryl had an expression you'd only seen him wear once before, and you didn't like it in the slightest.

"I had a clear shot." You reasoned timidly, like you were trying to convince yourself of your words.

You had done; it was true. Except, you should have taken a moment to consider your actions. You thought that you were in fact the hypocrite - since when the time came, you'd been the one to shoot first, and ask questions later.

"If my aim was a little better we wouldn't even be having this conversation." You told him, and offered a sheepish smile alongside it. "I'm sorry I missed."

Hershel tightened the knot as he finished wrapping your foot. You lifted your leg and outstretched it to examine his work. Tentatively, you wiggled your toes, and thanked the man when you felt no pain in doing so. Daryl sent a nod in his direction too, before turning back.

"I don' give a damn if ya missed." He told you, barely above a whisper.

Hershel ushered himself out of the room as quietly as he could manage, trying not to intrude any longer. As soon as he'd left, Daryl let his head drop onto your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath over the crook of your neck.

"I only care tha' yer alive." He admitted, mumbling against the skin there. "I can't lose you, too."

You leant back against the man. He seemed so downtrodden, but for the first time since the farm, you felt safe. You remembered that first night after you'd cleared the prison, sitting out in that field around the campfire. You'd asked him then if he thought this could be your home. Now, you decided, it was.

"Have more faith in me, Dixon." You told him, and stroked his hair - letting your nails run along his scalp gently. "I think I must be pretty hard to kill."

Despite the head injury, the events of that morning were as clear as day to you - as clear as the cloudless sky had been when you all took your positions. The strategy had been to ambush them when they came, and you had been the one to dissuade Rick from utilising the watchtowers.

"They'll be their first target." You'd said, and luckily he had listened.

You and Daryl had been checking the guns, before deciding to take one last walk around the perimeter. You'd scouted their vehicles en route to the prison, so you knew it was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose. The day was otherwise serene, and you hoped that once all of this was over you'd get the chance to revel in the sunshine and celebrate your certain victory.

You smiled over at the man, remembering what you'd wanted to tell him. The two of you were checking for breaches in the fences, making sure that the governor's men couldn't infiltrate from anywhere you wouldn't expect. You watched as Daryl pulled on the lattice wire to make sure it was secure, and you slipped your hand into his other, free one.

He gave you a subtle glance, but didn't make any sarcastic remarks in return. The two of you walked hand-in-hand alongside the fences, as though you were going on a mundane, morning stroll in the sun. It was silent, and you both seemed to just bask in the peace whilst it still lasted. Though, once you had gone full-circle, and had ended up back where you'd started, you stopped in place.

You fished around in your pocket and pulled out the sharpie you'd scavenged from Glenn earlier in the day. Daryl looked at it suspiciously, but let you do as you pleased - just like always. Carol had noted how much of a soft spot the man had for you, and you couldn't even deny it at this point. The two of you had woken up entangled in each other this morning, and it had taken you the better part of half an hour to coax him to let you get up. You could tell he was scared of what the day would bring. Despite claiming to be a man 'not scared of nothing,' you knew that Daryl Dixon was afraid of one thing above all else - and that was losing you.

"Give me your hand." You instructed, and pulled the cap off the top of the pen with your teeth.

The man eyed the permanent marker, before looking down at your interlocked hands.

"Yer holdin' it." He grumbled, and you rolled his eyes at his dry humour.

"The other one." You clarified, pointing in the direction. "It needs to be on the same side."

You took his hand in yours before he had time to question you further, and pressed the sharpie to it. You drew the simple pattern, watching as the ink bled out slightly over the cracks in his skin.

It was the same rune of Týr that you had tattooed on your hip - the one Daryl claimed 'looked like an arrow.' He stared at it once you'd finished, stretching out his fingers before balling his hand into a fist. Maybe it was a little childish to want to wish him luck in this way, and you thought that Daryl was a man quite capable of victory by himself, but you'd wanted to do it nonetheless.

"Look, we match." You exclaimed with a smile, but the words felt familiar on your tongue.

Daryl must have thought so, too, as you saw some kind of recognition flash behind his eyes. Then, you remembered it. The memory washed over you like a wave coming onto shore. It had been back on the farm, where you lay next to each other on that springy, double bed. He'd had an arrow wound in his side, and your bullet hole matched it nicely. You'd pointed it out to him with a grin, too doped up on medication for your own good. It felt so long ago - back when you'd been more young and naive to the world, and he'd been more angry at it.

"I guess some things never change." You admitted, and you could tell that he understood.

You felt him squeeze your hand, and looked back down at the semi-tattoo you'd drawn haphazardly.

"An' other things do." He replied.

When the first explosion rang out, your mind immediately thought back to that moment. The front left watchtower had been decimated, just as you had predicted, and the tanks began to roll in through the field. Whilst some of the group were hidden away in the prison interior, waiting to ambush those who came in, you stayed outside with Maggie and Glenn - ready to catch any stragglers who made it back out.

Daryl hadn't wanted you to be in the thick of it, and you could tell why. From the looks of it, the governor's army was partially made of toy soldiers. From your position, you could make out young boys and girls barely through their teenage years, and adults who looked like they had never held a weapon before. You would have found it hard to kill them - even if you needed to.

From your hiding place, however, you couldn't see the governor. The group was too dense, and he was probably lurking somewhere in the middle - just like the coward he was. You stared down the scope of your rifle, trying to get a better view. All around you, you could hear the sounds of crumbling stone, and the flicker of flames as they burned the tower to the ground. There had only been a couple of warning rounds shot at the building, but they'd done more damage than you were comfortable with. You just hoped that Daryl and the others were alright inside.

The whole thing seemed to last a couple of minutes at most. As quickly as the group had entered the cellblock, they were forced back out in a shroud of smoke and gunfire. Maggie and Glenn had their guns aimed, but it looked to be a clean retreat. The govenor's makeshift suicide army had all turned back, and were fleeing into the forest - so you didn't shoot at them.

That had been the plan anyway, until you caught sight of a familiar eyepatch and the man who wore it. You jumped up from behind the bushes like someone had set them alight, and ran over to the wall for cover. Maggie and Glenn shouted at you, but you continued until you reached it. It was part of the fence you'd reinforced with steel, and you ducked behind it to peer through the gunhole.

The man was returning back to the tank, mowing down anyone who got in his way. You stared through your rifle scope, finger hovering the trigger. You would have pulled it, but a civilian got in your line of sight at the last second.

"Shit." You whispered, below your breath, and slung the rifle back over your shoulder.

You hopped the fence and started running, making your way to the blazing watchtower that was set alight like a torch. The base was still steady, and it provided good cover whilst allowing you to move in closer. The calm summer's day had been transformed into a warzone in a matter of minutes. Shouts and gunfire rang out around you as you dashed to the burning building. When you reached it, you quickly ducked down and pressed your back to the stone as you set up your rifle.

It hasn't been part of the plan; you knew that. Though, you didn't just want to let the man walk free, either. If you weren't the one to do it, it would be someone else - perhaps Rick, or Michonne, or even Daryl. You wanted to pull your weight, especially if it meant that their shoulders wouldn't have to bear the burden of it.

The tower creaked and groaned above your head, and your eyes quickly glanced upwards to catch sight of the flames that licked the sky - creating an amber haze that resembled sunset. You ignored the sound, and locked onto the governor once again. This time, he was clambering into the vehicle, and you knew that it would be your last chance. Your line of sight was clear, and so you let your finger squeeze the trigger - and felt the jolt of the gun as it hit back against your shoulder.

The bullet connected, and you watched the man stagger backwards. He turned to face your direction, and your gazes caught for a split second - like you could see it all unfold in slow motion. Then, you heard a crash, and time resumed as normal.

Glass shattered above your head and fell onto you like jagged raindrops, and the stone debrid came following like lightning after it. The tower shifted, and you watched it crumble for a brief moment before the adrenaline kicked in. You abandoned your rifle and jumped up, starting to run in the opposite direction. Rubble came pouring down and bounced over the concrete at your feet. You felt small pieces nick your legs, but continued to sprint as you heard Maggie and Glenn call your name in the distance. You couldn't outrun the collapse, but you'd managed to dive behind one of the fences just in time to shield yourself.

You'd squeezed your eyes closed as the tower fell, and huddled your knees to your chest to protect yourself. The stone structure made the most almighty crash as it caved to the ground, and suddenly the courtyard was completely shrouded in dust. It wasn't until the smoke cloud had settled and you recognised figures emerging from the fog that you realised you'd made it.

Your head stung, and you pressed your fingers to your temple only to notice that something had drawn blood there. You must've been struck by some stray piece of rubble, you thought. You were a bit dazed, but you could make out voices clearly as they shouted your name. You recognised one in particular, and your heart sped up in response.

"C'mon, Teach!" Daryl yelled, but you couldn't pin-point where from.

You tried to call back, but your throat was dry and your voice barely made its way out of your lips.

"Can ya hear me?" He shouted again. "Call out to me if ya can hear me!"

Clearing your throat, you tried again.

"Daryl!" You screamed, and this time it resonated. "I'm here!"

You noticed a shift in the fog, and figures got clearer as they made their way through it.

"I'm over here!" You yelled again, your voice breaking over the words.

The man came running over to you as soon as he could tell where you were. You'd been hidden behind the sheet of metal, sat amongst a pile of debrid, but he still found you. You could feel the fresh blood trickling down your forehead, but you wiped it away with the back of your hand and sent him a watery smile of pure relief. Daryl took in the sight, and the way your foot seemed to be turned in an awkward angle beneath you - and his eyes widened.

"What did you do?" He asked, rushing over to your side in an instant.

You looked back at him with an equally dumbfounded expression.

"I shot him." You admitted. "I shot the governor."

After Hershel had left your cell, you and Daryl stayed sitting on the mattress together for a little while. You let him rest his head over your shoulder, which soon turned into lying on your chest as you both slumped back into the pillows. It was a little different from what you were used to, but you held his head and stroked his hair gently. You thought that he needed the comfort, and you were fine with being able to return it for once.

Maggie and Glenn had informed you that they'd seen everything go down - and that you'd actually hit the governor in the shoulder, rather than his chest. It was a bitter disappointment, but they'd reassured you that you'd still done a good job - after they'd given you a scolding, that is. You weren't entirely sure what had possessed you to do it - to abandon the plan. Maybe it was the images of a beaten Glenn and an inconsolable Maggie that you weren't able to rid yourself of, or perhaps it was the nightmares you had of cowering beneath Axel's body. More likely, it was the recent death of Merle, and what it had done to Daryl as a result. Whatever it was, you didn't regret it. The governor had deserved everything that was coming for him, and you'd just happened to be the one to pass the sentence.

