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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

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hockey!Abby x dancer!reader pt8 (end)

pt 1 pt 7.75

Abby gets injured during practice.

Tags: modern au, fluff, fem!reader, shy reader, reader is into sexy/girly dances, Abby is a sweetheart, switching pov. Swearing (a lot of), kissing.

Notes: inaccurate display of: hockey player's injuries (it's not the most common one, but I'm not hurting Abby's pretty face); american health system - i just decided if it's so expensive they probably give you everything at the hospital? google didn't really help here, so sorry if it offends anyone.

A/N: that's all, folks! This is the last part of this story. Thank you all so much for reading it and enjoying it with me! The story was pretty fluffy and I wanted to give it some balance, so this part happened. I hope you'll like it as well.

But as I said before, I'm going to write some blurbs about them, so this is not their last appearance. (currently I have like 5-6 ideas for them, and half of them are requests that I really liked but didn't have time/mental space to write).

Thank you again! <3

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"You know what, Abs?" Manny asked while they were changing for the practice. "I could really use some love advice."

Abby scoffed and raised her eyebrows at him, not really sure what the fuck he meant by it and why he even needed it.

"Love advice? Do I look like the Elle girl advice column to you?"

"You got your chick somehow, yeah? So you probably did something right."

"Do you want to ask your weather girl out?" Abby finally put two and two together. She knew they were friends with benefits, but she didn't expect Manny, of all people, to catch feelings. "Man, you fucked up."

"Come on, share your lady loving wisdom."

"Just be honest with her. It will only get worse if you keep it bottled up." Abby shrugged and put her helmet on, eager to escape Manny and his strange love problems.

"That's how you got (y/n) to date you?" Manny asked with suspicion while they were going on the ice for the warmup.

"I asked her on a date. Do the same." Abby said sharply and skated away. She wasn't going to deal with Manny's uncertainties when everything was resolvable if he'd decide not to be a coward.

Something was…not right with the way Abby's right skate slid on ice, but Abby couldn't really understand what and didn't pay any mind to it, thinking she was just imagining things and getting paranoid. She thought if she just willed her mind to think her skate was fine, it'd actually become fine.

And it was fine during the first half of the warmup, so Abby decided she was just overthinking and seeing things that were not there. Eric instructed them on the group warmup and Abby gladly got into the position, ready to kick her teammates' asses. Everything was just the same, she skated as fast as she could, getting past her pretend opponents and scored a few times.

And then everything wasn't just the same.

Abby was doing a hockey stop when something happened and suddenly she was falling on the ice with the speed of a fast hockey player, her head, shoulder and knee hit the floor so hard and painful she didn't even notice the real problem yet. She groaned and sat up immediately, while Manny skated to her, worried.

"Abs, are you okay?"

"Shit." Abby groaned as her head spun a little. She moved her shoulder to check if anything serious happened, but it was mostly fine. She started to stand up, but when she put weight on her right foot the pain shot through her body and she actually let out a short cry as she fell on her ass. "My ankle, fuck, I can't stand on it." Abby said, panting from sudden pain that wasn't going away.

Everyone was coming to them to check if everything was alright, and Abby hated it, hated having attention in a moment of weakness, hated that people got worried.

"You need a doctor." Manny said and motioned to their teammates to help him get Abby up.

Him and Jesse pulled Abby up and let her put her weight on them as they skated her back to benches. Abby tried to close off from everyone emotionally, but Eric's disgruntled face made her irrationally upset. Boys helped her sit on a bench and Abby started untying her skate on the right ankle with a rush, hoping to prove she was fine and she just twisted it and everything was going to be fine.

"What happened?" Eric asked in a tense voice.

"I have no fucking idea." Abby growled and took her skate off, examining it.

The fucking screw. The fucking screw fell off and her blade was unstable and that was why she felt off on the ice the whole practice. Abby wanted to smack herself in the face - she always checked her skates, she knew it could happen, it was a fucking rookie mistake.

"The blade got unscrewed." Abby said way too neutral.

"You didn't check your skates before you went on ice?!" Eric erupted, annoyed and angry. "Anderson, are you five?"

Abby didn't say anything, because she didn't have an explanation why she forgot to check, she couldn't even understand it herself.

"Amazing." Eric huffed. "Abby, the next game is in a week, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

"I just twisted my ankle." Abby bit back. "I'll be fine in three days."

Abby took the second skate off and stood up to prove her point, but she immediately sat back down as she felt her ankle just sinking down to her foot as if nothing was keeping it in place.

"Yeah no shit you twisted it." Eric rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, Abby, the whole fucking season will go to shit now because you didn't fucking check your skates."

"Don't be dramatic." Abby rolled her eyes, but his words were getting to her. She knew her ankle wasn't twisted - it was more serious, and she wouldn't be on ice for god knows how long, and she was one of the best in their team, people were relying on her, and now she let them down.

"Come on Abs, you need to go to the hospital, it doesn't look good." Jesse pointed at her already swollen ankle.

"Yeah I know." Abby bit back and Jesse just rolled his eyes in return, refusing to deal with her shit.

"I'll drive you. Come on, let's go pack your bag." Manny said too cheerfully, knowing what a bitch Abby could be when something was out of her life order. Eric just huffed and went out of Manny's way.

Abby didn't say anything and let Manny support her as she hopped all the way to the lockers on one leg. They didn't talk and Abby was glad - she really didn't want to discuss the whole situation. She clumsily changed her clothes while Manny waited and chuckled when Abby swore in irritation.

"Ready?"

Abby glared at him and Manny just laughed, taking her bag in one hand and supporting Abby with the other as they slowly made their way to Abby's car.

Fuck, she couldn't drive anymore. Abby felt her chest tighten from her frustration, but she kept it to herself. Manny took her driving seat and started the car.

"Maybe call (y/n), let her know what happened?" Manny suggested carefully.

The thought of worrying you almost made Abby cry from anger - not only she let her team down, but now she couldn't take care of you the way she wanted, and even more, you'd be the one to worry about her and take care of her, because she knew you wouldn't leave her alone and let her lick her wounds in peace, you were just as caring as she was.

Abby opened your chat, going for an easy option - she couldn't handle hearing your concerned voice and managing her emotions at the same time right now.

to: dancing queen

I hurt my ankle during practice

Manny is taking me to the hospital

Abby sent her messages and locked her phone, not sure now if she'd be able to handle your concerned texts. She tapped her fingers nervously and Manny looked at her, curious.

"You texted her?"

"Yes."

"Good." Manny turned the wheel. "You know Eric is an asshole, right? He talks shit all the time."

"But he is right, if I'm not on the ice the whole team is fucked."

"Fuck you, we can play just fine." Manny laughed. "If we always relied on you then what's the whole point of the team? I promise you, I'll personally put these pucks for you while you're home. Each one of them is going to be for you, Anderson."

"Yeah, I don't think there's going to be a lot." Abby snorted, getting some sense of normality back with the way they bantered. Manny hit her shoulder playfully and she laughed a little.

Her phone buzzed with the notification.

from: dancing queen

r you okay?

I mean

Obviously not

But how bad is it?

Abby felt her heart clench in her chest with how typically you your texts were.

to: dancing queen

Can't step on my foot, i need to get an x-ray

from: dancing queen

this sucks :(

I'll come to your place tonight

If it's okay

to: dancing queen

Ofc

Abby typed it, but she wasn't sure if it was a good idea: she wanted you to comfort her, but the thought of you seeing her being weak made her feel ashamed. She couldn't say anything else to you now, her head was not in the right space anymore, so she locked her phone until she got a new notification.

from: dancing queen

Text me when you get your results, ok?

to: dancing queen

Yes ma'am

from: dancing queen

Love you ❤️

we'll figure it out

to: dancing queen

Love you too

Abby took a sharp breath to keep her tears at bay, trying to ignore your last message: she was supposed to say these things to you, she was supposed to take care of you, to soothe you and fix your problems, not the other way around, and if she just fucking checked her fucking skates nothing of this would have to happen.

Manny didn't try to talk to Abby anymore until they came to the hospital.

The whole ordeal didn't take a long time: they quickly got Abby's information, the doctor looked her ankle over and sent her for an x-ray, all professionally uncaring, just like all doctors were. It kept Abby grounded, the familiar place and familiar attitude of her father, all calm and all-knowing, like everything was manageable and fixable and nothing was truly a disaster.

Manny helped Abby to get to the x-ray room and after that they just stayed and waited for a doctor to come and tell what was wrong with her ankle. Abby already knew he'd say it sprained, and she knew it meant 3 weeks of not leaving home and not stepping on her foot, a few days of RICE, and a bunch of fucking problems and a nasty recovery.

Fuck she felt awful.

The doctor came and said the same thing - she sprained her ankle, no movements, put the ice on, wear compressions and keep the foot on something higher than her body position. Abby knew all of it.

The doctor gave her two options for her ankle: either a cast or a heavy duty ankle brace, which was a much better option, so Abby got her brace and a pair of crutches.

Abby looked at them with a heavy heart: she knew how useful they were and how much her life would be better with them, but for some reason she felt like they were the last thing that just cemented the thought that this was it. She was going to be dependent on other people, and she would be taken care of, not the other way around. And it made her feel weak, and she hated it. Her independence and self-reliance was something she just couldn't let go of, and this situation was forcing her to let go, and it was making her angry.

Abby accepted the crutches and it took her a few minutes to get the hang of it, but it was so much easier to move now and Abby felt relieved - at least she didn't need Manny to help her walk now. She was wrong - the crutches were not the last nail in the coffin with her independence, they were the thread that kept her independence alive.

from: Abby

My ankle is sprained, but it's not too serious

Manny is driving me home rn

You looked at your phone and sighed from relief: you were worried Abby's ankle might be broken, or worse, her ligaments fully torn. The sprains were nasty and annoying, you knew it from experience, but it was manageable and it didn't leave you fully immobile, which was a plus you get to appreciate after you get immobile.

to: Abby

I'm relieved it's not broken

I'm on my way

You already packed your bag with everything Abby'd need for her injury, including some snacks that could lift her mood up. You suspected she was upset but didn't want to show it or even talk about it - in these months you've been together sometimes it was a struggle to support Abby emotionally because she wouldn't share what was bothering her. Not every time, but she had some touchy topics and she'd be grumpy for a few days, processing it by herself, but trying her best not to be a bitch to you because of it. You appreciated that and didn't pressure her to talk to you, but sometimes you just felt like you didn't give Abby enough support.

It was cold outside, but Abby's hoodie kept you warm under your coat as you waited on the stairs of Abby's apartment building for her to come home. You put your cold hands into your pocket and waited until you saw the familiar car pulling over.

Manny was driving, and you felt like it was wrong, but you were really thankful Abby had someone to take care of her and help her when you weren't around. You came closer to the car while Manny helped Abby get out of it, handing her her crutches.

"Hi." You said gently and hugged Abby as carefully as possible. She couldn't return your hug, her arms supporting her weight, but you didn't expect her to. "How are you?"

"Fine." Abby said in a blank voice, but you didn't comment on it - she was definitely not in the mood and it was justified.

You looked at Manny and he just rolled his eyes, definitely telling how much not in the mood Abby was.

You decided not to ask any questions until you got Abby comfortable and safe, so you made some small talk with both of them, trying to bring Abby back from her head. She was keeping up with the conversation, but you saw how slowly but surely she was getting pissed off because it took her so long to climb the stairs. After a flight she just handed her crutches to Manny and started jumping over the stairs, holding to the railings as she went. It was indeed faster, and after ten minutes you were finally home.

"Thanks man." Abby said when Manny put her bag down on the floor.

"That's nice to hear." Manny smirked and patted her shoulder. "Get better, Abs. Make your ankle your bitch and heal it."

Abby chuckled and you hugged Manny goodbye.

"Thank you for taking care of her." You said quietly.

"That's what friends are for. She gave me love advice, I gave her a ride to the hospital. Good night, ladies."

Abby let out a long sigh and started taking her coat off. You did the same, and when all street clothes were taken off, you followed Abby to the hall, patiently waiting for her to move. Abby sat down on the sofa and you sat beside her, taking her hand in yours.

"What did the doctor say?"

"The ligament isn't torn fully, but it won't heal fast." Abby said, her voice just a little tense. "Three weeks at home."

You opened your bag and took a bottle of chocolate milk you bought for her.

"That's to cheer you up a little." You smiled and got a small, faint smile in return, but it was more than enough for you. "Okay. I've been through this shit before, so I bought some things that can make it easier and faster."

You took a few tubes and showed them to Abby, who was still grumpy and tense.

"This is from the bruises, because they're going to be big, this is a painkiller but actually has some repair effect, and these are vitamins that can help with healing."

You laid it all on the sofa and Abby looked it over with the most blank face you saw in all this time you knew her, and it was making you anxious.

"You also need to put something cold on it right now, it'll help with the swelling."

"Yeah, I fucking know, I'm a fucking med student." Abby rolled her eyes and you froze, immediately shutting up.

That hurt. You swallowed the lump that suddenly got stuck in your throat, wounded by Abby's tone and her irritation with you when all you wanted was to help her and take care of her.

There was a tense silence and Abby shut her eyes in guilt as the situation dawned on her, but before she could say anything you started talking despite the lump in your throat and pain in your chest and shaking hands.

"Abby, don't talk to me like that. I know you're upset, but please don't take your frustrations on me." You said in a surprisingly steady and strict voice. You didn't deserve to be treated like this, especially by your girlfriend, especially when you were trying to take care of her.

Abby looked guilty, but her face got closed off for a moment as if she considered shutting you out, and you felt like something was dying inside of you because of it.

"Fuck, sorry." Abby sighed with guilt, not looking at you, clearly too vulnerable for her liking. Something eased up in you after you heard her voice: she was trying to resolve this, and this what actually mattered. Abby looked at you, finally, with guilty puppy eyes and it calmed you down a little, knowing she wasn't turning it into a fight. "I just- fuck."

You got closer to her, taking her hand in yours again. You put your feelings away for now, fully concentrating on making Abby feel safe to open up.

"Hey, I understand." You said in a gentle soft voice. "Been there. We can talk about it if you want, or you can vent. It's fucking annoying, isn't it?"

Abby shut her eyes tightly, her jaw tense - she was trying so hard to keep calm and not cry. She even turned away from you, embarrassed of her weakness, but you were patient.

"Yeah." She said in a strained voice, her crying bubbling up in her throat.

You hugged Abby carefully and the dam broke. Abby sniffled and silently cried in your arms, all frustration and guilt from the day getting out as you caressed her head and shoulders, soothing her. Abby relaxed against you, fully leaning on you not physically, but emotionally.

"It's so fucking annoying, the stupid screw fucked everything up." Abby said in a hoarse voice somewhere in your neck, her tears hot on your collarbones. "And fucking Eric just kept saying shit how we'll lose now because I'm not going to play."

"Asshole." You huffed. "Fuck him."

Abby chuckled halfheartedly and stayed in your arms for a few minutes, calming down, her head getting clearer.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." Abby said in a small voice. "This whole thing sucks."

"It does." You kissed the top of her head. "Abby, I'm not scared of your anger or any negative emotions, okay? You can fuck this whole room up and I'll cheer you on, but don't fuck me up because of it."

You were shaking but your voice was steady. You knew Abby needed to hear that, and you needed to show her your limits, so even if your anxiety was going through the roof as you were saying these words, they needed to be said.

"'m sorry." She said again, now even more guilty.

"Thank you." You kissed her forehead. "It wasn't okay, but we're okay." You said just as gently as before and Abby hugged you tighter.

You were still a little shaky, your heart still ached, but you weren't mad anymore. You kissed her forehead again, the desire to soothe her growing by the second.

"What happened?"

"My blade got unscrewed. I felt that something was wrong, but ignored it. So I went for a stop and my skate broke down."

"Oh god." You imagined Abby falling on the ice and you felt awful. "Does anything else hurt?"

"Shoulder's bruised I think."

"Okay. What if I run you a bath, then we will sort out all the medicine and then you'll rest? I'll order some food if you want."

Abby suddenly got very aware of how hungry she was.

"Yeah."

"Cool." You kissed Abby quickly, happy she was letting you take care of her.

Abby felt shy for some reason, waiting for you to run her a bath. She wasn't used to anyone taking care of her, so it made her feel useless and confused, but in a good way. Abby felt awkward just waiting, she wanted to do something, so she started stripping while you fixed the water temperature. Her right shoulder was bruised, but it didn't really hurt to move it.

"Okay. So, as a sprained ankle veteran, I have some tips." You said comically and Abby smiled. "I know you're tough and strong, but don't try to get inside in one go. Sit on the edge and then slowly turn around."

Abby huffed - that should have been obvious, but she also wanted to get in the bath in one go because she was not a little bitch, so you caught her there. The pants were tricky to take off, but you helped Abby with it, sitting her down on the edge as you tugged them all the way down. The brace was lying on top of Abby's clothes and you looked over her swollen ankle.

"My poor baby." You cooed and kissed Abby's cheek. Abby huffed, embarrassed, but deep down she enjoyed you babying her like this. "I can tell you something that I'm not supposed to tell you."

Abby got in the bath carefully, relaxing and letting the long sigh out.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I usually get so fed up with hopping, I start putting my weight on my ankle after a week. It's a bad idea, so don't do it."

"I think you told me that so I could do it." Abby chuckled.

"Well, I know you'll get fed up with it, so I thought I could get you to not stand on your foot for at least a week." You smiled bashfully.

Abby's mood was going up a little as you talked to her. It felt almost normal, as if you were just hanging out.

"Can I wash your hair?" You asked, shy, and Abby felt her chest bubbling up with affection. She squeezed your hand and nodded.

You moved behind her and started massaging her scalp tenderly, and Abby relaxed, enjoying your fingers in her hair. Abby always got sleepy when someone was playing with her hair, and after this awful day your hands felt like a blessing, lulling her worries and anger away. You were so careful and gentle, so fucking loving Abby wanted to cry and to pray to whatever deity that made her stay at the dance studio that day.

"Close your eyes, baby." You said quietly and Abby obeyed, letting you wash the shampoo away. She felt like with this shampoo something nasty went away, something that made her want to tell you to fuck off a half an hour ago when you were so kind to her. Abby couldn't deal with kindness very well, especially when she felt weak. Abby always reacted to people caring about her with anger, like a wounded animal that attacks a helping hand thinking it’s there to kill it. Abby hated pity, and kindness tore her apart and made her achingly vulnerable, but she was safe with you. You were handling her shit with care and love and she snapped at you in return and she wanted to cry again now.

"I'll never be mean to you again." Abby said nearly choked up by her shame, but she wanted to say it out loud, to promise this to you.

"Baby." You said in a fond voice and Abby felt like she was on fucking fire from you being so gentle when she was vulnerable. She couldn’t actually say anything in return, her emotions, positive and negative, were making a molotov cocktail in her chest, burning through her as your fingers tenderly went over her body.

After bath you helped Abby dry her hair and change, and then you were both back on the couch while you explained some things to Abby about living with a sprained ankle that she probably didn't know, like wearing high socks with a brace because it would hurt otherwise. Abby put some ointments on while you went to get her high socks, and then you ordered some food while Abby put the brace on. Abby sipped her chocolate milk, so pleased with having something sweet to boost her mood. You really knew her, didn't you?

"I'm going to be super unpleasant, but you need to email your professors." You said, and Abby groaned. She forgot about her classes, and now it would be such a pain in the ass to keep her grades in check while she would be at home.

“Oh yeah, my profs are going to kill me.”

“Not if I kill them first.” You said, completely serious, and Abby laughed. You looked like you were ready to kick her professors’ asses if they’d even think about not accommodating Abby now. “I’m serious, I’ll hunt them down if they give you a hard time.”

“Doll, you won’t hurt a fly.” Abby cooed at you and enjoyed your stern expression that made you even more cute.

“I usually don’t have a good enough reason.” You shrugged. “I could be downright nasty if I wanted to.”

Abby, who's seen you telling people off, decided not to argue with that.

“Do you want me to stay the night? Or would you prefer to have some space?” You asked carefully, and Abby got upset like a baby from the thought that you might leave, so she grabbed your hand and pulled you closer.

“Please stay.”

This night Abby fell asleep in your arms as you hugged her from behind, her head tucked under your chin. Your breathing was deep and steady and Abby felt like your little form was protecting her from every worry, every self-deprecating thought, soothing her desperate anger, calming her sea storm like some kind of ancient goddess, turning her violent waves into a quiet tide as your gentle hands caressed her skin.

Abby was safe with you in a way she wasn't safe with anyone since she was a small baby, and she seared this feeling on her heart, not letting herself ever forget how you made her feel.

"Hey, (y/n)." Abby called quietly, not sure if you were awake.

"Mhm?"

"I'm going to marry you."

You laughed quietly and kissed the top of her head, and Abby let you think she was just joking, but she knew that one day she'd buy a ring and get on one knee in front of you and make you hers for the rest of your lives, because you were the one for her.

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #hockey!abby

206 notes · View notes

cleromancy · 8 months

Note

HI I WOULD LOVE TO SEE SNIPPETS OF THE EX CHILD STAR AU

thank you anon 🥰 sry it took me a few days to post this lol

cws: references to mental health problems and a previous suicide attempt, and lasting trauma from exploitation. uh, and past drug use.

If you had asked Dick twenty-four hours ago about his apartment, he would have said it was fine. Not too modest, not too ostentatious, not so public he has to worry about creeps but not as isolated as the villa. He's so glad they sold the villa. Nicest place he's ever lived, and if he'd stayed there one more day he'd have been peeling off the wallpaper muttering about ex-child stars trapped inside, creeping. Where he lives now is within walking distance from a friendly little corner store where he picks up cereal and almond milk and anything else he doesn't want to wait to get delivered, which is convenient, and a somewhat-longer-but-still-doable hike away from Dick's favorite store in L.A, a tiny little candy shop that only stays afloat out of sheer spite. The owner, a cantankerous old man that Dick loved immediately upon meeting, roasts Dick mercilessly every time Dick comes in, but he also keeps Dick's standing order of the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads in stock just for him, so Dick wouldn't buy them anywhere else even if he could.

And as long as you have that and a laundry room, you're golden. If Dick had to leave his apartment to wash his socks he'd just lie down and die, or else wear a lot of dirty clothes.

So normally if asked, Dick would conclude that the apartment is, actually, better than fine, maybe even pretty good, and then he would change the subject.

It's just hitting Dick now that he's lived here for seven years now and he doesn't think he's ever actually looked around. They hired somebody to move his stuff into storage while Dick was still in inpatient and somebody else to decorate the apartment so it would be livable right when he got out, before he got around to picking up his stuff (he keeps meaning to do that). Moving in, all Dick cared about was getting a burrito the size of his face and sleeping on sheets that didn't smell faintly of industrial bleach masked poorly by something artificial, vaguely floral, and marketed as *Mountain Breeze.* In the grey haze it hadn't occurred to him to wonder if maybe the decor was itself a little too grey.

"Or whatever color they call this," Dick says to himself, staring down an oversized decorative vase with a few sticks poking out that you'd think would be silk flowers or something, but instead have these fuzzy little puffballs attached for some reason. "Gray-beige? Taupe? Greige? Why do I even have you." He tilts it to one side. It's shockingly heavy. "Why do I have *six of you.*"

Looking down the hallway it's obvious that the interior design team had a vision, and that vision was "innoffensive, featureless neutrality." There are just enough wall hangings to qualify as "minimalist" over "austere," black and white photographs of bland still lifes in featureless frames. Some kind of hanging tapestry except it's solid white with hanging tassels. Grey-toned floor, lighter grey-toned floor runner. The end result sails right past "boring" into "escaped psych ward patient" territory. Which Dick resents. He did his time, thank you very much, and waited until his official discharge like a good boy. That's probably why he didn't notice until now, psych ward home away from psych ward home.

Yeah. Let's blame that. The fact that he spent his first year out of the hospital doing nothing but trying to beat his Tetris high score in his underwear and scouring the internet trying to find the tragically discontinued Triple Xtreme Face Pucker Nuclear Warheads had nothing to do with it.

"He's going to think I'm a serial killer," Dick realizes.

He's most of the way through Tetrising the unwieldy, surpringly heavy vases into the tiny cubicle the guest bathroom calls a shower—and he'd like to know whose idea *that* was when anyone with a lick of sense would have just made it a half-bath—when the buzzer for the lobby goes off.

"Crap," Dick mutters, taking half a step away from the tower, which wobbles ominously. He lunges to steady it. "Crap!"

He casts around for a surface and sets the last two vases on the toilet lid and the sink respectively, the stupid little Q-tip stick things rattling mockingly inside, then dashes out to tell the doorman that no, Roy's not a stalker, yes really, yes Dick wants you to let him up please, yes he is serious, yes he is sure. He has enough time to sprint back to the bathroom and make sure his hair is okay and confirm that at least he doesn't *look* as sweaty and disheveled as he *feels,* but thankfully not enough time to start worrying if he might be due early for another round of fillers or if his hairline might be receding or if the skin under his jaw might be sagging. He looks fine. Everything's fine.

When the doorbell rings, Dick has to pretend he doesn't know who's on the other side to get himself to finally open the door. His breath still catches when he sees him.

Roy, casual as ever, pushing a pair of Ray-Bans he told Dick he shoplifted as a teenager up his forehead. His crow's feet, because he stopped getting fillers at twenty-five, except *his* are laugh lines, not stress wrinkles, less those *Where Are They Now?* specials they used to do on VH1, more Paul Newman aging like fine wine. His crooked smile, and he doesn't whiten his teeth anymore either, teased Dick when he drove him for his root canal that he was destroying his enamel and then held his hand when they put him under. His scuffed bomber jacket, older than either of them, which sparked half a dozen anecdotes about an Uncle Hal when Dick brushed his fingers against a faded patch on the sleeve. His henley with three buttons undone, straining over the curve of his chest. His jeans tight around the thighs, a little threadbare in places after over a decade of wear. The whole of him, broad and easy in the doorway, unapologetically imperfect, smiling.

Dick just wants this to go well so *badly.* "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Roy says, shifting a little. "Can I come in?"

"Please."

Roy closes the door behind him, bending to unlace his boots. Dick's eyes catch for a second on the strain of his thighs against denim, and the nervous inane smalltalk on its way out of Dick's mouth dies on his lips.

Roy kicks the second boot off and straightens up, dusting his palms off on his thighs, which probably shouldn't make Dick's mouth fill with saliva the way it does. He's looking around the entryway, curious. "Nice place."

*Don't mention the vases.* "You think so? I keep meaning to update a little."

"Yeah, man, it's nice," Roy says easily, and he's lying but Dick can barely tell, which is kind of him. "You want to show me around?"

No, Dick does not want to show him around. No, he does not want to discover alongside Roy what other modern minimalist nightmares the interior design team saw fit to install in case Dick got too overstimulated by non-neutral colors and tried to kill himself again.

"I want to show you the media room," Dick says, which at least has the benefit of actually being true.

The "whoa" Roy lets out when they enter the media room is gratifying. It's most people's reaction when they see it. It's always gratifying.

"Is that a pinball machine?" Roy asks.

Dick grins. "You wanna play?"

"Hell yeah, just. Later. You have so much cool shit here, show me all of it—"

Maybe the other reason Dick barely knows what the rest of his apartment looks like is because this is where he spends most of his time. Freshly discharged from the hospital, Dick had scarfed down his face-sized burrito, faceplanted on the bed, slept like a log for about two days straight and woken up not entirely sure what year it was or why. He looked around the room, remembered it was his, flicked on the lamp on his bedside table and didn't like it any better in the light. It was the smooth plasticine decor that Dick's belatedly come to realize populated the entire apartment, featureless, meaningless, trying desperately to be mature by being entirely devoid of interest. *My bedroom pays taxes,* Dick remembers thinking. *My bedroom has a 401k.* He grabbed his meds from his bedside table and stuffed them in his sweatpants pocket before wrapping himself in the big gray down comforter and dragging it to what he supposed was the den, flopping on the couch and sleeping for another six hours, eventually waking with the cap of PRAZOSIN - 10MG - GRAYSON, RICHARD J digging into his hip.

Time was sort of soupy a lot of the time back before he got his ADHD diagnosis, because of the brain fog. For the longest time his psychiatrists kept adjusting his Wellbutrin dose pretending they thought that had a chance in hell of working while Dick sat listlessly in their offices, missing meth. It wasn't until later when Jason Todd of all people dragged him to a specialist (because "if I have it, you definitely have it" successfully nettled Dick into going just to prove him wrong, except of course it turned out the bastard was right) and Dick found a new psychiatrist who was halfway competent and put him on Adderall that he really felt at all present again. The psychiatrist he has now, who is from hell and who doesn't let him get away with lying and who is incredibly good at her job, was the one who told him how much meth and ADHD stimulants have in common chemically.

Dick sat very still. Then he pointed to the throw cushion on the couch. "Can I borrow that for just a sec?"

"Take as long as you need."

Dick grabbed the pillow, buried his face in it, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

But for a while, yeah. Time was soup Dick was mostly afloat in. He spent it floating here.

Now that Dick is looking for it, he notices the gray in the floor and the walls, the aggressive featurelessness of even the window frames, but he likes the rest of the room enough not to mind. At one point he'd been irrationally angry at the pile of mail he'd put off opening for over a month, and he'd been going through a minor fixation with auction websites at the time, and there was an old, probably busted Ms Pac Man arcade machine up for sale and for some reason Dick latched onto it. For some reason winning the auction of the stupid Ms Pac Man machine was very briefly the most important thing in the world. And he did win the auction, because nobody else wanted the janky old thing, and to Dick's shock and delight it actually *worked*, and suddenly he had a project.

At first he bought and fixed up old arcade fixtures, classic games and pinball machines mostly but he dabbled in anything; he'd even gotten his hands on an air hockey table once. Then he'd get bored or run out of space, sell a bunch of things or even give them away if he was too sick of looking at them, and before terribly long he drifted away from arcades specifically. That part he credits to a film projector he ran into at a flea market and fell in love with, which prompted him to spend possibly obscene amounts of money on the sound system and improving the acoustics. He fell in love with a lot of objects, those days, maybe because he wasn't talking to *people* much. Not people who knew him well, anyway. He was on first name terms with his favorite antique dealers, one of whom inexplicably set aside an old Gibson electric guitar he found, a gorgeous machine in a charmingly 60s shade of Robin's egg blue, because he said it reminded him of Dick. Either because he somehow knew Dick would love it, or else because he knew Dick was a sucker with way too much money.

It didn't matter. Dick *did* love it, and he *is* a sucker with way too much money, and he *did* go straight home to almost give himself tinnitus playing every three-chord classic he knew at a truly unwise volume.

(Dick even replaced the original couch in this room because he kept falling asleep on it and his physical therapist threatened to quit over the havoc he was wreaking on his back. He's still not thrilled that he doesn't really sleep in bed ever, but the new couch isn't threatening to do permanent damage to his spine. Win/win in Dick's book.)

So. Not a home arcade, not a home theater, not a home studio. Scavenged bits and salvaged pieces, nostalgia probably in excess, anchors in time. Whatever magic they put in the air at antique stores and estate sales and really good museum exhibits, Dick managed to bottle a breath of it and take it home with him. When he finally started letting people into his life again, the unabashed delight often on their faces, walking into this room full of outdated obsolete frivolous things, sharing it with them… it's good. It feels good.

"Does that ancient popcorn machine actually work?" Roy asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning.

Dick matches it. "Yeah, and it's gonna knock your socks off."

So Dick gets the popcorn going and shows Roy around and silently laments that there was no way he could get his hands on film reels of The Muppet Show. Roy was almost as much of a geek about some of these machines as Dick was, and Dick had made it his whole personality for a while.

"It's just that there are some antique collectors that really don't mess around," Dick explained to Donna the week before, twisting and untwisting his napkin in his hands. "And I'm a competitive guy but some of the markets are totally cutthroat, and film people and puppet people are both intense. So this was better."

"Yeah, *and* it'd be insane to drop that kind of money on a first date," said Jason through a mouthful of bacon cheeseburger, Mister *we're not brothers we just played them on TV.* Dick had invited Donna to lunch, Jason had loudly said he was too busy to come, Dick said he wasn't invited, and Jason's schedule suddenly cleared up, *viola,* miracles do happen.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Dick told him.

"Die," Jason suggested pleasantly.

'Just played it on TV.' Sure.

"And it's not a date," Dick added belatedly, stomach swooping.

Jason had opened his mouth to probably say something horrible, as is his way, and instead let out a hilarious squeak, turning to Donna next to him in the booth with massive betrayed Bambi eyes.

She ignored him, continuing to pour Sweet-N-Low packets into her half-empty coffee as if she didn't just stomp on his foot under the table. She didn't really like coffee until it got to the consistency of artificially sweetened sludge. When they were young Donna was always on top of what was *in*, considering it part of her full-time job to appear effortlessly sophisticated; she skipped the teen-preteen fashion beat and shot straight to the big leagues by fifteen. They were putting the equivalent of a *sophomore in high school* on best dressed lists alongside grown-ass women. It should never have happened. No one should have *let* it happen. One time even before all that, Dick and Jason stole a box of Krispy Kreme donuts from catering and absconded to her trailer to share and she had a panic attack. Years later she described her youth as being in a room full of invisible mirrors at all times. Those days she wouldn't be caught dead with anything less chic than an espresso from whatever new *it* cafe just opened. And there she was, two decades later, blithely desecrating two-dollar-fifty diner coffee with enough aspartame to kill a cart horse in front of god and everyone. She was probably Dick's favorite person in the entire world, and he went into a little trance for a moment, watching her graceful hands with horrified fascination.

Finally satisfied, she took a sip of her monstrosity and hummed, satisfied with that which she hath wrought. "Wait and see," she suggested. "If it goes well, it can be a date."

"And everyone says *I'm* the crazy one," Jason griped, rubbing the prison stick-n-poke tattoo on one thumb with the other.

"Well, if everyone says it, it must be true," Donna said warmly, knocking her shoulder against Jason's.

#dc #roydick #dick and jason #dick and donna #ex child star au #dick grayson

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the-hinky-panda · 10 months

Text

The Preacher's Wife Series: Escape (Part I)

TW: Domestic spousal abuse: emotional, mental, physical, and sexual

Hank’s in love.

Again.

It’s too soon, the wounds from the previous relationship still fresh, still stinging. But he thinks back to feeling Maggie pressed to his side, her hand in his, her head resting against his shoulder. It was one of the only times that he actually followed the speed limit back to her rental, trying to draw out the time. He can’t get it out of my mind just how perfect everything had been. He certainly doesn’t believe in romantic nonsense like soulmates but the feeling of watching Maggie walk into the cabin by herself was like watching a piece of himself go with her.

Maybe he is starting to believe in soulmates.

Either way, the problem remains of her husband and the process of getting her and the two children out of that mansion in La Jolla. He can’t contact Maggie directly so he approaches the next best thing, Maggie’s sister, Stitches. She’s been the medic for a couple years now and hasn’t mentioned anything specific about Maggie and her marriage. She’s hinted at being concerned for Maggie, always excited for Maggie’s visits to Santo Padre. But never has she brought up to the club a fear for her sister’s safety.

Stitches is organizing her medical supplies in the treatment room in the clubhouse when Hank finally tracks her down. He’s only been back from Big Bear Lake for two hours and he can’t shake the conversation he had just earlier today in the truck with Maggie. He raps lightly on the open door.

“Stitch, you got a minute?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” She stands up and immediately starts scanning him, looking for any injuries.

“I’m fine,” he waves her off. “I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you about your sister, Maggie.”

Concern immediately clouds her face. “Maggie? What’s going on with Maggie?”

“I ran into her, up at Big Bear Lake.”

Stitches’ concern dissipates immediately and she breaks into a big smile. “Oh yeah, she was heading up there for a conference.”

Hank smirked. “Conference.”

“Ah,” Stitches leans against the exam table. “So she told you about her other ‘job.’”

“She did. My mom likes reading her books.”

Stitches’ grin gets wider. “I’m sure the next time she’s visiting, we can stop by and see your mom if you want. It’ll do Maggie good, finding people who enjoy her books. She doesn’t get to have that satisfaction too much.”