Daryl's eyelids seemed heavy, and his breathing had evened out. You knew that if you didn't rouse him now, he'd probably fall asleep within a matter of minutes. It was selfish, but you didn't want that. You wanted to celebrate your victory - no matter how certain it had been.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." You whispered, and gently moved his hair back from his face.

The man inhaled sharply, and you watched his eyes flicker as they adjusted to the light. You let out a soft chuckle, which you were sure he could feel resonate through your chest.

"Can you help me down the stairs?" You asked sweetly, hoping to coax him awake. "I want to meet everyone."

He'd already carried you out of the rubble once today, but you hoped he'd be generous enough to lend you an arm as you hobbled down the metal steps. Daryl sat up and stretched his neck side to side before glancing over at you, his eyes immediately resting over your bandaged forehead to check it was still alright. You offered a smile to reassure him, and eventually the man nodded in return.

"It's gonna get a lot nosier 'round 'ere." He grumbled, but it didn't sound like he really minded.

Daryl had your arm slung over his shoulder as you both attempted the stairs. His other hand was on your waist for support, and he waited patiently as you took each step - going along with your pace. You'd heard the commotion from your cell, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer amount of people that had been brought back from Woodberry.

As your foot hit the final step you were greeted by an unexpected round of applause, interspersed with the occasional cheers. You almost stumbled back in shock, but Daryl caught your arm before you could trip.

"There she is!" Glenn yelled over the crowd. "Our suicidal sniper."

You shot Daryl a side-eye glance, but the man just shrugged in response. Your gaze ran over the unfamiliar faces as they smiled, or looked at you curiously, and you suddenly felt inadequate in comparison. You stood leaning against Daryl in your dusty clothes and bandages, and sheepishly lowered your head as they stared. Eventually, Daryl shooed them all away, warning them to 'get out of your face.'

It made you laugh, and you aimed some teasing remarks in his direction - pestering him if he'd like to become your bodyguard. The chatter buzzed around you like nothing you'd ever heard before. Even in the old world, the atmosphere couldn't compare. You didn't know how long it had been since you'd even laid eyes on so many people at once. You knew that you'd have to clear out some other cell blocks just to make room for them all. This was the start of something; you just knew it.

Someone called your name from amongst the fray, but Daryl didn't stop ushering you over to a nearby seat. You whipped your head around in confusion, but continued to shuffle along until you had the opportunity to sit down. He leant against the table next to you, resembling a diligent guard dog. Daryl was the most loyal man you'd ever met, and everyday he reminded you not to settle for anything less. You wondered how anyone could ever come close to him - past or present. Your ex had been a mere speck of poorly-chosen dust in comparison to Daryl Dixon.

The man seemed to be able to read your thoughts, as he glanced in your direction with perfect timing - causing you to look away. You heard your name through the thick of the crowd again, and this time tried harder to locate the source. Only a few seconds later, someone emerged from the centre of the room, pushing past everyone so that she could get to you.

The woman had neat brown hair to her shoulders, and was wearing a sundress that looked like it had been recently pressed. All of the former Woodberry inhabitants looked clean, but she definitely stood out due to how beautiful she was. Her eyes were a warm coffee colour, and her smile was bright as she looked over at you.

You choked on your words, immediately standing up only to stumble into Daryl's shoulder. He quickly got a hand under your arm to steady you, but had a disapproving expression on his face as he did so.

"Vanessa?" You spluttered out, and she gave you an excited nod in return.

Daryl barely had time to step aside before the woman bounded up to you and flung her arms around your neck. She squeezed you so tightly that you forgot how to breathe, but you hugged her back with the same force - clasping your arms around her back.

You were utterly speechless. The last time you'd seen the woman, the two of you were witnessing the complete horror of your camp being destroyed. You'd looked for her in the days following, but she'd seemed to simply disappear into the night. You hadn't even thought she'd made it out alive. She'd been your colleague before all this, and then your campmate. But, most importantly, she'd been your friend.

You stared at her as she pulled away, and she giggled at your dumbfounded expression. Her smile was as pretty as you remembered, and you suddenly felt pale in comparison to her rosy cheeks and honey complexion. She was as quick-witted as ever, and wasted no time in regaining her composure to tease you like you'd never even spent any time apart.

Daryl watched in silence, not wanting to interrupt, but you could tell that he was starting to put the pieces together.

"You were the one who shot him?" She asked, as though in utter shock.

She had her hands on either of your shoulders, and looked you up and down before settling over your one foot that you kept hovering above ground.

"Yeah." You replied sheepishly, and glanced off to the side.

The woman slapped your arm in disbelief, and Daryl shot her a warning look that made you snort. She looked over at the man, too, and raised an eyebrow.

"What on earth happened to you?" She questioned, meeting your eyes this time.

You stared at the floral pattern of her sundress, secretly wishing you had something equally as pretty, and shrugged.

"Well, I hit my forehead and sprained my ankle-" you started, but the woman cut you off.

"I don't mean that." She remarked, with a disapproving tone.

She sounded the same as she did on those days you'd spend your lunch breaks together, or go and get coffee at the local shop - trading gossip and work secrets. She grinned at you mischievously, and it didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.

"Where is the timid girl who sang 'Yellow Submarine' to us from her tent every night?"

The man beside you was the one to laugh this time, and you jabbed him with your elbow in response.

"I really do miss that tent." You mumbled under your breath, and thought you could hear Daryl weakly protest below his.

Vanessa eyed the two of you, and her mouth upturned into a grin you recognised all too well. It was the one she wore when whispering to you about cute baristas, or when sliding her number across the bar.

"And who's this?" She said, in a tone that was equally as familiar.

She turned to face Daryl, and gave him a quick once-over like she was checking for any visible flaws. You couldn't contain your laugh; she always did lack subtlety.

"This is Daryl." You told her, and slipped your hand into his. "My-" you paused, furrowing your eyebrows as you did, "boyfriend?"

It came out like a question, and Daryl snorted uncharacteristically from beside you.

"'M too old for tha' word." He grumbled, but it was still light-hearted.

You took the opportunity to have some fun, and pressed your chest against his arm as you got closer to his ear.

"What do you want me to say, then?" You asked teasingly. "My partner? Sweetheart?"

The man seemed completely taken aback to hear you call him anything besides 'Dixon.'

"My other half? The old ball 'n chain-" you continued, but were abruptly interrupted as he shrugged you off in embarrassment.

"D'you wan' another head injury?" He asked - a little too quickly and a lot too loudly.

Vanessa laughed her usual dainty laugh, and you'd almost forgotten that she was even there. Daryl's cheeks were dusted a light pink, and you knew he would remind you of this later when you were alone.

"You two are good together." The woman spoke, causing you to look over in her direction. "I'm glad you found someone in all of this."

You gave her a shy smile, before looking down at your feet. You'd never been good with compliments, but she always seemed to have an abundance of them to give.

"After everything you've been through," she went on, this time glancing over at Daryl with a look that could only be described as approval. "You really deserve someone who can make you happy."

Happy. That is what this feeling was. You'd almost forgotten what the word meant, but you were suddenly reminded. Daryl had made you feel a lot of things since you'd met him - first a lot of nerves and sometimes even frustration, but eventually it became comfort and security. However, you realised that all along there were moments of happiness. Even back at the farm, the man never did fail to make you laugh - intentionally or unintentionally. Whether it was his dry sense of humour, or the wise-cracks he'd make in those days where he seemed younger, and more willing to fight the world.

You looked over at the man like you'd only just come to the most obvious of realisations. Daryl Dixon made you happy - like nothing else had before.

As the night started to settle down, the atmosphere fizzled away along with it. Everyone had taken to their temporary sleeping arrangements, and you could tell that Daryl was holding back his yawns as he helped you clamber over the people left chatting on the floor. The day felt like it had gone on for a week, and you couldn't wait to just sink into bed and let your bandaged head meet the pillows.

Across the block, you spotted Rick talking to some of the new residents, and urged Daryl to return to the cell ahead of you. The man glanced down at your foot and then back up to your eyes, as though needing to state the obvious. You shook your head, telling him that you'd get Rick to help you up the stairs once you were done. You just wanted to talk to the officer briefly, and didn't want to keep Daryl up any longer than he needed to be.

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he left you propped up against the wall where you instructed him to. His stubbornness had definitely rubbed off on you, you'd realised, and he could hardly attempt to fight against it.

"Deputy Grimes!" You called, once Daryl was out of ear-shot. "Get over here for a second."

The man looked up from his conversation, and you watched him excuse himself before making his way over. He looked equally as exhausted as the rest of you, and stepped heavily over the stone floor. Still, he gave you a small smile as he approached, and squeezed your shoulder.

"You did good today." He drawled, praising you for the second time tonight.

You rolled your eyes and slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

"Don't let Daryl hear you say that." You warned, with a teasing look. "I could have died, remember?"

You'd said the words in Daryl's Southern accent, impersonating the man the best you could. Rick laughed in response, and you quickly glanced over your shoulder just to double-check that the archer wasn't still looming there.

"Never knew him to be so uptight." The officer replied, and you shrugged.

"He just needs a good night’s sleep." You explained, glancing over at the staircase leading to the second floor. "I think we all do."

Rick especially seemed like he was dead on his feet, but he held it together well. You couldn't imagine the pressure he felt having to keep everyone safe during times like these. You wanted to ease that burden a little, or even just throw some distractions in the mix to make him forget about it.

"Anyway, I heard that Glenn found a camera at Woodberry." You started, watching as he raised an eyebrow at you.

A few hours ago you'd hijacked it, and briefly kidnapped the Grimes children for that photoshoot you'd been threatening. The polaroid had turned out even better than you'd hoped - and you had almost been tempted to keep it for yourself.

You pulled the picture from your pocket, careful not to bend it, and passed it to the man. His eyes squinted as he looked at it, flat atop his palm. Both Carl and Judy were sporting their sheriff's hats, and the older Grimes had his sister perched on his lap.

"Thank you for everything you've done for us, Rick." You told him, and watched as he brought the picture closer to his face. "I'll never forget how you were always there for me."

It was rare that you ever saw the man speechless, but in that moment you were sure you saw a glimpse of the same Rick Grimes you'd first encountered back at the farm - that officer friendly who would give anything for his family.

He shook his head wordlessly, before tucking the picture into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"You don't give yourself enough credit." He said quietly, before slinging one of your arms around his neck. "And I don't think you ever will."