Hank smiles at that but then gets to the real reason for his visit. “Has Maggie ever said anything about how her husband treats her?”

All positivity drains from her face. “I know he’s an asshole. Emotionally manipulative and a bully. I’ve been stashing money and family heirlooms for her in preparation for her to leave but she keeps telling me the timing isn’t right yet. Her publisher is also holding on to her royalties as well. Why?”

“She just said a few things that concerned me. Wanted to get a clearer picture from you.”

Stitches’ mouth is a firm, tense line. “What things?”

The words are so bitter on his tongue when he says them. “I think he’s hitting her.”

“That son of a bitch.”

She starts to move past him but he puts out a hand and catches her shoulder. The explosion is expected and he is prepared for it thankfully. “Now hold on. You know if that’s true, we do have to wait on her.”

“Dammit, I know.” She emits a frustrated noise and kicks the small trash can. “Shit. I had no idea he was hitting her or that it was even a possibility. He’s so focused on goddam appearances I didn’t think he would do that.”

“It seemed like she let it slip when we were talking. She said it was never anything to go see about at a hospital or ER. I don’t think anyone knows.”

“Course not. Simon Peters needs to keep his reputation clean or he could lose that money machine of a church. Can’t have a wife sporting bruises and casts…” Stitches pauses in her rant, her eyes going wide. “Oh my God. Her foot.”

“She mentioned breaking it but didn’t say how.”

Stitches returns to pacing the small room, her face thunderous. “I knew it. I knew Simon had something to do with her broken foot. The bones on the top of her foot were just snapped. She had to have metal pins and plates in there to fix it. She said her foot got caught under a box and she lost balance and fell backwards. It sounded fishy to me but she assured me that’s all it was.”

Hank feels that sick feeling settling in his stomach. “What did it look like to you?”

“It looked like someone stood on her foot and pushed her backwards, that’s what the breaks looked like.” Stitches lets out another sound of anger. “Six years! Six years, she’s been stuck in that house with that asshole! And I didn’t…” her eyes flood with tears and she covers her face with her hands. “I didn’t know, Hank. God, I didn’t know.”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Bishop appears in the doorway.

Tears are still streaming down her face and gives both Hank and Bishop the most helpless look. “My sister needs help.”

Bishop turns to Hank. “What kind of help?”

Taza appears at Bishop’s shoulder, peering into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Stitches’ sister needs help,” Bishop says.

Hank fills in the rest of the information. “Abusive husband.”

Bishop nods. “He armed? Security guards? What are we talking?”

“He’s the pastor of a megachurch,” Hank answers. “Lives in a mansion in La Jolla.”

“The kids,” Stitches says. “We need to get the two kids too.”

“Alright,” Taza puts his arm around Stitches’ shoulders. “We will. You talk to her, find out when would be a good time to get her and the kids out.”

“Safely,” Hank adds.

“Safely,” Bishop repeats. “In the meantime, if we have something coming up that needs attention, I’ll make sure at least three guys stay behind to help. You pick them. Okay?”

Stitches wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “Okay. But don’t you have to bring this to the table or take a vote in Templo or something?”

Bishop glances at Hank and Taza, who give him minute nods, and he shakes his head. “No vote needed this time. Sometimes, we’re just all in agreement.”

#hank loza #hank 'tranq' loza #hank loza x ofc #hank loza fic #hank 'tranq' loza fic

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foundfamilynonsense · 2 years

Text

Ok but like. B.J from M*A*S*H = David from Giovanni’s Room hot take.

So. Y’know. This is obviously only if you accept the popular headcanon that BJ is gay, repressed, and in love with Hawkeye.

So anyway. David has sex with his childhood friend and then immediately starts repressing shit. He flees to France, somewhere where it’s not illegal to be gay, because he’s feeling the heat and knows he’s going to have to get married soon and he needs to put a pause on his life, to get away from that.

Then he goes to France. And yes, he does get to know a few people in the gay community. But what’s the first thing he does? He finds himself a perfect wife. Gets into a committed relationship to her. Until proposal is literally the only next step.

Ok. So BJ gets sent to Korea. And meets Hawkeye. And, yeah, this isn’t all that canon. But a lot of people in the fandom like the headcanon that BJ was immediately attracted to Hawkeye.

He’s away from home. If BJ was ever going to experiment with his sexuality it would be now. Now, I’m not saying he should have cheated on his wife but like y’know. If he was ever gonna let himself be gay it would be now.

But he doesn’t do that. He clearly has attachment to Hawkeye, but his whole personality revolves around his wife back home. Every time she has a problem at home, he becomes obsessed. His wife gets a job and he throws his ring into a poker table. He has a breakdown over her cleaning the gutters. He literally tells a woman who’s interested in him that he’s tethered to a little house with a wife back in California. He’s tied himself to his wife in the one place where it’d actually be better to let go a bit (again, not meaning cheating but like. Going to shambles bc somebody innocently hit on her).

So. For David, France represents his homosexuality. For BJ, it’s Korea. And both times, they completely reject it. Tether themselves to home and the heterosexual lie they’ve been telling (did I mention David’s girlfriend is American! Bc she is!)

So. David proposes to his girlfriend. Bc what else would someone escaping hetero standards in the US do in France? And she says SHE has to think about it and leaves for a trip around Spain.

Meanwhile, BJ gets some incorrect travel orders and gets to go home to his wife. He rushes off without even leaving Hawkeye a note and then. Gets caught. And gets sent right back to Hawkeye and the war.

Ok. Now what. David meets Giovanni and they get into a heavy relationship. Living together. Etc. meanwhile his girlfriend writes him back saying yes to his proposal and that she’ll be back, which is now a problem, bc like. Whoops. He now understands he doesn’t want her. Giovanni is sitting there, realistic and understanding, saying well you can have her and I’ll still be here no problem. But David just can’t think like that. Because in Giovanni’s room he can be gay, but this is his whole life, and he’s still repressed as hell.

BJ gets sent back. And the peace talks work out and the war is ending. And he refuses to say goodbye to Hawkeye. He refuses to admit they’ll never see each other again. They’ll meet up all the time. Even though BJ lives in California and Hawkeye in Maine. Meanwhile Hawkeye, who just came out of the mental hospital, is the voice of reason. Saying that they will never see each other, and that their relationship deserves a goodbye. They have a huge party talking about the future and BJ gets drunk and jokes about cheating on the wife he’s been obsessed with for so long, only a few days before he gets to see her again. Which seems a bit odd. Y’know, unless he actually didn’t want to face real life.

With both, only once the reality of the heterosexual love life is staring them in the face do they panic and allow themselves to want what they want.

And then what happens. The reality becomes too close and they’ve actually got to choose.

So. David doesn’t tell Giovanni, goes to pick up his fiancée, and writes his dad saying he’s coming home with a wife. Doesn’t acknowledge Giovanni again.

BJ goes home to his wife, says goodbye forever.

Giovanni’s Room ends with Giovanni getting put to death bc of a crime he wouldn’t have had to commit if David had just gotten his shit together. Meanwhile David gets caught in a gay bar by Hella, his fiancée, and she leaves him. He has no one and finishes the book in guilt and anguish.

So………… should I write a really fucking depressing M*A*S*H fanfic?

#mash #bj hunnicutt #giovanni’s room #Giovanni’s room spoilers

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theonewiththefanfics · 3 years

Text

Shield (one-shot)

Synopsis: To the new Captain America she might just be a human shield. But Bucky can see there’s more to it. What he can’t understand is why she stays.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, lil bit of fluff

Warnings: mentions of blood and guns, swearing, torture, low mental state etc.

Word count: 3591

I am going absolutely feral about the fact that a portion of the series takes place in Latvia as I am Latvian :D Just seeing the signs and streets (which are not really ours cause they filmed in Prague, but are similar enough I can envision it), especially because we’re such a small country is amazeballs, so to be in such a huge show with my MCU faves is insane. Had the same kind of reaction to Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Nikolaj and the Captain Latvia episode. Riga hammer for the win :D

P.S. John Walker is not Captain America cause he does not posses America’s ass. Also Zemo is one hundred percent Bucky’s and Sam’s sugar daddy. I won’t accept any dispute over this.

P.S.S. please also remember - John Walker is a character not a real person. John Walker is played by an actor who is doing his job the same way the actor who played Joffrey did. Do not harass him etc. but rather appreciate the insane talent he has. This place is a Wyatt Russell stan place.

P.S.S.S. Kinda spoilers for the show so if you haven’t seen it, don’t read this.

He hated him. Bucky genuinely hates him. He never thought he had despised something or someone so much, not even HYDRA, as much as he hated John Walker – the new Captain America. He wanted to scream at that, at the fact that this arrogant asshole was carrying Steve’s shield, the symbol of freedom and everything good, while in reality, he embodied none of what it stood for.

Walker and what he’d learned his sidekick was Battlestar, had swooped in from a helicopter while Sam and he had been following the Flag-Smasher vehicles, and, well, they hadn’t been a lot of help, which he shouldn’t be too surprised about. But what he had been surprised about was when they’d all been thrown off of the semi-trucks and scattered all around a field, someone else had been in the mix as well.

A young woman with Y/H/C hair and determined Y/E/C eyes was rushing towards them, screaming for them to stay on the ground. When Bucky looked behind, he could see why given how one of the radicalised people had jumped from the trucks and was barreling at them with an automatic cocked at them

But it wasn’t Walker who jumped up running past her, shield at the ready to take on the fire. No. He just remained sitting as the stranger kept her pace. She leapt at the two with a grace of a cat, pushing him and Sam back to the ground and immediately got blown back by the received ammunition, gasps leaving her mouth as the bullets entered her body.

Sam’s wings extended and created a body length shield as Bucky snatched one of the knives strapped to the man’s side and flung it with deadly accuracy into the Flag-Smasher’s neck, dropping him to the ground.

There was blood when he looked back. There was so much blood, and once again it was all over Bucky’s hands, and he couldn’t breathe properly, pressing down on her abdomen and shoulder and side, and. oh god, there were too many bullet wounds...

Two wide Y/E/C eyes stared back up at him, mouth gasping down shallow breaths as he held down on her wounds trying to stop the blood from pouring out. God, there was so much of it.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he gritted, his body trembling. “Well get you help. You’ll be alright.”

But then Walker spoke up, and Bucky saw read because of a different reason. “She’s fine, just leave it.”

His head snapped to see that arrogant bastard cross his arms as he hissed. “Leave it? She’s fucking bleeding out! She took those bullets for you, and you just want to leave it?!”

Walker just smirked, nudging his chin towards her body. “You’ll see.”

“You let her use herself as a shield while you did nothing!”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Because that’s her whole point.”

And that’s when Bucky felt her skin shift underneath his hands. Slowly the blood stopped pouring out, Y/N’s breathing evened, and her eyes closed not because death was calling, but because of relief as the regenerative cells kicked into high gear.

Bucky gazed in wonder as the wounds closed up, and when only scar tissue remained he snapped his blue eyes to her, Y/E/C ones already staring back at him.

“Who are you?” he whispered

“A human shield that’s what,” Walker answered in her stead, but Bucky just sneered.

“I asked who, not a what. She’s a fucking person.”

Once more he looked back down and saw a strange look in her eyes. It was as if she was trying to decipher what those words meant, but once the shock from such a huge assault had ended, she gulped down a breath and gave him a crooked smile. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

A lopsided one came to grace his own face. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky.” Her eyebrow rose. “Well, it’s very nice to finally meet you.”

He smiled at her, and not the painful smile he’d given the senator before her arrest, but a real genuine smile, one that made the skin around his eyes crinkle.

“And it’s very nice you didn’t decide to die on us.”

“Yeah, yeah, can we cut this meet and greet shorter?” Walker interrupted them, and if Bucky hadn’t been holding onto Y/N’s shoulder as she tried to rise from the ground, he would’ve punched the guy.

“I told you she was going to be fine.”

Bucky threw him his best murder glare but stopped when he felt Y/N squeeze his hand as if saying ‘don’t bother.' His brows furrowed in confusion. She just shook her head.

“We should still find you a hospital.” He talked to Y/N directly, ignoring what the new Captain was saying. “It doesn’t matter that you can survive something like that, I’d rather make sure you’re checked out by professionals.

“It won’t be necessary.” Walker slipped the shield on his arm and nudged his partner to start walking with him, pretty much expecting the rest to follow. “It was her choice anyway to take the hits.”

“It doesn’t mean she should!” Bucky pretty much hollered, startling even Sam.

At that, he saw Y/N’s eyes widen and her head snap up to look at him. All the breath got knocked out from Bucky at the emotion in her face. It was like she didn’t believe what he was saying like she didn’t know it was a possibility to not put her own life before someone else’s, that maybe someone is supposed to do it for her, someone could protect her.

“She absorbs fucking bullets and infuses them in her body.” John mocked. “I’d say it’s a win-win on both sides. Everyone else stays safe, and she gets stronger, right? The whole bleeding thing is a hitch in the system, but our guys say with enough scuffles that should stop as well.”

Walker looked at her. Y/N just gulped, staring back down at the ground between her knees.

When he looked back at everything the moment he’d seen Zemo in the cell and the asshole had said something still remained in him from the Winter Soldier, came back to connect with the scene. He’d hated that sentence because Bucky knew it was true. The Soldier would always be a part of him, but that was what therapy was for – to accept it and let go. But in that minute, he wouldn’t have cared one bit if the ruthless assassin came to the surface if it meant snapping Walker’s neck like a stick.

He treated the woman as if she was below him, as if Steve’s shield somehow made him better than her, better than anyone, and yet, even when he’d been given the privilege to carry it, he’d rather use a human person, no matter if they had powers, as a shield.

A soft hand touched his side, and Bucky looked at Y/N, his breathing heavy at Walker’s words.

“I’m alright.” Her voice was softer than he thought it would be. Maybe it was because she was trying to stay out of John’s earshot, but even the gentle whisper made something in Bucky’s chest stir. “Thank you,” she said. “For checking up on me.”

Bucky stiffly nodded, standing up and offering both his hands for her to take, but even with that, it took Sam holding her by the waist to be able to stand. The Falcon had to catch her, in fact, when she took her first steps, an awkward chuckle escaping her mouth.

“It’s been a while since a hit like this.”

Sam quirked a brow and smirked. “You always have a tendency to do stupid shit like that?”

Y/N’s whole body relaxed as he said so, and a sting went through Bucky’s own. How bad were they treating her if basic kindness and a little bit of joking made her feel so safe?

Just as he was about to ask her more, to offer to take her with them, Walker spoke up again. That conversation was an absolute disaster, and the fact that Walker thought Sam and him would actually ever consider working with him on this mission was idiotic.

It ended with the two Avengers watching how Walker threw an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, making her knees buckle with the weight, her from still regaining strength, but he didn’t care, just dragged her along with him and Battlestar.

“Are we just gonna let ‘em do that to her?” Bucky sneered, arms crossed watching their retreating forms over the field.

He felt Sam glower next to him. “There’s not much we can do.”

He hated that he was right.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N. One meeting had left him shaken to the core not just about her, but about how there was something deeply off with the new Captain America, that if they didn’t take action something horrible would happen, not just because of his arrogance, but because of some seed he could feel had rooted itself in the other man’s heart.

But by that point they’d been in Madripoor, had met Sharon who’d been on the run from the US government ever since the dismantlement of the Avengers, and had now followed a lead to where the Flag-Smashers had settled in Latvia.

Zemo seemed to not only have a billion cars, but a billion apartments scattered around the world, this one being in the heart of the Old Town.

Bucky was on the roof looking over the twinkling lights of the city. His bed had been too soft as it always was, and even the floor wasn’t it for him, not a wink of sleep coming his way as his thoughts were flooded by Y/N.

Well, the sleep part wasn’t true. He had been able to drift off, only to dream of how the woman didn’t get better, didn’t absorb those bullets and had died right in his arms. That’s when he decided he needed a breath of fresh air.

The sound of shuffling feet made him whip around from the scenic view only to be greeted by a form he’d now recognise in a full-on ski-suit in pitch-black darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky stood up wanting to stride over and check her for any wounds she might’ve gotten while around Walker. Any new scar on her body would mean the same number of teeth he’d knock from that Walmart-version-Captain-America’s mouth.

“Came to warn you.” She shrugged, soft winds making her coat flutter. “John and Lemar are resting, but come morning they’ll be on your ass, so you might wanna make a move now.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t get you. You’re nothing like them, I can see that you know how wrong it is, for him to be carrying that shield, that he’s making a mockery out of the name and legacy Steve built, and yet…”

Y/N hung her head lifting her shoulders, hands in her pockets. “I gotta do what I gotta do.”

“He’s an asshole,” Bucky hissed.

Y/N gave him a painful look. “I know. But I don’t have anywhere to go. Besides… you have your own way of making amends. Well, this is mine.”

Dark brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She let out a painful chuckle, not because of the memories now plaguing her waking thoughts, but because her wounds were still healing, and instantly Bucky came closer and took her hand, running a soothing thumb over her palm. Wounds he was sure were new.

Y/N froze at his touch, and Bucky was about to pull away when she put her own thumb over his. He had to bite back tears at how tenderly she was looking down at his palm. Like no one had ever comforted her when it hurt.

“When the Blip happened,” she started, voice low and quiet. “I watched how my sister and mom disappeared right in front of my eyes. We were driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, and there was a truck before us. It was carrying loads of metal scraps. The driver of the truck got blipped as well.” She swallowed harshly. “I can still feel how the beam went through my shoulder, how it broke the bone and skin, and how I just wanted to disappear like they had just to make the pain stop. But I didn’t. It hurt so bad.” Y/N looked at Bucky, tears running down her face. “It was burning and tearing, and so much pain… and all I could do was scream, but no one heard me because everyone else was screaming, and I was just one of the thousands doing it.”

Y/N shook her head, and when Bucky leaned closer to wipe away the tears, she sighed at the feeling. “I passed out sometime later. From the pain the… well, everything. And when I woke up, I heard people outside the door, trying to rip it open, I could see red lights flashing, but where I expected that beam to be was nothing. When I looked down at myself there was a hole in my shirt, but instead of a hole in my shoulder, a round scar was the only thing left from that moment.”

“They took me to the hospital, and when they tried to put an IV in, my body just swallowed up the needle.” She took a shaky breath, and Bucky squeezed her side. ‘Go on’ he tried to convey with the touch. ‘I’m here.’

“That’s when the tests started. They were fine at first. Blood samples when they managed to get any, saliva and all that good jazz… but then they started poking. And poking turned into slicing which turned into stabbing until I was their personal pincushion, as they tried to see what my body would and wouldn’t take.”

Y/N was shaking by that point, but not because of the wind that had picked up, but because of anger, of the horror, she’d had to go through. It took everything in Bucky to remain calm and let her continue.

“Two years they did that. And then one time they went a bit too far. Someone had stolen a vibranium spear from the Dora Milaje.”

Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat. He wasn’t moving a muscle.

“They wanted to know if I could absorb the strongest metal on Earth, so slowly…” Her hands went to her front, to the white blouse she was wearing and started popping open the buttons. Bucky was just about to protest when he understood.

“They pushed the spear too far.” Her finger ran over a rhomb shaped scar right in the centre of her chest. Right over her heart. “Pushed it right through.”

“How did you survive?” Bucky was appalled, but in awe at the same time.

Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t. I died then and there on the table. They took my body and dumped it in some ditch. From my own calculations, it took me about a day to heal. They’d sown in a scalpel in my stomach a few hours before, so I’m assuming it used that as the binding material for the cells.”

“I was so angry.” She looked at him. “At everyone, at myself, that I couldn’t help my family, that I allowed them to just use me like that, I just went off the deep end. I did so many bad things…” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I read about the Winter Soldier, y’know. His whole thing was efficiency, quickness. I – “ She choked on her words. “I wasn’t. I wanted to drag it out. Wanted to find each and every one of the bastards who laid their hands on me and make them suffer as I did.”

Bucky’s hand settled on her waist as he pulled her closer, feeling her body keen at the motion as she looked for reassurance. “I’m not a good person, Bucky. This.” She motioned with her head to her body. “This is my repentance for what I did.”

“What he’s doing is not right. What they’re making you do is not right.” Bucky shook his head. “Just because it might not kill you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. No one had any right to touch you.”

“It’s the price I pay for what I did.”

“Pain?”

Y/N nodded. “Eye for an eye. Pain for the pain I caused.”

Bucky shook his head. “That’s not right.”

“How else am I supposed to do this?”

“By getting help yourself first.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and Bucky sighed. He understood how impossible that thought seemed, that someone who’s done so much bad could deserve help from others, but he understood her situation better than anyone. “Being here,” he said, “being able to say these things… I can only do that because I got help. It was mandated by the state, but nevertheless…” Both chuckled at that, and Bucky’s heart lightened at the sound, at the genuine sound of joy from her. “But the therapy… I hate to say this, but it helped. It’s not easy. I sometimes detest going to the sessions, and I might be failing them quite miserably right now, especially with rule number two –“

“What’s rule number two?”

“Don’t hurt anyone,” Bucky mumbled. “And I’ve broken it quite a lot recently, I know that which will either make me end up behind bars or will add more therapy sessions to the list, but I’m not afraid anymore.”

Y/N gulped, gazing just as intensely at Bucky as he was at her. “Of what?”

“Of reaching out.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Of asking for help. Of understanding that I deserve help, and I deserve to receive it.”

“Yeah, but the thing is I’m not like you.” Y/N looked away from him. “No one forced me to do this, no one brainwashed me. I did everything out of my own volition. Me. No one else. You deserve that help because HYDRA did all those things to you. You are a victim of war. I’m not. All those horrible things I did… I did them. Not some alias of mine.”

Bucky’s heart hurt at the fact that Y/N couldn’t see she was a victim of her own circumstance, and how now the government was punishing her for it. And that’s when another brick hit him – it was exactly like Isaiah’s situation. Both came from marginalised groups, parts of society where the ones in power have been trying to oppress and control them for as long as he could remember, he just couldn’t see it. He could see Sam’s point of view now. Maybe not as clearly as he should, but he was starting to wipe away the fog.

“They used you just as much as HYDRA used me.” He asserted, and Y/N’s eyes widened at his sure statement. “Just because a pile of shit has a bowtie on now, doesn’t mean it’s no longer a pile of shit… Come with us.” Bucky’s forehead pressed to hers. “Let’s do this the right way.”

“It’s mandated by the US government that I stay by John’s side and help him.”

Bucky smirked at that, nudging his nose against Y/N’s. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re in Latvia then. Besides Captain America has no pull here.”

She laughed, warm breath slipping over Bucky’s skin, and he had to close his eyes as the thought of her breathless and underneath him invaded his mind. “Unfortunately, this deal stands whether I’m inside the borders of USA or outside.”

Y/N looked over the skyline to where the country’s national monument stood. A woman, hands up in the air outstretched with three stars in her palms, with words she couldn’t understand when she'd arrived etched on the granite at the bottom. Some local had translated them for her. For the Fatherland and Freedom.

After the blip and the experiments, she didn’t feel like she had a home. She’d been imprisoned and prodded like some lab bunny to see what her body could do. What her body could be used for.

Bucky followed her gaze as she kept looking at the statue. Different stars, different saying, but still with the same meaning of what he saw when he looked at the Captain America shield. Freedom. Justice. For the love of their home.

Something deep started to burn in her chest, and even Bucky could feel the shift.

A ferocious look appeared in her eyes as she looked at him. “Let’s get that shield.” She wasn’t going to let Walker taint that star, she knew would happen if he had it for much longer.

They’d had a single meeting beforehand, and during that half-hour, he’d been terrified for more than two-thirds of the time about how Y/N might die in his arms, die because she’d taken bullets meant for him.

He was so glad she hadn’t, not because it would be another life lost because of him, but because he felt like he’d found a twin flame – someone who’d understand him and his troubles. Someone he could help.

Maybe that could be the true way he could make amends – help someone in the same situation.

Bucky smiled.

Y/N did so too, and his heart skipped a beat looking at the woman.

Her body might be able to absorb the metals piercing it, Walker might call her a human shield, but he knew she was so much more than that. And he’d spend however long it took him to prove so to her. Maybe even in more ways than one.

_________________________________________________________________

Please reblog if you like this. For whatever reason my Bucky fics aren’t appearing in the tags :(

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Bucky tag list: @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @httpmcrvel @purplebananatragedy @pxrrishly @parker-barnes-af @skulliebythesea @california-grown @belongsto-prachi @hello-i-am-insane @hopeinahotbox

Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @wishingforahome @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae

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fairytalesofthewind · 3 years

Note

Can I request The Avengers with winged!male!reader, who is a new member of their team? Reader is a ball of joy and love, he's like everyone's kid, until he gets snatched by Hydra agents and later is found with one of his wings cut off, leaving a permanent and ugly scar on his back. After that he shuts down completely, lays in his bed all day long and doesn't talk to anyone : he became a wreck of the person he used to be.

I really would like to see The Avengers helping him cope and Tony coming up with some crazy idea, which lead to Reader receiving a prosthetic wing and once again becoming an official member of The Avengers.

Anon, you are a true genius!

warnings: hydra (so also torture, a bit of gore, and kidnapping)

+ implied Stucky

I called the male reader Icarus, you’ll find out why ;) I may be a little bit too obsessed by mythology. Sorry that I didn’t write with ‘you’.

wordcount: 2424

Requests are open!

Icarus was found by shield at age 15. He had been an experiment of hydra for 3 years. He remembered the day the Avengers had infiltrated the facility where the majority of hydra worked. He remembered hearing the explosions and screams while he was trapped in the many cells of the building’s basement. The only occupied cell what that of his.

He had felt his surroundings shaking, had felt the dust falling on him as the building was ready to collapse. And then the bombs stopped getting fired. The screams had stopped. Icarus had thought the fight had completely stopped and that the people were either dead or that the people had fled. Icarus had thought no one was coming for him, and that he was trapped in his cell, no way to escape.

But then he had heard a single loud bang. It came from the door leading to the basement. He saw that the metal door had an imprint of a fist in it. Then he heard another loud bang, and saw how the imprint expanded. After a few more hits, the door gave away and fell to the floor.

A man with a metal came walking up to him. Icarus knew who he was, emphasis on was. Because the man ushering towards him wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. That was what the agents had told him.

“Hey kid. Hang on in there, we’ll get you out as soon as possible.” He said and came closer and inspected the outside of his cell. More specifically, the keypad in front of it. “Hey Stark, I’m gonna need your help here with some tech.” Bucky came even closer to his cell and Icarus’ eyes widen as his hands neared the glass.

“Stop!” Icarus yelled. Bucky froze at the command, and dragged his eyes up slowly to the panicked boy in front of him. “You can’t touch the glass.” Icarus warned him, his tone a bit softer. “It’ll trigger the alarms and then gas will come out of the ceiling.” Bucky frowned looked up at the top of the cell. In each corner was a camera, along with a small metal tube coming out of the walls. He supposed that the gas would come out of there.

“Is the gas deadly?” He asked the boy, there were probably going to trigger the alarms trying to get him out. But they would have to find another way if the gas is really dangerous.

“No,” Icarus started, “it just makes me go to sleep.” Bucky nodded as stepped away from the glass container. They would have to wait for a few minutes until help – the help being Tony- arrived.

“So…” The boy drawled out, “Are you really a 100 years old?” He wanted to look at Icarus with a ‘are you serious’- look but as he saw the curiosity written on his face, he responded a soft smile.

“I’m 106 years old.” He felt a pang of amusement as he watched Icarus’ eyes widen.

“Isn’t that a bit weird?” Bucky tilted his head, silently asked the boy what he meant by that. “You know…with friends, and lovers. You’re much older than them.”

Suddenly Stark entered the basement and said: “Well, Bucky doesn’t have any problem with that seeing as his boyfriend is also a super soldier and also very old.” He strutted over to the keypad on his cell. Icarus stared at him with wide eyes because – oh my God this is The Tony Stark.

“Friday baby, tell me how to get the angel out.” He said. Icarus blushed a bit, most of the agents didn’t call him an angel because of his wings. But rather demon. He didn’t which one fit the best seeing as he had neither white wings, nor black, but brown wings.

Tony was quiet for a few long seconds. He looked concentrated, not that they could see his face through the helmet, but his head was tilted just a bit. He let out a loud drawn-out sigh and said: “Yeah, no can do, that’s going to take hours. I’m just gonna blast it.”

Icarus straightened up immediately, if he were to do that he would just trigger the alarms. It wouldn’t do much to the glass either, because it was made of something special. Before Icarus could let out a warning, he heard the zooming of Iron Man’s blasters and then he heard a small explosion.

The boy made eye contact with Bucky after he saw gas coming out of the metal tubes. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words both of the men let out.

Only a few hours later did Icarus wake up. It was very quiet around him, but there was also an unfamiliar sound that he didn’t recognise that made him realise that he wasn’t in his cell anymore. Did the agents change their mind on waiting a few more months to send him on a mission? Did they suddenly decide to get rid of him? Did they-

“Ah, you’re waking up.” The voice was so much more gentle than he was used hearing. It reminded him of how his family used to talk to him.

They were dead now, by the way, with courtesy of hydra.

Icarus opened his eyes and looked to his right where the voice had come from. He recognised the man, he was the Falcon. Sam was still wearing his suit, with his metal wings. Icarus eyes fell to the said wings and frowned.

“You know, you guys are in big trouble.” The people around him straightened up. Already thinking of the possible things the boy could say. There was something you didn’t think about, this was just a distraction and now the shield base has been taken care of properly. You lost-

“These are copyrighted.” Icarus pointed to his own wings. “I could sue you for plagiarism.” Sam lowered his head in relief as he let out a little chuckle.

“I’ll pass it on to the boss.” He said as he looked to the other side of Icarus. The boy followed the line of sight and saw Tony sitting on the other side of him. He was immediately attacked with concerned questions about how he was feeling. Tony told him that they were going to bring Icarus somewhere safe, there were going to give him a home. But all Icarus could think about was, oh my God, this is The Tony Stark.

Icarus was 16 when he started his training. He was done basically living in the hospital wing of the tower. Apparently hydra had really taken a toll on him. Physically and mentally.

He had begged the captain to train him. But Steve had refused time and time again claiming that Icarus wasn’t ready yet.

Between recovery and asking for training, he became friends with Sam. Well, he became friends with everyone. You could even say that he became their family. But it happened with Sam the fastest. Sam took care of him from the start. He visited Icarus every day to check up on him. He helped the boy get comfortable. Icarus saw Sam as a…dad?

They would fly together almost every night. They would soar over countless buildings in New-York. They would stop on skyscrapers and talk about everything and nothing. Sam became his best friend, he became his family.

Icarus was 17 when he realised how much the Avengers truly cared about him. It was his first mission, and the Avengers were acting like overbearing mother hens. It wasn’t even a big mission, it was just to pick something up and bring it from place A to B. But due an unexpected rainstorm Icarus couldn’t fly back. He arrived hours later than he should’ve had at the meeting point.

And to say he had received an ear full about it was an understatement. For the next few days after that mission, he had heard one rant to the other. It was all the same: about how he was precious, about how bad it would be to lose him because he was their family. He was their ray of sun- no scratch that- he was their sun. He was their kid.

Icarus was 18 years and 2 months old when one of his mission went seriously wrong. Sam wasn’t there to support him in the sky. And Tony was needed on the ground. But as multiple planes left to escape, he had to go after them. There weren’t only hydra agents on those plane, but also innocent hostages. Hostages that would probably get used for the same purpose Icarus had been used for.

So he couldn’t just let the planes go. He went after the plane of which he thought was filled with hostages, but was only filled with agents. He had entered the plane just before it’s backdoor had closed. He realised his mistake as he was suddenly surrounded by a dozen men with guns.

One of the men closest to him raised his gun towards him and shot. Icarus felt a sharp prick on his neck and he already knew what was going to happen. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words his family let out on the comms.

Icarus was 18 when he was recaptured by hydra.

Hydra had claimed they had no use for him. They already had a better reproduction of him.

But that didn’t mean that we are just going to get rid of you, no stupid demon boy. We are going to have a bit of fun with you.

Icarus was 18 years and 5 months when he lost one of the most important things of his life.

He lost of one his wings. That means that he not only lost one of his limbs, but he also lost being able to fly.

He wouldn’t be able to do the thing he loved the most, he wouldn’t be able to fly anymore.

Icarus was 18 years and 8 months old when the Avengers had to save him again from hydra. But the boy they saved wasn’t the Icarus that had been captured. He was missing something –besides from the obvious; his wing.

From the moment Icarus had returned home, everything went just a bit worse day by day. He was unhappy, of course he was. Not only had he lost his wing, but he also had a very large scar where it used to be.

He felt terrible. He would spend almost every hour buried under the safety of his blankets in his bed. He didn’t leave his room, no matter how much his family tried to get him out.

One day Bucky entered his room, he brought some tea and breakfast with him. “Good morning, little angel…” The rest he said fell on deaf ears. Icarus had buried himself under his blankets himself.

A few seconds later felt the cold rushing over him. The bed dipped beside him, Bucky sat on the blanket so that Icarus couldn’t use them to hide anymore. But it didn’t really help much as the boy just turned his back to him, his one wing currently hiding himself.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Look, I know how much this sucks. I lost my arm, I know how it feels.” Suddenly Icarus had sat up, and was now looking at him with an angry face.

“You think you know how I feel?!” Icarus pushed him off the bed. They were now both standing with Icarus pointing a furious finger at him. “You just lost your fucking arm! I didn’t just lose my wing, no I lost the thing I loved the most! I can’t fly anymore, and you know whose fault is that?” Icarus kept walking closer and Bucky kept stepping further away from the boy.

“It’s my fault! I was overtaken by my giddiness of the mission and I got distracted, I was too overconfident.” Bucky was almost in the hallway with the way he kept backing up.

“And besides, James. You got a metal arm in return. You can still do everything!” Unlike Bucky, Icarus didn’t have another wing.

And that, had given Bucky an idea.

Icarus was 18 years and 11 months when Tony had dragged him out of his wing towards his lab. He didn’t give him any choice to struggle back, he was coming whether he wanted to or not.

Tony had covered his eyes just before they entered the lab. He had made him sit on a stool. He heard a few nervous coughs, so he knew that the other were there as well.

Tony granted his sight back after a few seconds of rambling something that Icarus was too tired to listen to.

“-and we hope you will like this…”

In front of him, on a stand, was a metal wing. It was a similar size of his own. He had thought: what is the point of a monument? But then Icarus realised that what he was seeing wasn’t just a metal wing, it was also a suit. He felt a few tears roll down his cheek and immediately afterwards felt someone’s arms going around him.

“Oh, it’s alright, angel. It’s going to be alright.” They let him cry his heart out, patiently being there for him.

It was a few days later that Icarus sat in the craftsman’s lab again. Tony was securing the many straps on his new suit. He explained him the rules of the new suit, of what it could and couldn’t do. “Now, Sam will help you fly again. He knows how the metal wing work. My advice for now is to not fly too low, or too high. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Icarus was 19 when he was given back the thing he loved most; being able to fly. He was able to be happy again. He picked up the nightly flights with Sam again. Sometimes staying away from the Tower until 5AM. He was almost back to his normal self; he was already back to being the most energetic member of the team, and he showed how grateful he was almost every second of the day.

This night he was sitting on a building with Sam eating his pepperoni pizza.

“You know, you’re in trouble, right?” Icarus looked up at Sam with raised eyebrows.

“These are copyrighted, and you know, I could sue you.” Sam pointed at his metal wings with a small smirk.

“Copyrighted my ass, you can’t beat the original.”

#marvel #marvel x male reader #stucky #angst with a happy ending #greek mythology #the avengers #avengers x reader #male headcanons #male reader #tony stark #bucky barnes

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mehphoobia · 3 years

Text

HERE

Pairing- Tom Hiddleston x Reader (news channel anchor)

Summary- People say falling in love can be a scary experience. Well, that scary experience for you had a different meaning for you.