You returned to your cell soon after that, bidding the officer goodnight at the door. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before reminding you to change your bandages in the morning. You laughed in response, wondering why all the men around you treated you like glass.

The room was quiet as you ducked under the sheet hanging at the doorway, and you shuffled inside. Daryl had lit the small lamp on the table, and it cast a warm, golden glow over him where he lay. He had his eyes closed, but you noticed he had your headphones on - connected to the walkman that was left at the edge of the mattress.

You could hear the faint din of the music as some sound escaped, and slowly made your way over to the bed - not wanting to startle the man. He was still fully dressed, and had his arms tucked under his head as he lay on his back. You didn't think he was asleep; rather, he seemed to be waiting for you.

You knelt down onto the mattress, feeling it dip beneath your weight as you crawled up beside him. He didn't react, so you pulled one side of the headphones from his ear, and brought your lips close to it.

"Boo." You whispered, and blew hot air there to make him shiver.

This time he cracked an eye open, and pulled you down beside him gently. He continued to be mindful of your head, and plumped a pillow up for you to lay on. He then removed the headphones, and twisted the ends of them so that the speaker parts were facing outwards.

You chuckled at the action, suddenly thinking back on your childhood where you'd share a pair with your friends. Daryl placed them in the space between the two of you, so that you could both listen to the songs together. You heard something by The Beatles play muffled, and closed your eyes to take in the melody.

The two of you talked briefly, and sleepily, for a bit. Daryl grumbled about you using him as a makeshift crutch for the majority of the night, and you just hummed in response. You caught him glancing over at you every now and then, but he made no attempt to pull you closer like he usually would have. You knew it was because of your head; he didn't even have to tell you.

"Hershel said it might leave a small scar." You told him, like it was a secret you felt needed to be disclosed.

You didn't really mind all that much, but you knew Daryl had a tendency to look at you guilt-stricken whenever he saw you injured. You just wanted to warn him - just in case.

"Like Harry Potter or some shit?" The man mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

"Maybe." You replied.

The chatter downstairs had settled, and all that remained was the tinny sound of the music that quietly played near your ear. You swallowed thickly, staring up at the ceiling to see the uneven cracks that marred it.

"Will you still love me if I have a gawdy scar over my forehead?" You asked teasingly - but a part of you felt nervous to hear the response.

Then, your eyes widened as you realised your choice of words. You sat up, immediately feeling the blood rush to your head as you did so.

"Wait-" you stuttered, noticing the man's expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

He cut you off before you could finish.

"I will."

You blinked, but he pulled you back down to him - this time letting you lay your head gently over his chest.

"Know I ain't said it before, but-" he paused, "I love ya."

His heartbeat pounded quickly against your cheek, as though proving his words.

"I love ya so goddamn much, so don't ever pull that shit on me again."

You felt tears start to well up in your eyes, and hoped he couldn't feel them dampen his shirt.

"I love ya - you crazy woman who shot the governor an' took a bullet for me."

You swallowed thickly, trying to hide the wateriness of your voice as you responded.

"I love you too, Dixon." You admitted, wondering why you hadn't done so before.

You'd loved the man almost as long as you could remember; but it was one thing to love, and another thing to be loved in return.

"I won't let anything on this earth take me away from you." You mumbled against him. "You don't have to worry about that."

Daryl breathed in deeply, and you moved along with the rise and fall of his chest. This is what happiness felt like, you decided. Happiness wasn't as perfect as you had once thought it to be - back in the old world. It wasn't that amazing job, or the hard-earned paycheck, nor was it the men who called you pretty whilst giving you an ugly stare. Happiness for you was now walking around the perimeter of a dingy prison, hand-in-hand, as you stared up at the morning sun preparing for a fight. Happiness was those nights you'd stay awake, listening to the laughs down the hall of Maggie and Glenn as they whispered about their future together, and noticing that Daryl was eavesdropping, too. Most importantly, happiness was the man who you woke up next to, and the sound of his voice as he told you 'good morning.'

You looked down at his hand, resting on his chest, and saw the ink there that had smudged throughout the day. The walkman finished its tune, and there was a brief, few-second silence before it skipped to the next one. A familiar melody rang out, and Daryl placed a careful kiss over your hair.

"I like this song." He whispered against you, and you nodded in return.

"Yeah, me too."

A/N It took 20 chapters, 120k words, but they finally exchanged their ‘I love you’s.’ I think it was obvious that they already loved each other before this, but hearing them say it out loud just-

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

@damianwayneweek Day 1 (6-13): Truth serum | Damian Wayne Protection Squad™ | Best friends to lovers

Note: Rushed. I'm sure it's still the 13th somewhere.

Warnings: kidnapping, nonconsensual drugging, needles.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick wakes to the taste of blood on his tongue.

Thankfully, after slowly moving his tongue around, it's just because he bit the inside of his cheek sometime between when he was knocked out and when he woke up. His head pounds like a war-drum with his heart as he tries to get ahold of his situation. Without opening his eyes, he assess his arms are restrained behind his back and he's sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair. His legs are also tied to the chair, keeping him from running.

The suit he wears feels suffocating, proof that—once again—him wearing Batman's cowl isn't some sort of sick joke. However, his shoulders are a bit lighter suggesting his cape has been taken. Not that he'll mourn it.

His cowl is on. He silently curses himself for not checking that first. It would be the first thing Bruce checked.

He always prioritized the identity. The mission. Secrecy before safety, Gotham before everything else. Not injuries, not friends, not family, partners-

Dick's eyes fly open, reminding him of the real thing he should have checked for first.

"Robin," he gasps out loud, looking wildly around the room and tugging on the ropes holding his back to the chair.

The room is dark and small, the walls made of cinder bricks that have water mold where it connects to the cement floor. In front of him is a metal table with a black, palm sized box placed on top. Dick ignores that for now and looks to his side, only relaxing when he finds Damian to his right, tied similarly to another chair with his chin to his chest. Only unconscious, Dick notes as he watches his stomach rise and fall.

However, anxiety flutters in his gut when he sees there's a dried trail of blood running down the side of his head.

"Robin," he tries again, knowing at the back of his head that Bruce would be telling him to be quiet. Check for cameras. Look for an escape route. Don't let them know you're awake until you have a plan-

Dick shakes his head. Damian could have a concussion, and that takes priority. Dick could have one as well, considering how badly his head hurts, but Damian is only ten years old and Dick knows better than anyone the lingering effects injuries could have when you're a child.

He presses his feet to the ground and pushes, attempting to slide closer to his protege. He does nothing more than jolt in place. There's not enough leverage.

However, it seems the sound of the metal scraping against the ground is enough to wake up the boy. He comes to with a small groan and a pain laced crease between his brow.

"Robin," Dick repeats a third time. He can do nothing but sit as Damian blinks slowly behind his mask; his shoulders tensing as he too notices the restraints.

Damian opens his mouth, but before any words could leave there's a loud clang. The door in front of Dick and Damian, on the other side of the table, swings open.

In walks three men; two are unfamiliar, but the third Dick recognizes from the case files he and Damian got from Gordon about a week ago. Jonas Gibbs. Known arms dealer and smuggler. He's made his moves in Gotham these past few weeks, getting the police and public nervous about shootings with illegal guns. Batman and Robin had finally pinned down the date, time, and location of his next shipment and intended to take him down then, but he was smart and had hired help from various mercenaries that Dick could confidently bet used to be in the military before they were dishonorably discharged.

The way they moved, worked, and attacked was too strategic and planned. It was only a matter of time before one got a lucky hit on Damian; a blow with the butt of their rifle across the kid's forehead. The barrel of the rifle pointed down at Damian's unconscious body was all it took for Dick to raise his hands in surrender.

And now they're here, in some damp old room. Tied to chairs. A table placed in front of them with a mysterious box set on top of it.

"Perfect timing," Gibbs says, grinning. The two other men, clearly mercs, stand on either side of him as he drags up a chair and sits on the other side of the table. "I was almost afraid we'd have to dump water to get you up."

"What do you want?" Dick growls. He must want something. He hasn't taken off the cowl… or at least he hasn't tried to get through the various traps to pull it off. It means he must need something that an identity reveal wouldn't give him.

"I'm glad you asked, Batman," Gibbs says, a grin spreading on his face. He looks to one of his goons and they immediately pull a small camera out from a bag they had around their shoulder. He points it at Dick.

Dick gets a bad feeling about all of this.

"I want you to tell your real name for the camera."

Dick glares. "Are you serious?"

"Very. One of my men has second degree burns thanks to that cowl of yours electrifying him. So, I decided I'll let you go without any more harm. You tell me your names, and I'll let you go. Won't even show the video to anyone. Well," he smirkes, "unless you get in my way."

Dick clenches his jaw. Besides him, Damian mumbles something.

"I'm going to give you to the count of three," Gibbs says, unphased. "Otherwise it will get unpleasant."

His eyes drift to the black box, signifying it's mysterious importance. Dick doesn't let it scare him. He's not going to let this low life criminal blackmail him... put him and his family in danger. He'll take whatever will be thrown at him until he can work out a way to escape.

Gibbs counts down, and he reaches zero uninterrupted.

"Well," Gibbs says, unsurprised. "The hard way then. Gag him."

The grunts move like clockwork, and before Dick knows it his face is being grabbed and held in place while the other shoves a rag into his mouth and wraps a layer of tape around his face to hold it there.

"Batman..." he hears Damian mumble as the grunts back up. He sounds out of it. In pain. Dick can only hope that the hit he took to his head isn't too serious.

Gibbs retakes his attention, however, when he reaches forward and presses a hatch on the side of the black box, flicking it open on spring-loaded hinges. What's inside makes Dick's stomach drop. A needle and a glass vial filled with a yellow tinted liquid lays neatly inside. One of the grunts lifts the needle and the vial to begin filling it up.

"Do you know what this is?" Gibbs asks as the liquid fills the syringe. "I've yet to test it on anyone, but word is from the man I bought it from... It forces the truth out of you." The grunts finishes filling the syringe and flicks the bubbles. "Truth serum."

Dick has no doubt that the serum will work. He only wonders why he's threatening with it while he's gagged.

When the grunt walks around the table to Damian, he doesn't wonder anymore.

He can only tug on his restraints as the grunt grabs Damian's arm to aim the needle. Damian, for his effort, attempts to pull away, but the weakness of his head injury and his restraints do nothing to stop the needle from entering the inside of his elbow.

"You could have done this the easy way, Batman," Gibbs says. Dick watches as the syringe is pressed down, pushing the liquid into Damian's body. "I never like getting children involved."