Warnings- blood, horror, mystery, thriller, suspense (I suggest get a water bottle for yourself)

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

_____________________________🤍____________________________

"Susan Hive, another 25 y/o was found dead in her apartment approximately at 10:00 am today. Who is the mastermind behind these brutal murders? the mystery is still with the police to crack. The only witness in the case are the walls of the apartment which are covered in parts of human anatomy never seen before just like the other five murders. This is Y/N of NewsToday with cameraperson David on scene." You sighed after finishing your report and looked at the crime scene. The camera person packed his camera and headed towards the van as he couldn't handle the stench. With ripples on your forehead you contemplated your decision. Should you or should you not tell the officers.

But soon you let aside your dilemma. These were brutal murder cases that had everyone shook.

And you had a lead to follow.

"Who are you?" you whispered as you sat in your chair staring at the photo of the deceased Susan Hive with a man. The face was not visible as he wore a black hat and a black overcoat. "Typical" you said gesturing his attire, which was straight out of a murder mystery. Unfortunately, the officers couldn't find him. But the lead you had could directly deliver this man to you.

"North House please" explaining the address to the taxi driver, you couldn't miss his expressions. "You want to go to the North House?" he asked you with genuine concern. "If you are not comfortable, you can just drop me near the curb" you suggested understanding his hesitation. Reluctantly he drove the taxi and there you were. Standing outside the hospital for mental patients. "How much will it be?" asking the driver for the fare you rummaged through your purse.

"I will wait here miss. You can pay me later" he said. Of course, the deaths in this hospital would scare anyone. But you weren't here for the suicides, you were here for the murders.

"I am here to see someone. A Mrs. Hill." you spoke confidentially to the receptionist. "For an investigation, are we?" the receptionist questioned. "It's confidential" you replied with knitted eyebrows. "oh! of course it is." she chuckled.

The receptionist accompanied you to Mrs. Hill's room. She was the oldest patient, who had been in the hospital for for around thirty years. Every patient, every staff member; she had seen for herself. "Are you here for the investigation for Susan Hive?" the receptionist questioned. Your head whipped faster than the wings of a bee. "You knew her?" you enquired. "Yes, I knew all five of them. They were interning under me." she answered.

"Janice Dean" her ID card read. "Of course" you murmured. Ten days back you had found one of the victim's case file from the officers which had something in common. North House, all three of them worked here and now so did Susan Hive.

"Don't worry I won't bug her too much" putting a and on Ms. Dean's shoulder you reassured her. She offered you a tired smile. With that she unlocked the door and you saw Mrs. Hill sitting on her chair.

"He killed another one didn't he?" she enquired in her shaky voice as if she knew it was going to happen. "Yeah. Do you know you he is?" trying to keep your posture, you asked. "No, but I have seen him." she replied. "Black eyes which weren't even his. Long hair which covered his face and the cuts." "Everyone thought, something was wrong in his head. They tried all kinds of medicines but none of them worked. He kept screaming and yelling every day. It would echo you know. The screams. Other patients could feel it too. But the doctors didn't know something." she explained but suddenly trailed off.

"He was possessed" she declared.

"How did he get out. I mean the patient like--" "Demon" she corrected. "We saw a body lying in his room. We thought its him. He had cuts all over his face so it was recognizable. The post mortem reports found out it was one of our doctors. He escaped as his disguise." explained Ms. Dean.

You couldn't get the fact out of your head as you stepped outside the hospital. With quivering hands, you opened the taxi's door. Looking at your condition, the driver ran to the opposite side of the street and bought you a water bottle. "You should go home miss." the driver suggested. "Beverly Hills Apartments please". The driver nodded and drove you home.

Maybe you should tell the police. It was not your job to go after the killer. Of course it would be one of the biggest news article for your company but this, its not worth it. Just then your phone rang. All of that tension and weird feeling in your chest was replaced by a sense of comfort. It was Tom.

"Hey babe! dinner's ready, when are you coming home?" he asked in his cheerful voice. You chuckled and said, "I started right now. Is my kitchen all right?" you mocked. "Uh..sort of. I'll help you clean though" he replied like a child caught doing something wrong. It was comforting to have him in your life. Amidst all of this, he was the exact person you needed. "Love you honey" you said unexpectedly. He could sense your uneasiness and knew your line of work. It can be terrifying sometimes. "Love you too..Hey, I am right here." he said immediately putting a smile on your face.

You met him three years ago. How boring can news conferences be? it was something you knew very well. But it was a little bit tolerable when a hot shot investigating officer suddenly made his way to you. Tom and you immediately clicked. As if you were meant to be. One date led to another and suddenly he started picking you up from your work almost every single day. You remembered he had proposed on your cruise date which had you in complete awe. How could you say no to such a perfect man. His beautiful eyes which were a perfect peek to your universe, his warm embrace and how he fit in your life perfectly made it so much easier. He made it easier.

The sudden nostalgia calmed your nerves and you took a deep breath in. Within no time you were home. You leaped out of the taxi, paid the man and ran to your apartment. As you were going to ring the bell, Tom opened the door and picked you up in his arms. Both of you giggled as he kissed you passionately. With your fingers curling in his long wet hair and his arms coiling your waist, you could melt under his effect and you did.

"Tada!! Fish N chips" Tom declared in his voice that he called his disney voice. You chuckled at his endearing self. Both of you couldn't spend enough time with each other with all these murders. He too was tensed but never showed it in front of you. The least you could do was to help him out. You watched your favorite drama as the both of you ate your dinner.

After the chocolate ice-cream, he got up to get the wet wipe to wipe your face which was covered in chocolate. You were gone out cold because of the tiring day. He picked up the plates and noticed you had run out of kitchen soap. "Back in a few" he wrote on a post it and pasted it on the fridge. He wore his black overcoat and decided to forego his phone and left.

"Tom? babe?" you woke up around five minutes and searched the house. Suddenly the post it note grabbed your attention. You chuckled when you saw it and you knew a lot of unwanted things were gonna be purchased. Who could help it, its Walmart after all.

You saw his phone and found his headphones on the table. He would sit on his chair for hours and listen to his music but he never shared them with you. So you grabbed the opportunity and plugged in his headphones.

"19-21-19-1-14 8-9-12-12" the first song read. Then you realized it was a recording. "Mr Hiddleston sings?" you scoffed as you pressed the play button.

"Ahhh" a woman screamed and with that you immediately grabbed the headphones and threw them. "Oh God" you whined as you rubbed your ears. You played all the five recordings and all of them were similar. Screams. Then it hit you. The numbers were different and were too wrong to be dates. WHAT IF?

"19,S,21,U,19,S,1,A,14,N 8,H,9,I,12,L,12,L" you wrote on a piece of paper. "Susan hill?" you gasped. All the other four recordings added up to the all the other four victims. You sat there staring at the paper.

"It took you long enough" Tom spoke from behind you. You flinched as walked away from him. "Did you?" you asked. "The screams, oh my soul was cleansed" he said as he put his hand on his chest. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face. He was in content, in peace. "Why did you kill them? What had they done to you?" you enquired.

"THEY LAUGHED!!" he yelled. Your eyes widened as you looked at him. It wasn't your Tom, it was someone else.

He was possessed.

"They fucking laughed when I was being experimented on. I cried for help but they were too busy laughing. Fucking bitches" he scoffed. "You know when I made cuts on their skin how peaceful it felt. Slowly, deeply I dragged my knives on their skins and watching them slowly dying because of the pain. So good. They were the ones who cried and screamed and I was the one who laughed." He was a maniac explaining his masterplan. Little did he know everything he said, you were recording it all.

"You think you can run away with it?" you mocked trying to make him spill out. "How will they know Y/N? I am the chief investigating officer." he ran the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. But you didn't waver, he was a demon. "All this time I have been trying to erase all the evidence" he spoke as he turned his back on you.

"But you?" he turned and walked towards you. He bought his face closer to your neck and kissed your neck. If it were any other day, your eyes would slowly close themselves as he would press you against the surface. But today there was nothing but tears. "You are my favorite. I can't leave any witnesses. But don't worry, your screams will live in my recordings. You know how much I love making you scream now don't you my love?" He laughed sheepishly.

THUD THUD. The bang on the door grabbed his attention. He looked at you made a sign with a finger in his lips. Was this the man you loved? Who was he? You thought as you looked at him slowly unlocking the door.

"Ahh LEAVE ME GET OFF" he yelled in surprised as the police officers pinned him on the floor. Slowly you got your phone in front of him which you were hiding behind you and showed him the 911 number. The officers dragged him away but his hooded eyes would not leave your soul.

Two days later, while clearing his room. You found a notebook with all the five victim's name on it which was struck of with a red marker and also five knives covered in dried blood. "Why?" you whimpered as tears made their way down your cheeks. Your company had printed one of the biggest hit ever and were at the top. You were promoted and were appreciated by everyone but at what cost? You were scarred for life.

Back in the North House, Mrs Hill was sitting on her chair as the receptionist were cleaning her room. "Oh no" Mrs Hill exclaimed. "What is it Nana?" enquired Ms. Dean. "Y/N call her!! NOW"

Something was going to happen.

At the prison cell, all the officers were in havoc as one of the security guard was found dead in Tom's prison cell. Hysterical laughs and water droplets echoed through the hallway as Y/N was written on the wall and was struck of by the dead security guards' blood.

You were sleeping when Ms. Dean called you. "Hello" you spoke in your grumpy voice, the sleeping pills were slowly kicking in. "T-TOM!" her line was cut because of the heavy rain. Just then you got a message that Tom had escaped.

"What? where did he go?" you murmured to yourself and then you heard it. The hysterical laughter and the sound of the recording button being pushed.

"I am right here my love" he said.

_____________________________🤍______________________________

A/N: Hey guys, here is my first Tom Hiddleston fic. For the those of you who don't know me personally I am a contemporary dancer and this fiction I had seen being performed on the stage. I loved the suspense and I loved writing it even more. Writing this was a challenge and it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all like this as well.😘

Tom Hiddleston is such a versatile actor and just fits in any character which is the main reason why I love him so much. It was very easy for me to visualize his demeanor in this character and I tried my level best converting it into words. Let me know what you think about this fic.😃

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

My requests are open. So ahead and check my masterlist and send me your plots.

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

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sachigram · 3 years

Text

“With Teeth” Chapter 5

((click here to read on ao3!!))

Izaya is frowning down at his computer, his hands hovering above the keys of his keyboard, not moving. Next to him, Namie is typing away, a bemused little smirk on her face. She's enjoying this, clearly, and she's itching to say something biting.

“You're handling this better than I thought you would,” she says, her tone forcibly bored. Izaya blinks at her, lifting his hand to motion for her to continue. “Your little monster friend has a girlfriend now. He'll have less time for you, right? I assumed you'd be setting fires across the city by now.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Izaya says breezily. “If anything, she's distracting him enough to leave me be.”

The chatroom is full of people chattering away about Shizuo and Vorona, who are spending a lot of time together, holding hands, exchanging glances, sharing beverages. It's sickening. Izaya feels vaguely nauseous just reading about it, but he thinks that's probably due to his insane schedule at the moment, and his lack of sleep. He keeps meaning to take a healing potion, but he forgets every time.

“Distracting. Right.” Namie types another response, fanning the flames of all the rumors circulating about Ikebukuro's hottest couple. Her smirk drops, and Izaya can't resist the temptation to dip into her mind, just a little, to see why she isn't enjoying this as much as she thought she would.

She's thinking of Seiji, of course, but also of Mika, and of Celty's head, and all the times she's been overlooked in favor of someone else. She thinks Shizuo dating Vorona is distasteful, because she's set on the idea that Shizuo must be fucking Izaya, and that's why he comes by so often. Izaya withholds a snort at that, and he graciously doesn't comment on the fact that Namie could probably have anyone she wanted, if she wasn't so obsessed with her own brother.

“Who cares, anyway?” Namie asks, closing her laptop. “The two of them together probably have conversations as interesting as watching paint dry. It's not worth even talking about anymore.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Izaya says, pushing away from his desk. He tilts his head at her. “Let's order out for dinner. My treat.”

“In that case, I'm craving something expensive.”

“Of course you are.”

***

Izaya is watching the sunset from a small window when he realizes he must have fallen asleep. He isn't at home anymore, and this is beginning to feel like the kind of dream he's been dreading to have lately, one where he knows Shizuo will show up at some point.

“Who are you?” A child's voice asks from behind him. Izaya turns, looking down at Shizuo, who is in a hospital bed, his arms wrapped, a brace around his neck. He's frowning up at Izaya, who sighs loudly before plopping into the vacant chair next to the bed.

“Oh, why does it even matter? You won't call me by my name anyway.” Izaya pulls his knees up to his chest and studies Shizuo closely. “You're here alone?”

“My family just left.” Shizuo looks up at the ceiling, seeming to decide that Izaya isn't a threat to him. “They used to stay with me a lot, but this happens all the time now, so they can't stick around as much.”

“I see.”

“I'll only be here one night anyway.”

“So who was it this time? Was it another fight?” Izaya asks.

“It's not like I wanted to fight.” Shizuo's eyebrow twitches. “I threw a swingset.”

“A swingset?”

“Yeah, but apparently it was bolted into the ground or something. Really fucked me up.”

Izaya can't help it. He laughs hard, curling into himself as he does so.

“Hey, fuck you, it isn't funny!” Shizuo snaps, but he seems to be trying not to laugh himself. “Well, maybe it was a little. The look on their faces was pretty funny.”

“Did you at least manage to hit them?” Izaya asks, still giggling at the mental image.

“No. Turns out all the time I spent lifting it gave them some time to escape.”

Izaya laughs harder. When was the last time he found something this genuinely funny? Lately all he does is work until he passes out, and he deserves it, he knows. Still, as he feels tears stinging the corner of his eyes, he thinks he feels good now, here with this kid version of Ikebukuro's monster. There doesn't seem to be anything else to do but talk to him, and their dreams keep connecting them no matter what Izaya does. He's tired of fighting it.

Shizuo is gazing at him with poorly concealed awe and wonder.

Pretty.

Izaya snorts at Shizuo's thought. What's so pretty about this scene right now? The sunset outside? The various machines hooked to Shizuo, beeping idly in the background? Shizuo keeps looking at him, and Izaya realizes, feels his face grow hot.

“Who are you?” Shizuo asks again.

“Your worst enemy.”

“Really? You don't seem all that bad.” Shizuo shifts a bit, winces. “You're not scared of me, are you?”

“Not now, not ever.”

Shizuo nods, and his lip wobbles. “People tell me all the time they aren't scared of me, but I know they are, deep down. How could they not be? They'd have to be crazy. But...” Shizuo chokes up, laughs a little. “I can tell you mean it. And if that makes you crazy, I think that's okay, because it feels good to not be feared, for once.”

Izaya lowers his legs, leaning closer to the bed. He idly touches the flimsy fabric of the blanket draped over Shizuo, who is watching him curiously. Izaya looks away.

“Sometimes you're so pathetically simple it makes me want to vomit. Sometimes it feels like a chore, hating you. Did you know that?” Izaya asks softly, and there's a long pause after his words, no sounds aside from their breathing. Even the machines have somehow gone quiet.

“So then why do you?” Shizuo asks at last.

“Isn't it funny that it's been so long of us hating each other that I forgot what caused it in the first place? I think you did, too.” Izaya crosses his arms over the bed, puts his head down. “People like us will always be at each other's throats. It's just the way it is.”

“You sound like a grownup,” Shizuo says, glaring now. “They always say that, when they don't know the answer to something. 'It's just the way it is.' If you don't know, then why does it matter in the first place?”

“Believe it or not, I am a grownup. I'm only a kid right now because you're one, too. We're always the same age in these dreams, even if only one of us remembers the future at a time.” Izaya lifts his head enough to grin at Shizuo, who blushes and immediately turns away. He seems to be trying to gather the courage to say something, but there's suddenly a knock at the door, and Izaya turns towards it. “Expecting someone else?”

“Huh?”

“There's knocking.”

“I don't hear anything.”

Izaya stands. “Oh. This may be in real life. I think I'm waking up.”

“Waking up? Does that mean leaving?” Shizuo's eyes look panicked. “When will you be back?”

“I never know. Why do you keep wanting to see me so badly? You're the one pulling me back here, you have to be.” The room starts to grow fuzzy as the dreamscape begins to fall apart around them.

“You're not scared of me. You laughed at me instead of running— Fuck!” Shizuo seems to be trying to get up to grab Izaya, but he can't with his arms bandaged. “Tell me your name so I can find you again!”

“You'll just call me a flea anyway, won't you? So it doesn't matter.”

***

Izaya opens his eyes to discover he passed out at his desk at some point. He sits up and frowns at the container of pasta next to him. He remembers ordering dinner for himself and Namie, and then...

“Ugh. Of course she just left,” Izaya mutters to himself. Namie is an opportunist if nothing else. She isn't the type to stick around and see what happens next, unlike Izaya. Another knock sounds at the door. “Who is it?” Izaya calls, feeling sluggish. He checks his phone to find he's been asleep for about two hours.

“Me!” Shinra's voice replies, muffled from the door. “Let me in, would you? I've been knocking forever!”

Grumbling, Izaya makes his way across the room, opening it for Shinra, who waltzes inside like he owns the place.

“Hi! I'm working late tonight, and I didn't have time to eat dinner before I left, so I figured while I was in Shinjuku I could come see what you had—“ Shinra stops talking and tilts his head to the side, observing Izaya. “You look awful. What have you been up to?”

“Also working,” Izaya says. He reaches up to wipe crusted drool from the corner of his mouth. “So you came to raid my fridge?”

“Ah, yes!” Shinra turns and continues his march to the kitchen. “I just got done with an emergency call, and next I'll be going to visit another patient. I didn't want fast food, so here I am! Did Yagiri-san make anything?”

“Should be leftovers somewhere around here.” Izaya looks back at his own pasta, feels his stomach rumble. He can't remember the last time he really ate or slept fully.

“Why don't we eat something together?” Shinra asks. “You look ready to fall over.”

Izaya ends up tossing the pasta. It was congealed together, and not very good in the first place. Namie picked the place to order from, but he'll definitely complain enough about it later to where they don't order from there again. Shinra actually goes through the trouble of throwing together some fried rice, because Izaya doesn't have the ingredients for much else. He'll have to send Namie for groceries.

“So what are you working on so religiously, anyway?” Shinra asks as they sit down. “I haven't seen you this absorbed in work for a while.”

“It's not just one assignment, but multiple. All of them are due around the same time.” Izaya eats a bite of rice and shrugs. “It's just poor timing.”

“More than that though, right? I heard Shiki-san was pissed at you for multiple reasons. Sounds like he's keeping you overloaded on purpose.” Shinra smirks at him. “You can never leave well-enough alone, Izaya-kun.”

“'Well-enough',” Izaya scoffs. “If he had his way, I'd be locked in a cage, of use only to him and his little cronies.”

“That's what you signed up for. You'll get yourself killed if you keep meddling. I mean, come on, Akane-chan? What did you think would happen by sending her off on her own like that?”

“Who says I was behind any of that? Akane-chan has a smartphone. Kids like her are always going to be involved in things, because they want better than they're given.”

“I don't believe you, and I know Shiki-san doesn't, either. It's clear he's punishing you, but...” Shinra leans closer, lowers his voice like he thinks Shiki is in the next room. “To be honest, I thought you'd have it way worse than this. You ordered Shizuo-kun's attack too, didn't you? I thought Shiki-san would hang you upside-down.”

“Again, Shinra, you're reaching way too far. I never said I was responsible for Shizu-chan either.”

Shinra pouts, and then sits back in his chair, shoveling down more rice. “Fine. Don't tell me. Just take better care of yourself, at any rate. It's not like you can't cure the effects of fatigue with your power. You're choosing to suffer, right? But then again, you've always been like that.”

“Don't you have another appointment soon?” Izaya asks, annoyed by Shinra and his big mouth. He's often wondered if friendship is supposed to be this exhausting, but it isn't like he has anything else to compare it to. Shinra was always the only one crazy enough to stick around.

“I'm only saying. You should accept your punishments and actually learn something from them every now and then. It seems like you just bounce back, more determined to make a nuisance of yourself than before.”

“If I don't make a nuisance of myself, I'll die from boredom,” Izaya lilts. “It's really that simple.”

“More like you're worried about being forgotten.”

Izaya resists the urge to throw something at Shinra, who is wearing a strange expression, something akin to actual concern.

“You've improved on your acting ability,” Izaya says, pushing away from the table. “Don't act friendly towards me now. It doesn't suit you.”

“I am your friend,” Shinra insists. “I'm the only one you've got, so maybe you should listen to me once in a while.”

“It always goes back to Celty anyway. What, are you worried I'm going to use her for something too dangerous?”

“Celty agrees with me that it's unusual for you to allow Shizuo-kun to be in your space as you have. Are you actually feeling guilty?”

“Are you?” Izaya stands and grabs a bottle of red wine from his counter before he pads over to his desk. “I don't have the time for this, Shinra. See yourself out when you're ready to go.”

Shinra sighs loudly, finishes his dinner, and picks up his briefcase. He walks towards the door.

“Take care of yourself, Izaya-kun. If you even know how to.”

Izaya uses his magic to slam the door shut behind Shinra, and then he drinks until he passes out.

***

He wakes hours later, in bed somehow.

Groaning, he sits up, trying to remember the night before. His mouth feels like cotton, and his head feels like it's trying to split itself open. He thinks he may throw up at some point in the very near future.

“Feeling better?” Tsukumoya asks from beside him. The shades are drawn closed, and the room is still dark despite the sun being out. Izaya glares at the vampire in his space.

“Why are you here?” he croaks.

“You don't remember? You invited me. We fucked.” Tsukumoya has his laptop, and is typing ridiculously fast even as he speaks. “It was quite the evening.”

“I'm serious. You just keep popping up. It's annoying.”

“Mm. I had a feeling you were being your usual destructive self. There's water for you on your nightstand.”

Izaya reaches next to him, grabs the glass before chugging it. His stomach immediately churns dangerously in protest.

“Why not take a healing potion? I know you have plenty of them,” Tsukumoya says, still not looking at him.

“Don't need it.”

“Right, you don't. The great Orihara Izaya doesn't need anything or anyone, how could I forget?” Tsukumoya finally glances over at him. “You might need to reconsider. Tonight's the night of the full moon. You'll need to be alert when your puppy visits.”

“Fuck, is it? I forgot all about it.” Izaya groans and flops back into the bed, rolling away from the annoying vampire in his space. “You weren't supposed to come until tomorrow.”

“Stop complaining so much. Do you need more water?”

Grumbling, Izaya tries to piece together the night before. He drank too much, he remembers that. Shinra was being annoying. He definitely fell asleep at his desk, meaning Tsukumoya carried him to bed.

“We didn't really fuck, did we?” Izaya asks.

“No. Did you want to?” Tsukumoya's voice is annoyingly smug. “I wouldn't be opposed.”

Izaya snorts and closes his eyes, wills the room to stop spinning. “Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type.”

“I'm not? Here I thought you had a thing for monsters.”

Izaya considers throwing Tsukumoya across the room, but that would be rising to the stupid teasing, and it would require more effort than he currently wants to exert. He stays where he is, listening to the sound of Tsukumoya's fingers on the keys.

“You're being especially pitiful lately, Izaya,” Tsukumoya says after a while. “So you've lost control of your little game, so what? Maybe you should think of what to do next instead of working to the point of exhaustion. You know I hate it when you're predictable.”

“Why does it matter what I do? I'm trapped.”

Tsukumoya sighs. “Yes, you are. And what are you going to do about it?”

“Right now, I'm going to be miserably hungover. Next, who knows? It'll surprise us both.”

“If only I found you sooner.” Tsukumoya goes back to typing. “The things you could've done. Humans are always finding ways to control what they don't understand or fear. But now, you can only help yourself. If you believe you're going to be trapped forever, they've already won.”

“I know that.” Izaya thinks of the work assignments that aren't ever going to stop, and he thinks of Akane, of Shizuo. He knows he went too far, but he has to go even further still.

Tsukumoya seems like he wants to say more, but he pauses, and the typing stops once more.

“You really might want to take that potion now,” he says. “One of your executives is on his way here.”

***

Izaya does not take the potion, and when he answers his door, it's with a slightly green complexion. Akabayashi takes one look at him, and promptly bursts into laughter.

“Oh, wow. And I thought I drank too much. You look awful, brat.” Akabayashi invites himself inside, stepping around Izaya. “I'm doing a wellness check on behalf of the boss. You understand, right?”

“Seems like I have more people in my life than I thought,” Izaya says, closing the door before moving to his couch. “This is my third wellness check.”

“Hard to believe a roach like you has friends, but then again, this city has an infestation. You missed a deadline today.”

“I got a little carried away last night. I've been in bed all day.”

“But you answered the door fully dressed, like you've been up and about,” Akabayashi presses.

“I sensed you coming,” Izaya lies.

Akabayashi hums in thought, and he grins menacingly. “Ya know, I ran into Heiwajima the other day at Sunshine. He seemed really interested in who bit him and why.”

“You should tell him,” Izaya says. “If anything, it would get him off my back for a while.”

“Oh, don't act innocent. We all know who made the phone call that started everything.”

“Clearly what I want doesn't matter. You've made that abundantly clear.”

Akabayashi walks closer to the couch, and he leans closer to Izaya. “Watch yourself, kid. Just because you haven't been caught in the act yet doesn't mean we don't know you're guilty. That magic of yours will only get you so far with us.”

“If your power spans so far, you shouldn't be worried about what I did or didn't do. If you really knew I was guilty, you'd have killed me by now,” Izaya says.

“Assuming monsters like you actually have enough humanity left to die.”

“Why don't we both find out?”

They glare at each other, and Izaya can sense from Akabayashi that the executive would like nothing more than to tear him limb from limb, but he won't. It would be against Shiki's wishes, and as much as Akabayashi hates it, he has to follow orders, or he'll be next on the chopping block. He takes another step towards the couch, but before he can do or say anything, the door slams open with such force that it bangs against the wall and cracks it.

“Hello, Shizu-chan,” Izaya calls without breaking eye-contact with Akabayashi. “Entertain yourself for a moment, will you?”

“What the fuck is this?” Shizuo asks. He growls when he notices Akabayashi. “Oi! I still have questions for you, asshole!”

“I'm sure you do,” Akabayashi says, standing up straight again. He grins at Shizuo. “I can't answer 'em for you, though. Sorry about that.”

“I could always beat it out of you,” Shizuo says, cracking his knuckles. “I'm even stronger than I used to be, since you bastards made me into a monster.”

“You wouldn't get far. I'd relax, if I were you.” Akabayashi turns back to Izaya. “Get to work, brat. Shiki's only so forgiving.” With that, he turns on his heel, and goes towards the door. Shizuo makes to stop him, but Izaya lifts his hand and summons Shizuo backwards, towards the couch.

“What the fuck!” Shizuo shouts, fighting it. “Let me go!”

“Don't make me exert myself, Shizu-chan. I'm having a rough day,” Izaya says. Shizuo turns and glowers at him, but his features soften.

“What's wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“Yes.” The door opens and closes, and Izaya knows he's alone with Shizuo once more. “You didn't knock this time.”

“Didn't think I needed to. It's not like you weren't expecting me.” Shizuo leans down, scrutinizes Izaya. “You're hungover.”

“Don't read my mind,” Izaya huffs, curling into himself.

“I didn't. You reek of alcohol.”

Grumbling, Izaya summons a blanket and throws it over himself. He doesn't know if he prefers Tsukumoya's company to Shizuo's, but at the moment, he thinks he'd rather deal with the vampire. At least for a little bit.

What a messy flea. Shizuo thinks, and then he walks away from the couch. There's the sound of him sifting through the fridge, but there isn't anything for him to find. Namie had the day off, and Shinra cooked what little was available the night before.

“You might have to order out,” Izaya calls. “You have a couple of hours before sunset.”

Shizuo growls loudly, thinks something about Izaya being useless, and then pulls out his phone. Izaya stays where he is and doesn't move, enjoys the silence for a few moments before it's ultimately shattered by Shizuo, who is suddenly sitting on the couch near Izaya, but still far enough to where they're both comfortable.

“I ordered pizza,” Shizuo says, and he leans back against the couch cushions. “You should foot the bill.”

“If you wanted me to pay, you could've ordered something better,” Izaya replies.

“Nah, everywhere else would've taken too long. Pizza is fast and easy.”

Izaya watches sleepily as Shizuo picks up the remote and turns the TV on, flipping through a few channels before settling on a soap opera. It should feel weird, sitting here with Shizuo, watching a woman sob because she caught her husband having an affair, but it really doesn't feel weird at all. Maybe Izaya is too tired to feel one way or another about it, or maybe their strange mental link has done the majority of the work in making them civil towards one another. Either way, Izaya feels comfortable enough to let his guard down a little, and it's an instant relief, like setting down something immensely heavy.

“So, I don't get it. Why are you just sitting here feeling like shit when you can heal yourself easily enough?” Shizuo is still looking at the screen, but he's back to poking around in Izaya's head, whether he knows he's doing it or not.

“Shut up, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says without any real bite.

“Oh. You just want to feel bad. Seems like a stupid thing for someone who's supposed to be some kind of genius, but whatever.”

The woman on screen is confronting her husband's mistress, and it winds up in a fist fight on a balcony. Izaya snorts when the mistress is pushed off to her death. How predictable. Shizuo is scowling at the TV, but he's thinking about his shared dreams with Izaya, and also about some images he's been seeing through Izaya's side of the link. He's also thinking about Shinra, who apparently ran into Shizuo last night after his last appointment. Shinra seemed worried about Izaya.

He's a good actor. Izaya sends. He always has been.

I don't think he was acting. You look worse than you normally do.

I'm hungover, as you so aptly put it. You being in my head isn't helping me feel better.

“I'm not doing it on purpose!” Shizuo snaps, and the sudden loudness has Izaya flinching. “I don't get why it's happening either, okay? I'm only just now starting to believe it's not actually you doing it.”

Because you've seemed like such a mess ever since it started. Shizuo thinks, and Izaya grinds his teeth in frustration.

“I'm not a mess.”

“What did that guy want?” Shizuo asks, changing the subject abruptly.

“Akabayashi-san stops by from time to time to threaten me. It's a pastime for him.” Izaya is starting to feel nauseous again, so he closes his eyes and wills it to go away.

“Don't you work for him, though?”

“I don't work for anybody. I'm a freelance informant for hire, and I give the organization he's part of information when they pay me for it, same as anyone else.”

Shizuo frowns, thinks something biting about Izaya working for the Yakuza. “He seemed like he wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh, he does. They all do,” Izaya says. “They'd kill me if they could.”

Shizuo doesn't like that he has something in common with the Yakuza. He grimaces before he says, “So what? You're just too strong to die or some shit?”

��No,” Izaya replies. “I'm just too important for them do dispose of. I'm part of the reason they're as powerful as they are, and they know it, even if they hate it, even if they hate me. I'm the strongest tool in their arsenal. Killing me would be crippling themselves.”

Silence follows Izaya's words. Shizuo's mind is a whirlwind now, thinking so many things at once, all laced with rage. He doesn't like anything about what Izaya said, the way it was said so flippantly, the way Izaya doesn't seem to mind. Shizuo doesn't like that Izaya thinks of himself as a tool, as something other than human, even if it might be true. Shizuo doesn't want to think of himself as other than human, either.

Shizuo doesn't seem to do well with the truth.

“That isn't true,” Shizuo growls, no doubt in response to Izaya's thoughts. “You're a person. I'm a person. We're other things too, but whatever we are, we're human first. You said so yourself, right? You can die, you can be killed. You're human enough to die.”

“I'm telling you this once, and once only, beast,” Izaya murmurs, opening his eyes to glare at the TV as he speaks. “It would be the exact same as breaking a screwdriver, or losing your favorite toy. If I died, that would be it. They would just replace me. They want to, and they would if they could, but I'm one of the last of my kind, and I'm definitely the most powerful one left. I don't care about it, because I've always known I was only useful for what I knew and what I could do. If you're going to be hated, you damn well better be useful. That's the way it is.”

“Fuck that!” Shizuo yells, and he stands, his hands clenched into fists. “What the hell are you talking about? You think it's okay to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, like you didn't have a hand in being the hated little rat you are? You think it's just because of your magic? You're the one deciding to do the shitty things you do. People hate you. If they knew you were a witch, whatever, maybe some of them would hate you more, but it's only because they hate you already. Get the fuck over yourself.”

Izaya laughs, delighted at the outburst. Doing so hurts his head, and his vision swims. This is pitiful, isn't it? Feeling useless, being forced to lie back and swallow vomit just so no one else can ask anything more of him. If he's a tool, he's a damaged one, and every time he's human, he dulls himself a little more. If this is a game to be played, and his opponents have the winning hand, Izaya will make sure none of them win. He'll destroy himself if he has to. He'll destroy everything.

“Trust me, Shizu-chan,” he croaks, “I know they would've hated me either way. The difference between us is you're searching so hard for a place to belong, and I've accepted long ago that it doesn't exist. Now would you kindly shut the fuck up? My head hurts.”

Shizuo is seething, his breaths labored as he works to calm himself down. He wants to lift Izaya up and shake him until his head pops off. Then Shizuo wants to tear apart everything in the apartment, maybe go punch Akabayashi for good measure. He hates that he sees the reasoning in Izaya's words. He hates himself, and he hates Izaya more than anything else.

“Get out of my head,” Shizuo grits out.

“I'm trying,” Izaya says, and he leaves it at that.

They lapse back into silence, and when Shizuo flops back onto the couch, his brow is furrowed, his jaw set. It's clear he isn't going to let this go, but he at least doesn't want to be in a terrible mood before his transformation. The bloodlust is worse when he's angry. He has to keep reminding himself that Izaya is a liar, first and foremost. Izaya uses words to protect himself, and Shizuo doesn't have to, and won't, ever do the same.

“Well, isn't this cozy?” Tsukumoya's voice asks as he walks down the stairs. He's wearing a hood, covering himself from the weakening rays of sun that still shine through the windows.

“I thought you left,” Izaya calls as Shizuo whirls to growl at the vampire.

“I was going to, but I figured I'd stick around to make sure you didn't die,” Tsukumoya says. He smirks at the scene of Shizuo and Izaya sitting together almost peacefully, watching trash TV in silence. “I wondered how your nights with the puppy went. I suppose I can see for myself now.”

“Why the fuck are you here?!” Shizuo barks, and then he whirls to face Izaya. “Does he always just pop up like this?”

“Not always,” Izaya says. “He stayed the night.”

“What?”

“Relax, Heiwajima-san. Rest assured, I didn't touch him.” Tsukumoya flounces past the couch while Shizuo's face turns a variety of fun colors. “At least, not much.”

Shizuo stands from the couch, and Izaya sighs loudly.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” he asks Tsukumoya, who is still looking at Shizuo appraisingly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I trust you won't drink yourself stupid a second night in a row?” Tsukumoya says, looking at Izaya.

“I don't have the luxury tonight,” Izaya answers.

“Right, you're puppy-sitting.”

“Do you mean me, you fucking—“ Shizuo starts, and he barrels towards Tsukumoya, who easily side-steps him.

“Make sure you eat something at some point,” Tsukumoya calls to Izaya. “That pizza will help you feel better.”

“I don't want it,” Izaya grumbles, covering his head with the blanket. He hates both of the people in his space right now, and he just wants to sleep.

You must be making a conscious effort to not heal yourself if you're still this sick over a hangover. Tsukumoya's voice sounds in Izaya's head. Is this really helping anything?

Yes. Izaya can't escape either of them, can he? They're both annoyingly perceptive and persistent. He can feel fondness radiating from Tsukumoya, but it's quickly being overshadowed by the amount of fury pouring from Shizuo, who is clearly listening to their mental conversation.

“Your pizza is here,” Tsukumoya says, and the knock comes a moment later. “Make sure he eats something, please,” he says to Shizuo, and then he vanishes before anything else can be said.

***

Shizuo scarfs down the entire pizza at breakneck speed, once or twice trying to get Izaya to accept a slice before giving up. He doesn't care if Izaya eats or not, and he doesn't care if Izaya feels sick or not. Shizuo's mood increases as he eats, and by the time he's finished, he's as mellow as he ever is while sharing a space with his mortal enemy.