Damian squeezes his jaw shut and turns his head away from the needle in his arm. It only takes a moment before the grunt pulls the empty syringe out before returning to standing besides his leader. A bead of blood appears where the needle left Damian's skin, but the boy doesn't move.

The air feels solid. Dick can hardly breathe as he tries to conceal his panic. He wants nothing more than to get out of these restraints and punch Gibbs and his men into next year, but he can't reach anything useful to do so. All he can do is watch Damian sit stock still as drugs spread through his veins.

A minute passes as Gibbs sits there in smug silence. Then, when a few more moments pass, he speaks.

"Robin," he says. Damian flinches, but doesn't look his way. His jaw still clenched. The goon with the camera points it right at Damian. "Why don't we start with something easy? What's your favorite animal?"

Damian curls his fingers behind his back and keeps his jaw grinding shut.

"Tight lipped huh?" Gibbs chuckles. He doesn't look surprised. Or worried. "Don't worry, I was assured that once it's fully in your system, it will hurt more to say nothing. What's your favorite animal, Robin?"

Damian says nothing, but he looks ridged. Tense.

"You look uncomfortable, Robin. Do you feel it in your head? I promise it will get better when you stop resisting. Let's try something different while we wait. Are you from Gotham?"

Damian's knuckles must be white under his gloves.

"How about your favorite color? Is it blue?"

Damian breathes a shaky breath through his nose, and Dick's heart breaks. He works harder to find a weakness in his restraints.

"My, your resilience is admirable. Were you trained on this?" Gibbs asks. Damian remains stubborn, but Gibbs still doesn't look worried. "Who were you trained by?"

"The best," Damian whimpers, cutting himself off with a growl and shutting his jaw. Gibbs smiles.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Damian shakes his head, a frustrated cry caught in his throat.

This continues, Gibbs finding victory in the one slip and pressing with everything he's got. Dick doesn't know how long Damian can last like this, and he doesn't want to find out. With every passing second, Dick knows it's only a matter of time before Damian's lips loosen. No amount of training can beat a good concussion and drugs designed to make your lips loose.

"What grade are you? Do you have any friends?"

After each question, Dick can see more and more discomfort in Damian's position. He's beginning to fidget and whimper and Dick's... Dick's had enough.

"What's your favorite color, Robin?"

"Green," Damian says with strangled gasp, sounding horrified with himself.

Gibbs smirks like a predator, knowing he's finally won.

"What's your real name?"

Yeah. Dick's had enough. With a hard tug, the ropes around his wrists finally snap against where he's been rubbing at them with his gauntlets. Gibbs and his men can barely react before Dick's upon them, cutting away the rest of the ropes with a batarang from his belt. He makes quick work of them in their shock, knocking them out and leaving them on the floor in unconscious piles.

He almost bends to put cable ties on their arms and legs, but he hears a tight whimper behind him. The moment after, he's rushing over to Damian to undo the ropes.

"Are you okay?" Dick asks, cutting through the bonds.

Damian shakes his head. Dick almost kicks himself.

"It's okay," he quickly says. "No one can hear. Let it out."

He's almost afraid Damian will force himself to remain silent, but to his relief and heartache, Damian opens his mouth and lets out a heaving sob. "It hurts- it hurts-"

Dick finally undoes the ropes, then he pulls his kid in close to his chest. "Get it out," he soothes, rubbing Damian's back.

"Dogs-" Damian starts, dissolving into quick rambling breaths. Every question he had been asked begins to be answered. Dick holds him close and lets him get it out with his tears. Silently, he sends a message to Gordon to pick up Gibbs and his men, then he messages Alfred to get the med-bay and lab ready. Soon enough, Damian is silent except for pain laced gasps, he holds tight to Dick's chest as Dick lifts him up and stuffs the vial with extra serum into his belt.

"I got you," he says as Damian continues to cry all the way to the batmobile. "I got you."

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #dick grayson #robin #Nightwing #dc comics #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #needles tw #noncon drugging tw #ill upload to ao3 with an edited link in the morning

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stressedoutcanary · 3 years

Text

Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader

Summary:

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!"

Warnings: Language, Canon typical Violence, Occasional Angst lets be real it's Jason we are talking about, Kidnappings..?

Word count: 1.6k

A/N:- I...should be studying right now buttt I had fun writing this and yes, I took the title from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet, I think it fits this perfectly.

I wasn't going for a series but here we are.

Part 2, Part 3

•°•°•°•°

It was a quite night for Gotham. Every person was busy with their own work and so were you, even if it was a little different from what people down below on the streets were doing. As of yet, you had stopped two muggings, busted a few armed two-face goons trying to rob a bank and were currently running across rooftops.

'Maybeee I can get off easy today, go home, microwave the pizza that has been waiting for me in the fridge, get a nice, warm shower and then straight to bed'

You hummed to yourself at the delightful thought as you sat on a gargoyle overlooking the city. You were enjoying the feeling of the light breeze on your face. It was soothing in a way. Not long after, you were startled by your comms crackling to life out of nowhere as you heard Oracle's automated voice in your ears.

"Batgirl I am going to need you to check out the area near Gotham Central Park for any visible strange activity. There are several missing persons reports filed this week that I have tied up to that particular region."

'So much for a warm bath and a good night's sleep, way to jinx yourself (Y/N), you dumbass'

"Isn't that park under construction or something? You know after the whole Justice League fiasco last month?", you questioned.

"Yep but people still go there, in the mornings for walks and at the nights for certain activities."

"Of course they do, I swear, people here are on a whole different level." You sighed. "Alrighty then Babs, I am on it."

•°•°

After climbing up a couple of fire escapes and swinging off of numerous rooftops you finally reached your target destination. There was a deafening silence when your feet landed on the damp grass. You took in the misted surroundings and decided to look around for something out of the ordinary. There was a broken bright neon sign by the corner of the street which caught your attention, you could only make out the last bit, it spelled Parlor.

'That seems awfully familiar. Something about it is odd but I can't quite place my finger on it'

You were lost in thought when you felt someone move behind you, there was rather little time for you to react so you choose the 'hit first ask questions later' option. You clenched your fist, twisted your upper body and delivered a quick, staggering blow to the shady figure lurking behind.

"OWW!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

"HOOD?!"

Sure enough, Jason was on the ground clutching his ribs looking like a hurt puppy.

You moved your hands up and massaged you temples. You do not want to deal with him. Not today and if possible not ever. Even though you never let it show, you always avoided a run in with him. He may have become a part of the family again but you were far off from forgiving him.

You watched with narrowed eyes as he got to his feet and and dusted off the grass from his jacket.

"So on a Scale of one to Demon brat, how much do you hate me?", the smirk on his face and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you almost made you want to smack him with a crowbar yourself.

"What? Dami?! I don't-- I don't hate Damian, he just gets on my nerves sometimes, something you do all the time.", you enjoyed, maybe a little too much, the way Jason's smirk turned into a small pout. You smiled a bit as you shook your head at his childishness.

"Before you start chucking batarangs at me I want to make this clear; No, Oracle did not send me here to be your backup or whatever, I just happen to be investigating the same thing which obviously led me here to you. So how about we work on this together and watch each other's back", Despite the uncertainty of your rejection, he sounded hopeful. It seemed as if he was ready to build the old, worn out bridges of your relationship back up again. It sent an unexpected warmth through your chest.

"Just like old times?"

"Just like old times.", Jason repeated as you both did a rather unsuccessful fist bump and grinned like idiots.

•°•°

You walked up to the seemingly abandoned building, Jason examined the door for traps whereas you decided on taking a look through the glass window.

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!", you whisper shouted with a scowl. Jason just shrugged and tilted his head to the side, pointing towards the now open door.

"Ladies first, so lead the way, unless you're scared.", it was a playful challenge on Jason's part, one that you were more than ready to accept.

"Oh you're on Red."

You stepped inside and it was all business from there on. You took in the condition of the room; dusty desks, broken glass, oddly placed mannequins and footprints leading up ahead into a long hallway.

"They seem recent enough", Jason gave a slight nod at your discovery.

Considering the darkness of the hallway, you and Jason shared a look and switched on your night vision lenses. You both started taking cautious steps, the occasional soft thud of your boots being the only sound in the vicinity.

The end of the hallway was forked up and there were two rooms at the end of each passageway.

"How is this place so big! it didn't seem this huge from the outside", you could hear the exasperation in Jason's voice. You figured not getting to hit someone might be getting to him or that he was just bored.

"Look I will take the right, you take the left, our comms are already connected, if any one of us finds anything we tell the other and remember we do not engage in a fight alone. Am I clear or do you want me to write that down for you"

"Yes ma'am, but just so you know you are starting to sound like The old man", you rolled your eyes at his comment and went on ahead towards the right as he went the other way.

•°•°

You scrolled through the torn down bookshelf kept in one of the rooms and you were making a mental note in your mind that there were a lot of medical journals in the bunch, when your comms buzzed.

"I am sorry", Jason whispered in a soft voice and you froze for a spilt second, eyes widening.

'No (Y/N) don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he is saying, just focus on finding those missing people and get this over with'

With that thought you tried continuing your investigation as if you had heard nothing.

"I said, I am sorry (Y/N). I know you heard me. I also know you've been avoiding me, cutting me out and you don't have to reply if don't feel like it but...I just wanted you to know..."

"Now is not the right time for this Hood and...for what it's worth I am not looking forward to a forgiveness session with you...", you felt awful for cutting him out the way you did, your heart clenched at the harshness of your words as you clicked off your comms, but you refused to have this discussion right now. If you were being more honest to yourself you just couldn't bear the emotions it would bring, so you chose the easiest way; completely shutting him out.

It was few minutes after the highly uncomfortable talk with Jason that a wall poster had caught your eye. You moved your hand over it, somewhat wiping off the dust, there was something scribbled on it making it harder for you to read the actual text. You squinted, trying to make out the words

"The people need...perfection...and that is what Pretty Dolls Parlor strives to achieve."

You scanned the area near poster for fingerprints and clicked your comms back on.

"Hood, get over here, I found something and I think this is the make or break kind of information", you were waiting for scan to complete, concern creeping up your mind when there was no reply from the other end.

"Red Hood? can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Red?! Answer me Damnit!!"

A whole lot of Nothing.

As soon as you heard the chime of the scanner signaling its completion, you sped the other way towards the left corridor, towards Jason.

'Jay please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.'

By the time you reached Jason's location you were panting from the lack of breath and were already cursing yourself for bringing Jason along. To say that the man can take care of himself might be an understatement, he is basically a lone wolf, but still the thought of something happening to him while he was with you hurt like hell.

You looked around frantically and almost jumped out of your skin when you stepped on a gun. You heart almost stopped, it was Jason's. To make matters worse, there was no other sign of him or of were he went. You picked up the gun holding it securely in your hand. You could literally hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, through the reflection from the glass window in front of you, you caught a glimpse of a man wearing a blank white face mask, you turned around, immediately switching to a fighting stance but that only did so much for you. A flashlight was switched on and shoved near your face, the night vision of your lens intensified the light, blinding you completely.

Before you could react, a metal pole connected straight with the back of your head and just like that you were lights out on the ground.

°•°•°•°•

Author's cute little extra Note:

*wiggling my eyebrows rn*

I might be a little too obsessed with the Arkham Knight game hehe.

Well that ended well for you, didn't it?? Jason's gone missing and you get a nice concussion to garnish your anxiety level? No? Okay I will stop talking now.

Tell me if you want to be tagged for the next parts.💕

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd x y/n #red hood reader insert #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #jason todd x batgirl!reader #red hood imagines #jason todd imagines #reader is batgirl #jason todd #red hood #batfam #batfamily

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oneshotnewbie · 3 years

Note

Omg I love your Navy CIS request 😍 Can we have another one where Reader faints? It's your choice how your gonna do it :)

Fully equipped, McGee and you stood at the door of the house where your suspect lived while Gibbs ran around the house to secure the back area and keep an eye on the back door in case Mike Lander thought he had to leave. Guns drawn, he nodded to you once more before knocking and leaning his body against the wall to prevent him from being shot through the door.

„NCIS, open the door!“

When nobody answered and there was silence in the house, McGee kicked the wooden door in. While he walked in front of you and secured the left to the kitchen, you walked further in and secured the bedroom. Nobody was there, but the special agent and you noticed quickly that the pot full of coffee was still relatively hot and the smell of freshly burned wood and ashes stung your eyes and nose; a fire has definitely been kindled recently.

„Tim, he is still here.“ you whispered to your partner.

„Y/N!“ did you heard him scream before something hit you with full force from the side and you flew through the entire room only to come to a standstill on the little coffee table that collapsed under you.

The impact took all of the air you had from your lungs and you closed your eyes while grimacing in pain. Your head felt like a cinder block and you felt something run down the back of your neck. Your vision was blurry and the corners of your eyes darkened. At that moment you were unable to move, as if your body was paralyzed.

„Boss, he is out front.“ Yelled McGee from the balcony before running to you but Gibbs was already gone. He had probably saw everything that had just happened in the glass front from his position.

He was kneeling in front of you and wanted to help you get up, but you just raised your hand and pointed towards the door. „Go get him, I’m fine.“ You said in a hushed voice and even if you saw that he hesitated and wanted to stay with you, he decided to chase after this guy.

You were left alone and gathered all your strength to free yourself from the table. Standing up didn’t work, so you turned to the right and dumped yourself from the hard wood to the rug on the floor. With a sigh you tried to support yourself with your shaky arms to get up but before you pulled your legs up to shift your body weight onto your knees, two hands grabbed your elbows and pulled you up slowly.

"Easy. Are you okay?" it was Gibbs looking at you worriedly and reaching under your arms, you still weren't in the control of your own body.

"M'fine."

But that didn't work for him. "Let me see," he slowly tilted your head to the side to get a better view of the back of your head and neck. "The hell you are, you're bleeding."

You hissed at his touch and winced when the gray-haired repeatedly went to the wound. Another wave of dizziness settled around you and you fell back a little. If he didn't still have a firm grip on you, you would probably be back on the ground.

"Does Tim got the bastard?" you asked after you slowly moved in the direction of the exit, Gibbs being your support while having an protective arm around your back.

"It doesn't matter now, I will take you to the hospital."

---

Patiently, Gibbs waited in the emergency doctors waiting room until they were done with your tests and he was called in by a nurse. While he sat on the chair across from your bed and vigorously checked you from top to bottom, you sat on the edge of the bed with a stapled wound on the side of your skull and still a little dazed from the painkillers you were given before.

After a while, a younger doctor came into the room and introduced himself to Gibbs. "How is she doing, doc?"

"So.." he started and took the stool out from under the desk. "The tests are inconclusive, which is good. However, from the impact you described to me, she got two broken ribs and suffered a moderate concussion, which is why she will probably continue to complain of headaches for a while."

"I can handle the complaints, I just want to know whether my agent can go home." he laughed and looked over at you.

You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn't help but laugh. Even if he was a hard shell on the outside that was very difficult to see through, he was on the inside gentle with his family, almost overprotective.

"She can go home. I will give her a few more painkillers for the next few days." said the brown-haired doctor and immediately turned to the computer to enter the recipes into the system. "However, she should not do any field activity until she has been 100% cleared by the on-duty doctor."

"Desk duty? How fun." you said sarcastically and turned to the doctor, but your head got stuck in half, the pain was too strong that you still felt despite the painkiller.

"Sorry about that, Agent L/N." he said and handed the instructions for taking the pills to your boss. "If she complains of very bad headaches, dizziness, nausea or even passes out, bring her back to the hospital immediately."

Gibbs nodded in understanding and took a closer look at the discharge papers while the doctor talked to you. "You are not allowed to wash your hair with shampoo, initially for the next 48 hours. You can get the blood out with lukewarm water, but let someone help you and please don't comb your hair in that area to prevent removing the clips."

After this instruction, he wished you a speedy recovery and disappeared from the door.

---

It was the next day you worked off your old files that you still had to work on anyway. Other than that, you were not allowed to do anything other than put information you found on the screen and go down to Abby to see what she'd found for you.

You didn't want to admit it but you felt worse than yesterday. The waves of dizziness you felt when you moved too quickly and the nausea you felt since yesterday evening made it hard for you to concentrate. You had already two pills of painkillers and you wouldn't get a third one from Gibbs, he clearly told you and you didn't want to draw any further attention to yourself.

"Hey, look. I brought you your favorite donuts." did you hear a male voice speak and you looked up. Tim stood in front of you with a pack of 12 donuts and a big grin on his face.

Smiling, you took the box over to you and placed it on the free side of the desk."Thank you, Timmy but you don't have to give me anything. It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is. I didn't offer you the protection a partner has to offer." before he uttered the last words of the sentence, you talked in between. "Tim, it's okay. This is our job. You did what you had to do, we just didn't looked clearer the first time we went in."

He nodded, the guilt was written on his face while he stole one of your donuts and walked back to his place. He was worried and even if you said it wasn't his fault, he felt more than guilty so he tried it with small gifts and gestures, like helping you with your old files in his free time when you needed a break.

Hours went by that you worked, Ellie, Nick and Gibbs had also returned from field work and now were back at their desks. Your otherwise so happy charisma was betrayed by your face contorted with pain. You felt the worried looks from the squad on you so you tried to get away from them by going down to Abbys.

At least for a few minutes.

Abby let you know every single detail she found and about the evening with her brother but it just didn't seem to get into you head. As soon as you walked out of her door, almost everything she said was forgotten.

The dizziness seemed to get worse and you just barely made it to the top. In the middle of the bullpen you came to a standstill, your breath shallow and heavy. "Abby found out that.."

You couldn't go on talking. Something in you refused to speak, this abnormal dizziness took away your sight and you couldn't see anything but a blurred vision. "Y/N, what did she find out?" Gibbs asked you in concern.

He already stood up from his chair when he saw that you came walking, your face almost paler than the walls of the hospital he had to stare at. Almost immediately, he knew that something was wrong with you so he rounded his desk if he had to intervene and be near you.

It took you a few seconds to form a normal sentence after trying to look through the sight of a swaying ship. "Call an ambulance." you could answer before the lights turned off and you collapsed in the office.

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bestofbucky · 4 years

Text

Run To You - 11

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: canon level violence, angst

A/N at the end of the chapter.

Divider by me.

Series Masterlist.

Zola walks over to the door, knocking twice on it. You hear the door unlock and three burly men walk in, guns strapped to their hips. Before any of them can make a move you are standing up, still attached to the chair, then flinging yourself onto the floor. The chair shatters beneath you but the three men instantly react, all heading towards you. Your legs are free to move but your hands are still tied behind your back. You manage to easily dodge their attacks, throwing them off balance when their punches don’t land.

They are starting to get tired. You can tell by the way they are becoming clumsy with their movements. You take advantage of this, using their strength to break the restraints on your wrists. It hurts but it’s worth it and within minutes of your hands being free, the three men are on the floor unconscious.

“You want me dead?” You turn to Zola. “You’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Before either of you can make a move, more men are charging into the room. Zola uses them as a distraction to grab a gun, he waits for the perfect moment.

Meanwhile you are fighting as hard as you can. You know you won’t be able to keep it up for much longer so you put everything you have into taking them down. Focusing on the last man standing you realise it's the same man who previously knocked you unconscious. He charges at you and you use all that's left of your energy to duck and trip him up, kneeling on his lower back you grab his hair and slam his head into the ground. Unfortunately you aren’t given long to bathe in the satisfaction of giving the man a taste of his own medicine.

You feel something pressed to the back of your head. You know it’s a gun. You also know that in perfect condition you would easily be able to disarm him, but you aren’t in perfect condition. You have a concussion, you are exhausted, your wrist is almost definitely broken from getting out of the restraints. There is no getting out of this.

You’ve always wondered how your story would end. Sometimes even wanting to write your own ending, take control of your fate, but you never imagined it this way. You take a deep breath, bringing yourself back to the present moment. It’s only then you realise the feeling has gone, sounds of scuffling reach your ears and you turn around.

Bucky.

Bucky has Zola on the ground. It all happens so fast. A gunshot goes off, Bucky falls to the side with a groan. Your body takes over, grabbing a gun from one of the unconscious men and firing it at Zola before he can take another shot.

The bullet hits him in the arm, forcing him to drop the gun, you kick it away from him and immediately make your way to Bucky, not giving Zola a second glance as you hear him howl in pain.

“Fuck.” All you can see is blood, you have no idea where it’s coming from. “Where were you shot, Bucky?” He doesn’t answer, his face is twisted in pain and it’s clear he needs immediate medical attention. He is losing blood fast.

“We...need...out of here.” He mumbles and you agree, you help him to his feet, his hand instinctively goes to his abdomen. You guess that’s where he got shot. You place one arm around his back and your other hand over his, putting pressure on it to help stop the bleeding.

You both stumble through the warehouse, eventually coming across an exit. You see cars in the distance, you know stealing one is Bucky’s only chance at surviving this but it’s not going to be easy or quick trying to get him all that way.