Izaya, for his part, is starting to feel a little better. His stomach rumbles a bit at the scent of the pizza, but his appetite wanes at the grotesquely barbaric way Shizuo eats. It seems worse than usual, more...animalistic.

In fact...something seems off about Shizuo, even for a full moon. Maybe something happened earlier, or maybe Shizuo just went too long without eating until now, but Izaya can sense the bloodlust permeating from Shizuo like a miasma.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, slowly sitting up to level his gaze at his unwanted guest. “Have you taken your potion?”

“Huh? Of course I have,” Shizuo replies. His hair is glowing from the fading rays of the sun as it descends behind the tall buildings outside.

“Have you taken it exactly as you should, the way I instructed?” Izaya asks through clenched teeth, already knowing the answer.

“Well— I drank it all a couple of days ago. I spent all day with Vorona, and I didn't want—“ Shizuo pauses at the look on Izaya's face. “What? What did I do wrong? You said to take it all before the full moon, and I did!”

“I told you to drink it every day, bit by bit, and to finish it before the full moon. The exact way you've done every month until now, because you're so pathetic in the presence of that woman that you can't follow basic fucking instructions!” Izaya snaps, and Shizuo's eyes widen.

He looks scared. Shizuo thinks, and then a beat later, Oh fuck. He's scared of me.

“Izaya, I—“ Shizuo begins, and then his hands grip his knees as his body begins to shake. The sun's rays fade at last, bathing them in twilight. “I feel...wrong.”

Izaya stands from the couch, the room spinning as he does. He's not at his full power. Even if he weren't hungover, he hasn't been eating or sleeping the way he should, buried in work as he is, and reluctant to care for himself as ever. He starts towards the stairs, in search of the healing potion he should have taken earlier, but he knows it's already far too late, as Shizuo's body is already beginning to crack and twist, and his mind is already gone, replaced by that of a true monster.

“Shizu-chan, you're such a fucking idiot,” Izaya hisses, and his sentence is barely finished before Shizuo is lunging at him, aiming for his throat.

#with teeth fic #shizaya #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #witchy izaya #werewolf shizuo #shit goes down and also apparently people like Tsukumoya pestering Izaya so I added more of that

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amesstm · 4 years

Text

A Bit of Water

Word Count: 1554

Character: Jean Kirstein

Content: low key sad, head trauma (no mentions of how it happened), amnesia, bit of fluff

“Do you really think Armin’s right about the sea existing?” You asked, sitting down next to Jean. It was a long day of military movement and you were both finally able to relax alongside a lake. Contrary to being with the group of friends you shared, he sat alone.

Your friend looked at you and shrugged, “We’ll know once we see it.”

“I wonder if the water would taste good,” you pondered aloud, suddenly looking at the lake with curiosity. Then you murmured, “Maybe it tastes better than well-water.”

Disgusted laughter erupted from Jean and through laughs he choked out, “Why would you drink sea water?”

Now it was your time to shrug, but with a sheepish chuckle. Yep, your crush probably thought you were weird. “You never know! Maybe it doesn’t taste too bad.”

Jean snickered, “You’re really something, Y/N.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you flushed.

A comfortable silence fell on you two as you both watched the currents of the lake. Everyone behind them were chatting up a storm, but here you two were. Silent except for the sounds of your breathing and the pounding of your hearts. The moon cascaded on the lake with white brush strokes to provide a beautiful scene. It was one etched into your mind forever.

You smiled with a sigh, “I’m sure Marco would’ve loved to see it.”

Jean drew a sad expression until he exhaled and smiled, too. “You’re right. He would. But we’ll see it together, okay?”

Unfortunately, you never got to visit the sea. In fact, you didn’t know why you were here in the hospital at all. Apparently, you suffered a head injury that made you lose all of your memories. You knew your name, your family, and some of the names of people from your past. The nurse, Mrs. Rei, would tell you of a visitor who only came in the night. She said the visitor didn’t want you to know who they were.

“Did he come again, Mrs. Rei?” There was a loneliness in your voice that the older lady caught onto.

Her mouth dropped into an apologetic line, “Yes, I’m sorry. He’s just not ready yet.”

After a soft sigh, you nodded. It had been a month or two since you were admitted into the hospital from a brain injury. The only people who came were your family on occasion. Otherwise, it was just you, Mrs. Rei, the glass of water on the night stand, and a Wings of Freedom emblem in the drawer.

If what you knew was true, you were a member of the Survey Corps. From where you were now, you couldn’t imagine the courage you must’ve had to want to journey outside the walls. You peered out the window, which was the only escape from this room that you had. Small birds here and there fluttered freely, without a care in the world. Trees swayed with the seasons and life around you carried on. Yet you were stuck here.

Perhaps your comrades were out there right now, searching for answers and fighting off Titans. Perhaps they were all dead and no one wanted to break the truth to you, for fear of further mental regression. Either way, the only thing you did know was that you knew nothing of your unit.

It had been a few months since Jean saw you. The last time, you were asleep, as usual. If you were awake, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. How could he tell you that he was the reason you had to be hospitalized with no memory to speak of? How could he tell you everything that your friends went through? How could he explain to you how beautiful the ocean was, but when he saw it, he couldn’t even think about anything else but you?

How could he control himself if you were awake, not even remembering him at all? How would he handle knowing that any feelings you two might’ve shared are no longer reciprocated? Yet he bit his lip and walked into the hospital.

For the first time, he would be seeing you in broad daylight. Albeit in a hospital, it was still better than nothing. The smell of cleanliness hit him first, sterilized as much as possible to reduce infections. Captain Levi would love it here. But this wasn’t a place for happiness.

The nurse, Mrs. Rei, recognized him immediately and knew why he was here; but she still managed to widen her eyes slightly in surprise. “You’ll be seeing her this afternoon, sir?”

He gave a sure nod to stabilize himself. “I think I’m ready.”

She smiled, “Follow me. She’s awake, drawing something right now.”

Jean followed obediently, thinking about what he’d say to you. First, he’d apologize for not visiting in person and then for your accident. Then, he’ll hopefully be able to catch you up on everything. Finally, he’ll give you a present.

“Mr. Kirstein, are you ready?” Mrs. Rei looked at him worriedly. After all, he’s tried to do this before but backed away before he could even open the door.

He exhaled and nodded, “I won’t hesitate this time.”

She smiled, “Good.”

Then, the door was opened. There you were laying on the bed with a sketch pad on your lap. You looked up from your drawing, surprised at having a visitor. He wasn’t anything like your family, who visited in civilian clothing. He was wearing his military uniform, with a clear Wings of Freedom emblem on his chest. You must’ve known him.

Jean stepped into the room, with Mrs. Rei leaving them for privacy. He stood awkwardly before the door, all the conversations he played in his head suddenly vanished. Your curious eyes looked at him from under your eyelashes. In fact, you spoke first, “Hi, did I know you?”

You asked such an innocent, rational question but it still shot through Jean’s chest. The guilt and sadness nibbled at his heart, threatening to swallow it whole. “I- you do. I’m Jean Kirstein. We were in the military together.”

Immediately you sat up straighter, like an invisible string pulling on your head. “So, we did know each other... Are you by chance the one who visits me in the night?”

An embarrassed blush rose to Jean’s cheeks, “You’re right, I am. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to approach you.”

Despite all his stammering and embarrassment, you smiled kindly at him. “It’s fine. I don’t think I would know how to approach someone who lost their memories either.”

You stared at him, into his very soul. He wasn’t able to look at your face, but chose to look at anything but you. His eyes glanced from the window to the water glass on your nightstand. Then, they landed on your sketch pad. “I was drawing something; would you like to have a closer look at it?”

He slowly stepped towards you, taking a seat as you stretched your arm out so he could see it. As he looked at the drawing, you were able to smell him. His woody scent was so familiar and calming that it put you at ease. In fact, being near him made you so much more comfortable after only having hospital staff as company for so long. You eased and leaned towards him, resisting the urge to put your hand through a complete stranger’s hair.

Jean’s eyes sparkled; it was the same lake you two sat at before everything fell apart. Taking in the drawing, he was forcibly thrusted back into that time. When it all seemed so much simpler and you remembered everything about everything.

“It’s beautiful,” was all Jean could muster.

You chuckled, “Thank you. It’s one of my favorite scenes to draw.”

“Do you remember anything about it?”

“I remember how it made me feel. Safe, warm, happy.” Your voice drifted off, “But I don’t know why.”

Jean’s eyes drooped slightly and a frown pulled at his mouth. Out of habit, he covered his ears. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault you don’t have any memory.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Jean. Whatever you did, I’m sure it was the only way. I may not remember much of anything, but I’m still able to make new memories.”

“R-right,” he stuttered. “That reminds me, I have something for you.”

He reached into his pocket and procured a small bottle of water. At the bottom was a collection of some sand with a tiny, red shell on top. His warm hands handed it to you, “You always wanted to see the ocean.”

You gaped and whispered, “It’s real?”

Jean chuckled with small tears forming in his eyes, “Yeah. Just – don't taste it though, it’s really salty.”

He was so serious with that flat line on his face that you laughed aloud, “Why would you drink sea water?”

“You never know! Maybe it doesn’t taste too bad,” he defended himself and crossed his arms. His mouth pouted in such a way that you felt this strange need to kiss him so he felt better.

Although he was peeved at being teased again by the girl he liked, seeing you smile sent butterflies to his stomach. Another blush rose to his face against his will. Your sweet voice spoke again, “Thank you, Jean. You’re really something.”

#jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean fluff #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtien #aot fluff #aot angst #aot x reader #aot imagines #jean aot

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can-youimagine · 4 years

Text

Bracelet (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

Requested by @irenne-stans: I’d like to request a Diego Hargreeves x reader Set in season 2 the reader is close friends w/ the academy (especially Diego) and gets sucked into 1963.when the reader first sees Lila very close w/ Diego her first instinct is to fight and Lila would say like “he’s clearly over you is even made me a bracelet” the reader responds w/ “shitty bracelet he made me his girlfriend” or something like that oh and the reader wins the fight or Diego pulls the reader off Lila. while the others just watch

TW: season 2 spoilers (but you read the request), feminine reader, swearing, hella canon-divergence, poorly written fight scene, wound description

Word Count: 2,333

A/N: I started writing and realized I changed the request a bit (I have horrible reading comprehension), sorry!

Masterlist

It wasn’t like Diego to be this clingy. Ever since his father’s death, he started spending every moment he could with you. You chalked it up to be some sort of existential crisis, especially when he asked, “What would you do if you knew the world was ending in less than a week?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

“The whole world is ending, and you aren’t going to do anything different,” he asked in disbelief.

“Fine, I’ll play your game. I’d spend more time with you.” You punctuated your sentence with a quick kiss. ”Now, shh. This is my favorite part.” You settled back into his chest and turned your attention back to the screen.

“I’ll spend more time with you, too,” he whispered into your hair.

He kept to his promise, going so far as to drag you with him into a portal to God knows where with much protest from his siblings. The last thing you remember before crashing to the ground was Diego telling you he loved you.

Now, you sit on a rather stiff couch, while the man who graciously let you live with him. He goes on and on about a secret alien race, ‘just like you’. You nod. It was easier to tell him what he wanted to hear than to try to do anything about it.

Luckily, Five showed up not too long after you. He explained everything, from the last apocalypse to this one. While he went off to find his siblings, he left you to listen to one of Elliott’s crazy rants.

“I got an update on another one of them. Escaped from the mental hospital,” Elliott says, as he tosses the newspaper in your direction. “Know him?”

You gasp when you see the picture. “Diego.” Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“You know him,” Elliott presses. “He’s like you.”

You ignore him. Diego is here. He’s alive, and he’s here. His hair is much longer than it was, but he still looked exactly the same. “Oh, God. I have to find him.” You threw the paper back to Elliott before grabbing your shoes. “How far away should he be?”

He doesn’t have time to answer before you are out the door. “My God, Diego. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” you wonder, heading down the street. You don’t have much time to wonder before you see him sitting in a definitely stolen car. You shout his name, causing him to turn to you. As soon as he sees you, he clambers out of the car.

“(Y/N)!” The joy on his face is unmistakable. Though, you don’t get to see it for long, as he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you as close to you as he can, before kissing you. When he pulls away, he holds your face in his hands. “You’re here.”

That’s all it takes for you to start crying. Every emotion the two of you have felt since arriving comes pouring out of you. He gently brushes away your tears, ignoring his own. You almost forgot how good it feels to be in his arms, to just be with him.

Unfortunately, you don’t get to stay there for long. A woman, who you hadn’t noticed in the car earlier, clears her throat. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Fuck off,” Diego groans.

“You’re no fun,” she pouts.

Diego rolls his eyes. “Killed the mood, didn’t she?”

You chuckle. “A little, but God, is it good to see you again.” You look passed him to the girl in the car. “I’m (Y/N).”

“Oh, so you’re (Y/N). I was starting to think he truly was insane.”

You give Diego an inquisitive look, which he dismisses. “I was in there for a while. I could only think about you. Where were you?”

You explain where you were and everything that Five had told you, to which Diego can only respond with, “Again?”

“Looks like you gotta be a hero again.”

“So you’re where he gets it from?” the woman interjects.

Diego closes his eyes. It takes all of his self-control not to snap. “Lila-” Luckily for her, Five manages to find you before he has a chance to finish his sentence.

“See you’re pulling your weight around here, (Y/N).” He turns his attention to his brother, “And you are making my life incredibly difficult. Now let’s get you inside before someone sees you.” He turns on his heel and heads back toward Elliott’s.

“Ooh! I’m coming, too!” Lila says, hopping out of the car. Before anyone has a chance to stop her, she bounds up the steps. “Well, you comin’?”

You shrug and lead Diego into the building, but not before stealing another kiss. By the time you get in, Elliott is screaming at Five about the film he asked him to about earlier. Five, rather uninterested in the whole conversation, allows Lila to knock Elliott out before instructing you to tie him up while Five sets up the projector to watch the “Frankel Footage”.

You and Diego are too wrapped up in, well, each other to pay attention to the film. However, when you hear the gunshot, you both turn your attention to the screen.

“Is the guy with the umbrella…” you trail off, uncertain of if you really want to accuse your boyfriend’s father of murder.

“Dad,” Five and Diego say in unison.

“What the hell was that?” Lila asks, backing away. “What the hell was that?”

None of you know how to explain what happened. When you don’t answer immediately, she rushes off to hide in the makeshift darkroom.

“I’ll go calm her down,” Diego says.

“(Y/N), help me find Dad,” Five commands.

“We’re just gonna leave him?” You point to Elliot.

“We’ll just be in the next room.”

You nod and grab the phonebook. You flip through the ‘H’s. “No Hargreeves. Any other suggestions?”

“D.S. Manufacturing.” He moves to look over your shoulder. “There it is! Diego and I are going to see if we can get anything out of him. You need to stay here either to calm down Elliott or Lila. I’m not sure who needs your help more.”

You nod. “Be careful.”

“I will be. You may want to tell your boyfriend that.”

“I will.” You walk over to the closet. “D, we found him.”

“I’ve got to go, Lila. Family thing,” he explains to her before turning his attention back to you. “She’s starting to get some of it. Just keep her sane.”

“I will. You be careful.”

He rolls his eyes. “I always am.”

“Yeah. It’s not like I’ve ever had to stitch you back together right before I go to work.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” He holds his pinkie out, something the two of you started doing early in your relationship.

You lock yours with his. “I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good. Now, go, be a hero.”

He kisses you again before heading out the door.

Once he leaves, you tell Lila that you are going to make something to eat since she probably hasn’t had anything. She just nods, obviously uncomfortable with you. Eventually, hunger wins, and she comes into the kitchen with you.

“Y’know,” she says between mouthfuls of pancakes, “I thought that that man was insane -- daddy issues and all that -- but now,” the rest of her sentence is drowned out by the food. “So, what’ the deal with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“He just kept telling anyone who would listen about how great you are, how much he missed you, all that shit. So, what’s so great about you?”

You grip your glass a little tighter and plaster a smile onto your face. “I-”

“Not that it matters. You never bothered to look for him.” You try not to let her get to you. You try to be the bigger person, but as soon as she says, “Besides, we were basically a thing at the hospital. Why else would he take me with him? He even made me this bracelet.” She waves her wrist adorned with a string of beads in front of your face.

“Quite a shitty bracelet,” you respond, taking her empty plate from her. Once you turn around, you mutter, “He made me his girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah. Seems to be working well for you. You couldn’t even be bothered to-” Something takes control over you. You slap her as if on instinct. Surprisingly, she seems rather unphased, coming back at you twice as hard. You try everything Diego taught you, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. It’s almost like she grew up in a bootcamp.

Just as she moves to hit you again, the door opens, and Five whistles. “As wonderful as it is to see you two bonding, your boyfriend needs some help.”

She hits you one last time before running down the stairs. You follow her to a horribly wounded, but conscious, Diego.

“Fuck,” you both say.

“I’m fine,” Diego says.

You roll your eyes. “Stand straight.”

He tries but fails. “Fine. Patch me up, Doc.”

You take his shirt off and lead him to the couch. You inspect the wound, which doesn’t seem to be too serious.

“I need disinfectant, bandages, some clean cloths, water, and some sort of painkiller,” you instruct. Lila and Five get to work gathering what you need, while you stay with Diego.

“Seems like I should have warned you to be careful,” he jests.

“I’m not the one bleeding out on a stranger’s couch,” you counter.

“You were the one almost pushed over a banister.”

You keep your eyes trained on his stomach, looking for any other scratches.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

“It was nothing. I was being stupid.”

“No shit.” He laughs bitterly. “You can either tell me now, or I’ll ask her.”

“All out of painkillers,” Five interrupts, “but I’ve got everything else. Lila is untying Elliott.”

You thank him before telling him to go supervise her. Once he leaves, you get to work and hope that Diego has forgotten about the fight.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” he finally asks once you’ve cleaned most of the blood.

“You’re going to laugh.” You put some rubbing alcohol on the wound, causing him to hiss.

“I’m not much of a laugher.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. I was jealous.”