You lean him against the wall of the warehouse. “Bucky?” You stand in front of him, he looks at you with glassy eyes. “Do you trust me?” You don’t know how aware of his surroundings he is so you repeat yourself, this time firmer and louder. “Bucky do you trust me?”

Time seems to slow as he takes a moment to consider your question. You wonder what is going through his mind as he looks deep in thought. You don’t have time for this though, if you wait too long there will be Hydra thugs on you and there is no way you would be able to hold them all off.

“Wait here.” You tell him, deciding you no longer have the time to wait for his answer. You know he won’t be able to get far with his injury, but knowing Bucky he would definitely try. Just as you turn around you feel him grab your hand, stopping you from going anywhere.

You turn back to him to see him wincing at the sudden movement he just made. He ignores the pain and lifts your hand up to his lips. “I trust you.” He mumbles against your skin and places the most delicate kiss on the back of your hand.

Such a simple gesture and it warms your heart. Although he took a while, to him it was such a simple answer. He trusted you with his life and you saw that in the look he gave you.

Knowing you had to do everything you could to save him you reluctantly let go of his hand and sprinted off into the rain in the direction of the cars in the distance. You get to the closest one, smashing the window and unlocking the doors. Thank god you know how to hotwire a car, otherwise you would both be screwed. You drive it back to Bucky, getting out to help him get into the passenger side.

In your mirrors you see men in the distance, heading towards the other cars. You are plunged back to three years ago. The rain, the chase, the person you care so much about in the passenger seat, depending on you. It’s all the same. You try to accelerate but can’t seem to push your foot down, your brain stopping you from going anywhere.

You hear Bucky call your name and you look over to him but he is no longer there. Instead, it’s Zee. There is so much blood, the colour of her skin is enough to know she has no life left within her. Reaching over you gently take her hand, it is still slightly warm. In that moment you realise there was nothing more you could have done to save her but there is something different about this time. This time, you can save Bucky.

You are brought back to the present moment by the feeling of his hand taking yours. He has his head leaning back on the head rest, with his eyes closed and the other hand still over his wound. You feel him squeeze your hand and you push the thoughts of the accident from your mind.

Letting go of Bucky’s hand, motivation kicks in and your foot presses on the accelerator, speeding away from the warehouse. You are not safe yet though, you see three cars following you. You try swerving, and taking sharp corners but nothing seems to get them off your back.

Grabbing the gun you stole with one hand, the other hand still on the steering wheel you point it out the window, back at the cars behind you. Firing randomly you inwardly cheer when you finally manage to hit the front car’s tire, causing it to slow suddenly and a car behind to swerve around it. Going straight into a tree.

Two down, one to go. The back window smashes and you duck, bullets are being fired back at you. Looking over at Bucky you push his head down forcing him to duck. The rain seems to get harder and your vision of the road gets worse. You turn onto a familiar road, taking a deep breath you press harder on the accelerator, watching as the speed dial goes up gradually. You can still see the car in your mirrors as it speeds up with you, getting so close they occasionally bump into the back of you.

They continue to fire at you but you are only focused on the road ahead of you. You see the familiar sign in the distance, it's getting closer and closer by the second and you are starting to doubt whether you can actually pull this off or not.

Three. You start a countdown in your head.

Two. You look behind you and the car is still right up your ass.

One. You swerve right at the last minute, you narrowly avoid the drop but the car behind you isn’t so lucky, they hurtle over the edge of the road, exactly the same way you did three years ago.

You know you don’t have any time to dwell on what just happened so you push all your thoughts down and continue driving. You continue to push them down when you get to the gates of the compound. Still not letting them back up when Bucky gets wheeled off into surgery or when Sam, Steve and Natasha all meet up with you as the nurses check over your injuries. You don’t even allow yourself to think about anything that happened when the doctor tells you that Bucky is going to be ok.

You can’t be bothered to argue when Sam tells you to stay at the compound, you know you wouldn’t be safe at the apartment you had been living in for the past few weeks. You don’t speak more than you have to, only telling people the basic information they need to know. Afraid if you start to tell them more, you will break down and won’t be able to come back from it.

It’s only when you step inside the apartment that you can’t hold it down any longer. You make it as far as closing the door behind you before you collapse onto the floor under the weight of your thoughts. It’s too much to process and all comes back to you in a jumbled mess.

Bucky came for you. Zola is still out there. You were almost in the exact same accident as you were three years ago. You saved Bucky. Bucky is a murderer. Zola won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Zee is gone. Bucky is safe.

The exhaustion is overwhelming but the thoughts prevent you from sleeping. They just continue to bounce back and forth and you are forced to relive it all, feeling everything as if it was happening again in that moment.

Previous Part / Next Part

Let me know what you think by commenting, reblogging or leaving an ask.

A/N: Only two more chapters to go! I have them written. What should I do? Should I post 12 on Sunday then 13 on Tuesday. Or prolong it and stick with the Thursdays.

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Man’s World - Part 2

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - After a solar flare ended the world as we know it, former spy August Walker becomes the most terrifying of the many warlords who pop up across the US. He leads his militia from town to town, taking what he wants and all killing those who resist him. And now he wants Lilah. And one way or another, he’ll have her.

Masterlist

August didn’t know what possessed him to save that girl. Maybe it’s just that he didn’t like killing women. Maybe he was impressed with the unique mix of bravery and stupidity that led the vaguely ethnic twentysomething to shoot at him, only to fail spectacularly. More likely, he was just bored. Life after the flash was hard and violent but painfully predictable.

He thought she was pretty when he carried her from the city despite the bangs, but in the sunlight, he was far less impressed with her appearance.

To be fair, she wasn’t well. Standing in the command tent before him, she wavered on her feet. Her clothes were burnt around the edges and her feet were bare. The enormous sunglasses she wore didn’t help her appearance, either.

“The Boss just spoke to you,” one of August’s lieutenants said from somewhere behind him. “Speak,” he commanded the girl.

People who try to shoot me always end up dead. That’s what August Walker said to her. What the fuck was she supposed to say back?

“Speak?” Lilah parroted, doing her best to sound confused.

Jack looked like he wanted to smash his head into a wall.

August kept his eyes fixed on the girl as he spoke to his soldier. “What did you say was wrong with her?”

“Concussion,” Jack answered. “Doc says she’ll be right in a few days.”

August hummed. He didn’t raise his voice or take his eyes off Lilah when he commanded the others in the tent to leave with one simple word: “Out.”

Lilah’s expression grew more and more desperate as each person filed out until finally, they were alone.

“Are you a whore?” he asked simply.

Lilah was physically taken aback by his question. “Am I . . . ?”

August’s eyes roamed up and down her body. She looked a mess now but he could tell she cleaned up well. One of his many talents was the ability to sense a woman’s figure through her clothes, however unattractive those clothes may be. And he sensed Lilah’s figure was exquisite. Her face was, too, when it wasn’t smudged with ash and blood or half-hidden by ridiculous sunglasses.

“Are you a whore?” August repeated.

Lilah couldn’t speak for a moment, too shocked by his bluntness. “No.”

August’s blue eyes raked over her one more time, his gaze unbearably intense. He might as well be licking her. “That’s too bad.” He turned back to the maps on the table.

Lilah cleared her throat when she grew uncomfortable with the silence. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“No.” The warlord continued to study his maps as if he wasn’t interested in her enough to even look up. Maybe that was a good thing, thought Lilah, considering how it made her feel when he looked at her.. “What did you do? Back before the flare hit.”

“Umm . . .” Funemployed? Was that an answer? “I was a camp counselor during the summers when I was in college.”

“What activity did you teach?”

She cleared her throat. “Archery.”

“Archery,” Walker repeated. “You should have used a bow and arrow instead of a gun to shoot me. Maybe then you would actually have hit something.”

She was silent for a long time. Her throat was painfully dry. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would’ve left you behind on that sidewalk if I wanted you dead,” he said flatly.

“What do you want, then?”

He wanted to fuck her.

After she’d bathed and changed and gotten her shit together, of course. August lifted his eyes from the table to give her that intense look again; that was answer enough.

He looked over Lilah’s head at Jack and subtly nodded towards the entryway. And just like that, Lilah was dismissed.

***

The people August Walker ordered to leave the tent start coming back inside the moment I’m dismissed. Pretty sure they were listening.

On my way out, I pass someone vaguely familiar but for the life of me I can’t remember who he is. “Hey,” I say anyway. I stop walking and so does he.

He nods once. “Lilah.”

“Mr. Kewlani!” His name comes out in a shout not because I’m surprised to see him but because I’m happy I remember his name.

He lived next door to me growing up. The only things I can really remember about him from childhood is that our dog pissed on all his plants and killed them and he hated us for it, and that he was condescending because of how smart he was. I’m not at all surprised that August Walker recruited him.

“Good to see you.” The fifty-eight-year-old physics professor doesn’t look pleased or surprised to see me. I can’t blame him for it, since we never talked or got along, but I feel slighted.

“You too.” I think to ask him about his wife and daughters, but they’ve been dead for years. One of the daughters was killed by a drunk driver before the flare, and his other daughter and wife succumbed to the strange plague that came immediately after. Lots of people did.

“Come on,” Jack says. He starts walking before I register his words and I have to scramble to catch up with him before he disappears into the tents.

“Where are we going?” I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way back to the tent I was in before.

He doesn’t reply. He stops in front of a big white tent - the sort people rent for outdoor events like weddings or parties - and pulls open the flap. It’s packed with army cots and outdoor recliners that have been flattened for use as a bed.

“Any open beds?” Jack calls to a woman nearby.

She pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth and uses it to gesture to the other side of the tent. “The one over there by me is free.”

“Great.” Jack turns to leave but I grab him by the arm.

“Wait, what?”

“This is your tent now,” he says, peeling my hand from his bicep.

“That’s it? No tour? What about - ?”

“Stiva,” Jack calls to the tooth-brushing woman again. “This one’s eggs are scrambled. Deal with her.”

And then he’s gone.

Stiva finishes brushing her teeth and looks me up and down. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. That, coupled with her cargo pants and tank top, make her look like the single generic woman in any action film.

She must be smart or talented or important. August Walker only recruits useful people: doctors, engineers, plumbers and handymen, craftsmen, teachers, horse trainers and stable hands, architects, tailors, former military, and other things like that. And of course, prostitutes. I’m fairly certain Stiva isn’t a prostitute, though.

“What’s your name?” Stiva asks.

“Lilah.”

She looks me over again and seems to approve. “Stiva,” she replies. She walks me over to the other side of the tent and stows her toothbrush in a plastic box beneath her cot. “That one’s yours,” she says, nodding toward the one beside hers.

I sit awkwardly on the edge. There’s barely enough space between the cots for me to squeeze my legs in.

“You look star-struck,” she observes.

“Concussion,” I reply. “I’m pretty out of it.”

The thirty-something woman shakes her head. “No. I meant starstruck from meeting the boss.”

Now I really am confused. “What? How did - why do you know that?”

She rifles through the few personal items she has stashed under her cot. “I heard that some idiot with bangs tried to shoot the boss. I haven’t seen another grown woman with bangs in years so I assume that’s you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Are people talking about that a lot?”

“Not really,” she says, shrugging. “I only know cause I fuck Sy sometimes and he gets chatty after.”

“Sy?”

“He’s the boss’s right-hand-man,” she explains, frowning. “Nobody explained the chain of command?”

“If they did, I don’t remember it.”

“Did anybody even teach you the camp layout?”

“No. But I’ve been unconscious mostly so they never had the chance.”

She grunts and turns back to her cot. Finally she pulls out a french press and two cracked mugs. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.”

We go to one of the cooking fires at the center of camp for hot water. One of the cooks gives us some coffee grounds to use on the condition that Stiva make her a cup, too.

She looks me over, smirking, as we wait for the brew to steep. “You’re the boss’s new girl,” she says, half a question.

“Not yet,” Stiva says before I have the chance to reply. “If she was with him, she wouldn’t be out here slumming it with the rest of us.”

The water blackens and Stiva pours us each a mug. She thanks the cook before we turn back the way we came.

“I thought you said people weren’t talking about it,” I whisper to Stiva.

“I said they weren’t really talking about it.”

“So I’m supposed to fuck August Walker,” I say after a long silence. It’s not a surprise but I don’t like the fact that everyone in camp seems to know. Even as we walk back to our tent, I feel eyes on me. The camp seems big enough that one new person shouldn’t be so obvious.

I finally ask the question I’m most afraid to have answered, “What if I don't want to sleep with him?” I swallow hard. “Will he . . . Is he the sort of man that can take no for an answer?”

“I’ve never thought about that - what would happen if someone said no to him. No one has ever said no to him for anything except maybe Miss Ally,” she says contemplatively. It takes a beat for her to respond to my question. “I don’t think he’d force you into anything. He’s a dick but he’s also a gentleman, you know?”

I do know. “I don’t know. I’m almost positive my body is the only thing he wants from me. Not my professional expertise or know-how.” And who’s to say he won’t dispose of me if I don’t serve the one purpose I’m here for?

“I mean, can you do anything?” asks Stiva. “Anything useful?”

“I taught archery at a summer camp in Maine,” I offer.

She looks ambivalent.

“Why?” I ask, slightly embarrassed. Being an archer sounds cool, but until the flare happened, it didn't have much of a real-world application. “What can you do?”

“I’m a surveyor and a cartographer,” she says. “Used to work in real estate. Help builders figure out boundaries for new projects.”

“Oh.”

“But people here do all sorts of shit. There’s a dog breeder who used to raise pit bulls to be guard dogs for famous people; now they’re attack dogs for the boss. And there’s a twelve-year-old girl in our tent who’s a violin prodigy.” Stiva shrugs. “They keep anybody the boss might have a use for.”

“August Walker likes the violin?” I ask.

“Not as far as I know,” she says. “But he wants to preserve society and culture and all that for after.”

I follow her back into the tent. “After what?”

“After we settle somewhere for good.” She sits heavily on her cot. “The boss wants to make a new world in his image. Supposedly he’s got it all planned out.”

“That seems a little psycho.”

She stretches out on her back. “Sy told me that he used to be a doomsday prepper or something like that. He’s been waiting for the world to end for a while.”

I’m familiar with some of those rumors. August Walker was supposedly a would-be terrorist planning to cull the world’s population. Supposedly a bunch of powerful people were part of his cell - world leaders, even. As far as I know, they never put any of their plans into motion; the solar flare did their work for them.

***

Later in the evening, when the boss called for one of his usual girls from among the thirty-nine prostitutes in the camp, he imagined he was fucking Lilah instead of her. It made him furious, which made him rough. The prostitute would have more bruises than usual tomorrow.

He repaid her for the discomfort with an unopened bottle of tequila and a pair of diamond earrings stolen from a dead woman’s jewelry box during the last raid. That, coupled with the two orgasms he gave her, seemed more than enough compensation.

She left the tent late at night - he never let his women sleep there - and August was alone with his thoughts, which soon turned back to that stupid girl.

He wouldn’t give Lilah anything when he fucked her - and sooner or later he would fuck her. His favor would be more than enough compensation. She wouldn’t sleep in his tent, obviously, but he imagined her having a little tent of her own somewhere nearby so he could call for her whenever he wanted. And no one else would be allowed to fuck her.

He had a girl like that for a few months but he grew bored with her. When she asked his permission to leave camp and strike out on her own, he gave it willingly. She had the back of her hand tattooed with August’s mark before she left. It was essentially a guarantee of safe passage. No one would fuck with somebody associated with Walker, and if his men ever came in contact with her again, they’d know not to kill or hurt her.

Now he wanted someone like that again. That and more.

Someone who belonged exclusively to him not because the other men in camp were afraid to touch what was his, but because she didn’t want anyone other than him.

The last girl was an escort with a moderately successful OnlyFans account. She was essentially a prostitute. August liked that Lilah wasn’t.

Seducing her would give him something less mundane to do in his free time.

***

They try to integrate me into camp life over the next week. All in all it goes pretty well, but when they give me a bow and arrows to practice shooting, it becomes abundantly clear that the concussion has fucked up my long-distance vision. I can’t shoot shit. I don’t know if I’m going to be nearsighted forever or if it will clear up as I heal. Miss Ally is displeased.

It’s obvious that she is equal in rank to Walker, but on the civilian side of camp life. I get the impression they’ve known each other for a long time. She’s the only person in camp who doesn’t refer to or address him as the boss or just Boss. Always Mr. Walker. It’s still a respectful address, complete with a polite honorific, but just the fact that she uses his name seems oddly intimate, like maybe she knew who he was before he became one of the strongest warlords on the continent.

I don’t see Walker much. Meals are served in a huge clearing and most people eat together, so Walker is obliged to make an appearance most days, always at dinner. Most of us sit on the ground or in folding chairs but not him. He sits on a pale blue armchair that I think is made of velvet. The legs are gold and the back and arms are scalloped. I think it belonged to a woman before it became his throne.

The first time I see him at dinner, he keeps an eye on me throughout the meal, even though I’m nowhere near him. We make eye contact at one point. He smirks at me and takes a deep drink of his wine.

The second time I see him, he ignores me. Well maybe not ignores, but he doesn’t pay me any attention. I don’t know why but it annoys me.

Near the end of the meal, he crooks his finger at one of the prostitutes. They leave the clearing together, presumably to go off somewhere and fuck, and I’m almost offended by it. Then I come to my senses.

He’s a warlord, and true warlords have concubines. A lot of them. Just because he wants me doesn’t mean he wants me, exclusively.

For all I know, he’s got a girl from every settlement he raided. Maybe he keeps them as a token of victory.

That pisses me off. Men objectifying women, just like always. It may be the apocalypse, but I’m still a fucking feminist.

Walker doesn’t make an appearance at dinner again for two days. I’m filling my plate when he joins us on the third night. I know without looking that he’s here; the sudden quiet tells me all I need to know.

Things slowly start up again as I heap chicken and instant mashed potatoes onto my plate. It’s only when one of the cooks gives me a forceful tap on the shoulder that I look up.

“What?”

“He’s looking at you,” the woman says through her teeth. She swings her head toward August Walker. He lazes in his blue chair like a king at a feast. When we lock eyes, he smirks at me, then motions with his forefinger for me to come to him, just like he did with that prostitute the other night.

I don’t move.

“What are you doing?” the cook says. “Go!”

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me.” I’m not a hooker or a dog. I won’t just come running at his beck and call.

The cook looks at me like I’m an idiot.

It’s a dumb issue to take a stance on, especially when it seems my survival is contingent on letting him fuck me.

I seek Stiva out in the crowd. I haven’t made it halfway over to her before that kid - Jack, I think his name is - intercepts me.

“Boss wants a word.”

They’ve set up what appears to be an old Ikea office chair next to Walker’s surrogate throne. He gestures for me to sit when I get close enough. I flop down, making the chair groan.

Walker studies me for a long moment. He looks amused but pleased, too. All I can think about as his eyes rake over me are how blue they are and how the color of his chair accentuates them. “How have you been, Delilah?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

I shrug. “I can’t complain.”

“That’s it?” he asks, bemused.

“What else should there be?”

Walker takes a deep breath through his nose and settles back in his chair. “I know for a fact how unstable your town was. I did my research. Most of it was already in disrepair, and the crime rates before the flare were . . . high. Here, you have a roof over your head and three meals a day.”

Not really a roof, but . . .

“I had a roof over my head before.”

“What did you have to do to get it?” he asks, voice gravelly and low.

“I’m not a prostitute,” I say defensively. “I told you that.”

“I’m not necessarily saying you are.”

“Necessarily?”

He leans back in his chair. “You’re a survivor. You did whatever it was you had to do to stay alive in that shithole.”

Now I get it. “And you think I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay alive here.”

He sips his wine in reply, his gaze never leaving mine. He doesn’t speak when he’s done, just swirls the purple wine around in his glass.

“You’re not eating,” I observe.

“I hardly ever eat the plain food,” he says.

I remember Stiva saying that there’s a hipster chef who forages for his ingredients somewhere in the camp, and that he cooked for the highest-ranking people. He was one of those chefs that foraged for his ingredients before that was necessary. I think I followed him on Instagram back before the flare.

“You ought to join me,” Walker continues. “Something tells me you appreciate a good meal.” His voice is like liquid sex. He’s a terrifying, ruthless warlord who’s done things so horrible I can’t even imagine them, but damn if he isn’t the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The pretty ones are always assholes.

I level my gaze at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He actually throws his head back and laughs. It’s booming; conversations pause and heads turn at the unfamiliar sound. He has the sort of laughter that would be infectious if he weren’t so scary.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he finally says.

“I won’t just spread my legs for a good meal,” I say, but it honestly depends on how good the meal is.

Walker is exasperated. “Is sex the only thing you think about?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re rude, but you’re not an idiot.”

“You’re an asshole.” The words fall out before I can stop them. I slap my hand over my mouth like some idiot in a movie, as if that will undo what I just said. Why did I say that?

He’s going to hit me. Or shoot me. He’s going to do something to me and it won’t be good. Lilah, you stupid fucking idiot.

“No one speaks to me the way you do,” Walker says to me. “It’s refreshing, frankly.” His tone changes. “But don’t push it, especially when there are other people who can hear you. You won’t like the consequences.”

Walker downs the rest of his wine and stands. A handful of men scattered around us rise, too, and move toward him. His entourage, I guess. For a moment I think they’re each going to grab a limb and haul me away to some torture chamber or old-fashioned stockades, but they barely even glance my way.

Walker smiles wolfishly. “I’ll send someone to fetch you before dinner tomorrow. Find something nice to wear.” And off he goes.

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peterrparrkerr · 3 years

Text

Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

*-*

Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt.

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #ironman #starker #spiderman #my writing #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21

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ynscrazylife · 4 years

Note

Is it cool if u can request a avengers x fem reader where her powers are unique and born with them and she has ice and fire powers? Like half of her body she can control ice and the other half fire? Basically hot and cold lmao? Headlamps would be nice :) maybe some romance between Natasha x reader just cuz I miss her lmao

50% ice, 50% fire, 100% smitten

Summary: Y/N is an Inhuman. Half her body controls fire and half her body controls ice. Y/N doesn’t like to use her fire side out of fear, but when she sees her crush, Natasha, in danger, she’s forced to overcome what she’s scared of.

“Everyone ready for the mission?” Steve asked the Avengers as he boarded the jet. They were all preparing to go out and kick some ass.

“Yes”’s went around.

Y/N leaned against the wall, fixing her suit. The mission was simple enough. They were infiltrating an old Hydra base. They had gotten an anonymous tip that SHIELD files had been stored there. Phil Coulson (we’re pretending that they know he’s alive) had called, asking the Avengers to investigate as the files were reportily very important for Hydra’s plans and could compromise SHIELD’s safety. Phil was too busy with other problems, so the Avengers jumped to help out in anyway they could.

However, they had to take cautions. Even though it looked like it was abandoned, they doubted that anyone would likely leave these important files without protection. Which is why Avengers were going together, not quite knowing what Hydra agents were up to now.

“All set,” Y/N said, glancing up after she finished checking that everything in her suit was good. She gave a thumbs up to Cap as she watched Clint settle himself at the pilot.

Y/N situated herself in-between Natasha and Wanda.

“You excited, little snowman?” Sam asked as he sat next to Bruce and Steve.

Y/N rolled her eyes. The team loved to come up with new nicknames for her with her powers. Humoring Sam, she waved her hand and creating a flurry of snow that floated.

Steve grinned. “You know you can’t defeat Hydra agents with a snow flurry?” He joked.

Y/N bit her lip and sent an icicle at Steve, stopping just before it impaled his nose.

“Note to self: do not piss off Y/N,” Natasha said, making her heart flutter.

Y/N glanced over at Natasha, smiling. “Clint, can you go any faster? They’re tearing into me over here!” She called.

“Hey! That’s my job!” Tony called back from beside Clint.

Wanda slung an arm around Y/N, ruffling her hair. “Just joking, little one,” she said.

“I’m older than you!” Y/N argued.

“Tomato tomato,” Wanda said.

Ten more minutes of joking around and Clint landed, a couple blocks away from the base.

“Y/N, Sam, you’re gonna go in the base from the back entrance. Nat, cover the roof. Be ready to slip inside when Bruce locates where the files are. I will wait and cover the blocks, and will come back you up. Wanda and Tony will go directly through the front entrance and then Bruce, you stay here and monitor. I’ll let you know if we need the Hulk,” Steve told everyone.

“I’m not detecting any heat signatures. It seems like no one is there - but still, be on guard,” Bruce advised everyone.

Everyone nodded and split up.

“So,” Sam said as they walked around the building. “You like Nat, don’t you?”

“What?” Y/N asked, trying to play it off with a laugh. Seeing Sam’s smirk, she gave in. “How’d you know?”

“Despite popular belief, I notice things,” Sam said.

Y/N smirked.

“You should ask her out,” Sam whispered.

Y/N pushed his shoulder jokingly.

As they got closer to the entrance, they both stopped in their tracks. About a dozen Hydra agents stood in front of them. Waiting for them.

That’s when Cap’s voice rang through.

“They masked their heat signatures. There aren’t any files. There were files here - but they’re ambushing us now to distract us and get away,” Steve’s voice rang through.

“What do we do?” Y/N asked.

“Wanda, Bruce, and Tony are gonna go after the people escaping with the files. The rest of you - fight,” Steve ordered.

With a glance at Sam, the two began.

Y/N shot icicle after icicle, trying to trap as many Hydra agents as she could. Sam was doing well, and they almost had everyone knocked out, until someone managed to knock Sam out.

“No!” Y/N yelled. She thought quickly, and saw one agent moving towards Sam. Y/N, knowing she could take on the rest, put up an ice shield around Sam’s unconscious form.

However - she quickly realized that was a distraction when an Hydra agent shot two weapons at her. One was a weapon that sent out a burning flare at her ice side, as ice and fire didn’t mix well, and one was an ice flare gun that shot at her fire side. This made Y/N scream and stumble back in pain, after securing the ice shield around Sam. It gave one of the Hydra agents with powers an opportunity to make a ton of rubble crash down.

The Hydra agents grinned as they saw the rubble cover Y/N. She was knocked out, face first into the ground, and buried. The rubble was trapping one of her arms - the arm that could control ice. The agents ran away, knowing they could go after the other Avengers and when they’d come back, she’d still be here. With their plan, no Avenger would have time to come to her rescue. They ran away.

A couple minutes later, Y/N came back to consciousness. She groaned, spitting out dirt, and yelled when she felt the pain again. Y/N saw that her fire controlling arm was freed, but her ice was trapped.

Y/N thought. She couldn’t set fire to the rubble - that would hurt her even more. She was trapped, and her comms were knocked off. Y/N looked around for anyone to help. Sam was still knocked out but . . . The roof. Natasha. She looked up, trying to find the redhead.

What she saw crushed her (pun not intended). From what Y/N could tell, Natasha was fighting off about twice the Hydra agents she and Sam had. She was confident in Natasha as she was highly trained, but if Hydra had something up their sleeve like that they did to Y/N . . .

“NO!” Y/N yelled, seeing Natasha slip off the roof and fall. A Hydra agent caught her, though, and she saw his evil smile. He was going to drop Natasha. And Natasha was gonna fall.

She wouldn’t survive that height.

Y/N saw Natasha take hold of the roof with her other hand, so she wasn’t just hanging on from the Agent. However if he pushed her off, Natasha holding the roof wouldn’t do any good.

Y/N glanced down at her freed hand. She couldn’t do it. She was too scared to use her powers. She didn’t want to. She never did. It was too dangerous, too risky . . . But now she had no choice.

“NATASHA!” Y/N yelled. The Hydra agent was too prideful just to drop her - he had to get a view snarky comments in. “HOLD ON!” Y/N pointed to Natasha’s right hand, trying to indicate that she was going to save her. The spy seemed to get the message.

Taking a breath, Y/N conjured a hall of fire - it would hurt the agent, but not too badly and threw it up at him. Natasha ducked, and it hit him. The agent flew back, and Natasha held on from the roof. She scaled the building until she found an open window, slipping through it.

A couple minutes later and Natasha was practically running towards Y/N. “Oh my god,” she said, and Y/N smiled weakly at her. Natasha immediately began getting the rubble off of her, apologizing when Y/N would gasp in pain.

Finally, Natasha got enough off that Y/N could move without pain and get up. Natasha helped Y/N stand up, and she stumbled into the spy. Without warning, Natasha picked Y/N up, carrying her birdal style.

“Natasha,” Y/N groaned, leaning her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Her left arm, the fire ice, dangled limply as did the rest of her, essentially. She just had the amount of strength able to wrap her right arm around Natasha’s neck.

“Y/N, I’m carrying you. You’re heart,” she said firmly.

“No,” Y/N said quietly. “Sam.”

Natasha turned around, seeing their teammate’s body encased in the shield. She frowned. “You’re gonna need to melt that, Y/N. I’m sorry,” she said, knowing the pain it would cause.

Y/N took some breaths and let out a small cry of pain as she just about managed to melt the ice. Her left arm fell limp again.

“Someone else from the team will get him,” Natasha said, beginning to carry Y/N back to the jet.

“Why not you, after you get me back?” Y/N asked.

“I’m staying with you. Not only did you save my life - thank you, by the way - but I care about you,” Natasha said.

When they got back to the jet, they saw that everyone else - save Sam, of course - was back.

“Oh my god,” Steve said, paling.

“A bunch of rubble fell on her. She saved my life. Someone get Sam - he’s behind the building,” Natasha explained shortly.

Clint went to go grab him while Bruce directed Natasha to the back of the jet, where a medical table and a first aid kit was. Natasha laid Y/N, who had now passed out, on the table.

“You said a lot of rubble fell on her?” Bruce asked, opening up the first aid kit.

Natasha nodded. “I don’t think it was an accident. She was trapped underneath the rubble - save her fire power arm which she used to save me,” she explained.

“Friday, can you scan Y/N and give me a list of her injuries?” Bruce asked before turning back to his friend. “Did you get hurt?”

Natasha shook her head. “Bruises, but otherwise no. Is everyone else okay?” She asked, but never took her eyes off Y/N.

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. No major injuries,” he said.

Friday’s scan came back. In short, she had a broken arm, broken ankle, a stomach wound, concussion, dislocated shoulder, and a broken thighbone. She also had many bruises and cuts which were at risk of being infected.

Bruce cursed under his breath and got to work. “This is gonna take a couple hours. You should get some rest,” he told Natasha, seeing that her concern had grown.

“No,” Natasha said.

“Would she want you watching over her?” Bruce asked.

Natasha glared at him.

The next morning, Y/N woke up. She found herself on lots of painkillers and she was lying in a bed, her own bed. Looking around, she saw Natasha sitting in an armchair, reading a book.

“You’re awake,” Natasha said with a smile, dropping her book and sitting next to Y/N. “You’re going to need a lot of rest and I’ll be your doctor. How are you feeling?” She smiled.

Instead of answering that, Y/N asked her own question. “Why do you want to take care of me so bad?”

“I owe you. You saved me.”

An eyebrow raise showed that Y/N didn’t believe her. “Please don’t lie.”

“Only cause you’re injured,” Natasha said, with a smirk. “However . . . I like you. You’re cute. And I care for you. Also . . . Steve won’t let me go after the Hydra agents who hurt you and kick their asses.”

Y/N smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing that I like you, too,” she said.

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