As if to prove you right, he laughs. After an unamused look from you, he stops. “Sorry, but why? You know I love you.”

“I know.” You throw the cloth onto the couch. “I know. She was just talking about being with you and the bracelet and-”

“(Y/N), that bracelet is shit!”

“I know! I just -- I guess I just thought -- I thought I lost you, and the thought of you having this life that I couldn’t be a part of killed me. I know it’s stupid and selfish, but I just didn’t want you to have moved on so fast.” You didn’t realize you were crying until you feel Diego wipe away a tear.

“I will never move on from you. I love you, (Y/N), and I will make you a million bracelets to show you that. You have nothing to worry about.” He kisses you gently, ignoring the pain in his side. “I love you, and if we were back home, at our home, I’d show you.” You smile slightly. “Thatta girl. I told you, you’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”

You finish patching him up in silence. He has quite a few bruises that will still be there for a while, but there’s not much you can do about them. Since he doesn’t feel up to walking upstairs, the two of you stay on the couch. With Diego next to you, you sleep soundly for the first time since you came here, but he can’t stop his mind from reeling.

He feels horrible about everything that happened. He just wishes that he could have been there as soon as you first became jealous to hold you and tell you that you had absolutely nothing to worry about. He can’t stop thinking about the bracelet. You both know that the bracelet is the least of your worries, but something about it keeps eating at him. He suddenly gets an idea.

He climbs off of the couch, careful not to wake you, and moves over to the pile of cloth. He digs through the pile, looking for some sliver of white fabric in the pile, but he comes up empty. Instead, he grabs one and washes it until the water runs clear. He rips it into three small strips and begins braiding it the way he’s seen you and his sisters do a million times. When it somewhat resembles a bracelet, he ties it around your wrist, cutting it so that it fits perfectly.

When he tries to lay back down next to you, his elbow knocks against you, causing you to wake up. “Diego?”

“Yes, doll?”

“What’re you doing up?”

“I wanted to make up for earlier.”

“Diego-” You move your hand up to rest on his cheek, but you stop when you see the cloth. “What’s this?”

“I thought you deserved your own bracelet. This one is a bit more personal, though, not some mandatory arts and crafts project.”

You examine it. It’s lumpy and poorly braided and a rather ugly bronze color. “Where did you get this?”

“Before you freak out, I cleaned it.”

“You got it from that pile, didn’t you?”

He nods sheepishly, feeling rather foolish for thinking that you would like a blood-colored bracelet. “I’m sor-”

“I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You curl back into him, laying the arm with the bracelet on his chest where you can both see it.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua spoilers #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagine

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loveislattes · 3 years

Text

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Talk of depression and stressful life, mentions of unnamed character death, mentions of beheading/dismembered head and some minor blood/gore (not too detailed), cursing, mentions of family in the hospital, demon!Dark (akin to jinn or genie), and pet names.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This first chapter is allllll story setting. Part two will have the good ol' rough and dominating Dark fucking.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Look, I think it’s just best if you take some time off.”

Though worded nicely, you instinctually felt the pang of panic and anger already bristling in your chest.

“Time off…” you murmur, eyes sliding down to your boss’s desk in thought, “As in, a week or two or…?”

You let the implication hang heavy in the air. There was a telling silence that followed your question. When you finally met his gaze again, your boss let out a hefty sigh. Before he even said anything, you knew what his answer was by the sympathy on his face alone.

“We won’t fight your unemployment for the first few months, which hopefully will be enough time for you to find another place of employment. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but between the company making cutbacks and your recent drop in productivity, I had to-”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed sharply, interrupting him before he could finish the excuse.

Rage fueled your motions, forcing you to your feet while your eyes narrowed on the man you’d once thought a decent person.

“A drop in productivity?” you scoffed, “My apartment building was just destroyed in a freak fire two weeks ago that, of course, my insurance refused to cover. I’ve been bouncing place to place between motels and friend’s homes until I can afford another deposit on the measly pay you give us. My mother is in the hospital, in the ICU, after a freak hit and run. My car broke down yesterday and I walked thirty fucking minutes in the pouring rain today just to make sure you assholes weren’t a man down with all this work. And you knew all of this, but you still decided to fire me? I can’t- You know what, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place! I hope this whole company shuts down and you get to experience even a modicum of the instability I’ve had to!”

Before he could respond, you slammed the chair back into place against the desk and stormed from the room. You could feel the confused gazes from your coworkers as you marched to the door but didn’t dare spare them a glance. Most of them you considered to be your friends and you knew you’d have to explain everything later, but you couldn’t allow anything other than anger to inhabit your body at that moment. One bit of sadness and you would crumble. Rage would keep you safe until you made it to your temporary home for the night.

Little curses and fury-filled resentment spilled from your lips as you stepped out into the dreary public. Of course, it was still raining. You hadn’t even dried off from your trek to work and now you were thrown right back out into the storm. A timely crack of lightning rumbled across the sky as you shot one last middle finger back at the door.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you grumbled.

Pulling your raincoat up over your head, you kept your gaze down and began your journey back to the hotel. The one upside to all the rain was that the sidewalks were nearly barren. Cars sped by on the busy roads but you were alone on foot. In fact, you didn’t see a single soul until you were on the block housing your hotel, and somehow that lonely occupant still managed to slam into you.

“Excuse you,” you muttered.

“So sorry, please excuse me.”

The person’s voice sent shivers down your spine and every last hair stood up on your arms. Reflexively you pulled back as a hand touched your side, ready to give them a mouthful, but they were moving on by the time you could gather your wits about you. All you caught was a tall form in a black business suit striding off in the opposite direction.

With an irked tsk and a mutter of “Fucking asshole”, you rushed into the lobby, stomping the rain from your shoes along the rubber mat. Sure you were pissed off but you still had the human decency not to create more work for others.

You managed a little nod to the desk clerk on your way by to the elevator. As you watched the numbers climb slowly down, you mentally questioned the fates if the world was against you. The elevator stopped on literally every- single- floor; All 25. Trying to maintain your composure, you leaned up against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed, slowly breathing in and out rhythmically. Just a little longer and you’d be in the safety of solitude. You could let it all out.

The ding of the lift doors opening pulled you out of your little meditative session and you immediately let out a grateful sigh of appreciation upon realizing it was empty. Being stuck in a small metal box with others for an undetermined amount of time made your skin crawl, much less when you were already on the edge of snapping. You mashed the close button repeatedly until the metal doors finally sealed shut and the elevator began to move. The rest of the journey was a blur until you stopped at your room door and fished your card out of your pocket, coming out with not only the plastic key but a large silver coin.

“The fuck?” you muttered.

As the door buzzed open, you flipped the coin over in your fingers, trying to think back on when you had gotten it. You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything like it before; completely void of any details on one side but the other filled with finely engraved words.

The loud startling thump of your keys as you threw them on the nightstand wasn’t even enough to draw your concentration away from the interesting little trinket. It took a few minutes and some good lighting but you eventually figured out what was written; the discovery only confusing you further.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“Yeah… that’s not creepy at all,” you sighed.

Tossing the coin on the nightstand next to your keys, you sloughed off your wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper next to your duffle bag. After this horrid morning, you needed a long hot shower before you pondered on any strange coins or the mental shithole that had become your life.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you spent under the burning water but, by the time you exited, you were both hungry and in dire need of some caffeine.

“Or a nap. A nap could be heavenly,” you murmured to yourself.

Towel around your head, you dropped into the bed naked and took a moment to revel in the sheets against your freshly lotioned skin. There was hardly a better feeling. Thank god you had the good sense to buy some of your own sheets rather than rely on whatever the hotels had to offer. It made your day the tiniest bit better.

As you leaned back against the headboard, you snagged up the coin once more. The metal was cool against your warm fingers as you flipped it around and around. Did you dare give it a try? What was the worst outcome: You felt silly for believing a random coin and no one would ever know? Although, what if it was legit...?

Now that thought made you feel silly. A little chuckle passed your lips before you clasped the coin between your hands and brought it to your chest, closing your eyes as if about to pray.

“Alright, I don’t know how this works so I’m just gonna state my wishes out loud. I hope that works for, well, whoever you are. First off, I want that backstabbing business ruined. They fucked me over after I bent over backward for them, now they deserve to feel the same. Please. Second, I don’t know how you could do it, but I’d really like my insurance company to finally approve my apartment claim so I can find another place soon. Third-”

You trailed off as emotions immediately welled up behind your eyelids, the burning already tingling in the back of your throat from holding them in.

“My third and most important wish, please, if nothing else, find the one that put my mom in the ICU and make them pay. Those idiots down at the police department couldn’t find them, or so they say anyway, so just… give them what they deserve, please.”

With a stifled sniffle, you wiped away the few tears that had escaped and fell back against the headboard, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as you let the pain wash over you; Rage, dread, hope, apathy, desperation. Eventually, the unending barrage became too much to deal with. This wasn't a new thing in your life, but it had certainly culminated into something worse with everything going on in your life; clinical depression exacerbated by a series of unfortunate events.

With no other plans for the day and the weight of your heart heavy in your chest, you chose to simply roll over and bury yourself, and your troubles, in the fluffy comforter. You’d feel better after a nap. You were almost certain of it.

Even as you drifted off into sleep, the tears didn’t cease.

When you first woke, you weren’t sure what had roused you but you knew it wasn’t good; All you could feel was bone-trembling terror. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, felt frozen in place with only the ability to stare at the now dimly lit wall; watching the shafts of setting sunlight ever so slowly creep down by the minute.

“Come now, darling,” a low voice crooned in the void behind you, “I know you’re awake.”

Like a rubber band snapping, the grip on your body suddenly released and you shot up in bed, immediately turning around to find out who had spoken. You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t the devilishly handsome man that was seated next to the window. The sunlight pouring down on him made it very obvious that his skin was lacking any range of melanin, rather being pallor shades of whites, blacks, and greys, but that didn't detract from his appearance at all. In fact, he looked like something out of a Gothic romance novel or a Tim Burton movie. Once the enchantment of seeing him began to wear off, you finally noticed what sat on the table next to him.

A human head.

“Holy fuck!”

A hellish screech escaped your lips as you hastily scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible, only to go careening off the edge of the mattress. The pain of impact on the floor couldn’t even deter you. As your back hit the wall, you kept your eyes pinned on the intruder, watching for any sign that he was going to follow you or attack.

“While I’m certainly not minding the show, don’t you think you’re rather underdressed for this occasion?” he spoke suddenly.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in but the moment they did, you launched yourself back at the bed with a hushed curse and promptly pulled the sheets up around your naked body.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I-Is- Is that real?”

Long clawed fingers made their way into the matted, bloody mess of hair and pulled the body part free from the table with a sickening pop.

“It is undoubtedly real, but I figured you’d believe me much quicker if I had a visual aide to my claims,” he replied, dropping the offending thing before tossing you a sharp, seductive, smile, “The name is Dark. I’m a demon and the owner of the coin you wished upon.”

Your tongue felt too heavy to move while you watched in horror as he licked the blood from his fingers like a cat bathing itself.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” he supplied helpfully.

As he rose from his seat, you stared at him owlishly, unable to take your eyes off his graceful form as he nearly glided across the floor to stand in front of you.

“That coin,” he hummed, pointing at the metal disc in question, “It belongs to me. When someone makes a wish while holding it, I’m able to hear them. In your case, I heard all three.”

Trepidation tickled the nape of your neck when your eyes slowly rolled over to the head once more. It was as if you couldn’t breathe. Sick crawled up your throat and it took every ounce of your strength to keep from vomiting at the man’s feet. You don’t know how long you sat there, struggling to breathe and ease the nausea but, when it finally went away, rage took over.

“I didn’t want you to actually KILL them!” you shouted.

The demon casually arched a brow in your direction before saying, “You specifically wished for the one involved in your mother’s accident to get what they deserved.”

“Yeah! Like prison! Not death!”

A soul-trembling crack resounded through the small hotel room as he slowly craned his neck side to side, ethereal pulses of red and blue emanating from his being. Some of the previous ire slipped from your hold when he moved even closer, step by step until his knees were touching yours.

“I will never understand you humans and your sense of righteousness. Would it ease your mind to know this wasn’t the first time they had committed such heinous crimes?” he asked.

“W-What?” you questioned softly.

“I will not delve into details but rest assured that your embarrassing sense of compassion was lost on them; they were vermin,” he explained, “Now, that makes three wishes fulfilled. You have two remaining.”

You thought back on exactly what wishes you had made and were immediately overcome with dismay.

“Wait, what did you do?!” you demanded, jumping to your feet and glaring up at him, “You didn’t kill anyone else, did you?!”

A twinge of disdain passed through his features. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder and you were shoved back down onto the bed with a 'tsk' of disapproval, as if scolding a misbehaving child.

“Fortunately for you, no. Your previous place of employment has simply been condemned for multiple code violations that have mysteriously come to light during a surprise investigation, and your insurance company has been informed that they’re facing a lawsuit if they don’t reevaluate your claim with a more positive outlook.”

Relief flushed through your veins and you thanked him meekly. You wouldn’t have been able to live your life knowing you had caused the deaths of so many people, let alone friends.

“So, what now?” you asked.

“You have two more wishes before your soul belongs to me.”

He said it with such finality and ease that you almost didn’t react at first. Once his words settled in though, oh, panic quickly followed.

Gaping up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, you tried to stammer out some rebuttal or plea, but nothing would come out. Panic soon gave way to defeat as you realized there was no obvious way to get out of this ordeal. It had been clear as day on the coin.

Thinking on the offending piece of metal, you looked over and snagged it up, reading the inscription once more.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“So that’s what this meant,” you sighed quietly, before gazing at him once more, “And there’s no way to bargain out of this?”

He looked mildly pleased by your inquiry, letting out a little hum before falling back into an ornate chair that definitely hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And what would you bargain?” he purred, “What could a simple little human such as yourself have to give to me, other than your soul of course.”

You cursed his infallible logic and stayed quiet as you tried to think over your options. Truly, you had nothing else to give him; no money nor gifts. Your soul was the only valuable thing you owned, and there was no undoing what had been done. A person had died because of your wish.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up to your full height and prepared yourself mentally.

“Is there a time limit? Do I have to make my wishes today or can I think about them?” you asked.

“You’re free to use them when and wherever you wish. However, do not think this a loophole. Choosing to postpone your wishes until death does not release you from this contract. Your soul will still belong to me when you die.”

Well fuck. There went that option. If you were doomed no matter what, you might as well make use of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... right?

“I’m going to need time,” you whispered.

“Fair enough,” he replied, finally taking a step back, “You have my calling card. You can call for me if you have any questions, otherwise, you know what to do.”

He strolled back to the window and snagged the dismembered head, flashing you a wide smirk that framed his fangs perfectly.

“I’ll just be taking this with me. Hope to hear from you soon, darling.”

#Demon!Dark #Dark/reader #female reader #PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS PEOPLE #This chapter is a little dark #heh... dark #pun not intended #two part series #Chapter 1

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some-dr-writings · 4 years

Text

Nekomaru, Kazuichi and Gundham’s Tsundere S/O got into a fight

Nekomaru Nidai:

· “Y/N!?” “Ah, it’s you. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you already. Surprised you weren’t talking as you always are.” You huffed, glancing away from your boyfriend, wiping blood off the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. You sat on the ground, leaning against the back wall of the building. Your face was covered in bruises, and your clothes were completely disheveled, scuffed, slightly torn, with smudges of dirt smeared across it. Nekomaru kneeled before you, gently yet firmly he held your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, just barely tilting our head. “Sloppy, how did they get this kind of damage on you? Did you lose focus?” “Tch, you should see the other guy. I still got in a few hits. Good ones too.” “… Hmm, come. I’ll patch you up and we’ll strategize! I’ll even give you a special variation of ‘IT’!”

· “It’s not like you to get into fights like this.” You simply watched; eyes unwavering from Nekomaru as he wrapped a small ice pack around one of your many bruises that littered your body. “Are you feeling ill? Even the smallest of bugs can affect an athletes’ judgement! Even sleeping in slightly later can be a sign! Though… I don’t see anything wrong with you.” Then his gaze met yours. “It’s mental.” You glanced away signaling to Nekomaru that he had hit the nail on the head. You were speaking a lot less than usual, just a few snarky comments. Before he could get a read on what it was you mumbled something. “What? If you’re going to say something, say it with conviction! No holding back!” He then roared, likely being heard for miles around as evidenced by your ringing ears and the sight of many flocks of birds suddenly taking flight, far beyond the window and even the walls that surrounded the school. “Those assholes were talking shit about you! Spewing insults and rumors they had no idea of!” “So, they took your temper to their advantage, no wonder you’re so beaten up.” “I’m not a fighter so it doesn’t fuckin’ matter anyway!”

· Standing up Nekomaru smiled, placing the supplies back into the first-aid kit. You flinched, feeling the heat raising to your cheeks. “I-it wasn’t for your sake, dumb butt! As if I’d let some trash speak poorly on anything related to me. As if I’d date anyone less than perfection.” Then your cheeks completely flushed red as you froze for a moment before suddenly abruptly standing up. “A-any way! I’m… Going… somewhere! T-TO TOWN! TRAINING, PARKOUR! DON’T WAIT UP!” Before you could dash out the room you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder, his other hand cupping your cheek, turning you to face him. He then smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you too. But!” He then took a step back. “If you’re going out to sweat out your emotions, you’ll need your manager there, so I’m coming along too!” “O-okay, fine whatever, you can come along, I guess…”

· Nekomaru couldn’t help but adore seeing that ever darkening blush, as you tried hiding your face, concealing that wobbly smile, even if you were absolutely failing to do so at this point. No matter what, he’s was going to be by your side, supporting you however he could, whether you wanted it or not! You were his partner, and he was determined for you to keep being amazing, to surpass him in every way!

Kazuichi Soda:

· “Hmm? Two thirteen!? Where did the time go!?” Kazuichi nervously ran a hand through his hair, seeing how early it was, meaning he had worked nonstop through the night. He quickly set about packing his tools and other supplies, fretting about upsetting you by messing up his sleep schedule… again. He especially felt guilty for how much effort you put into helping him live a little healthier and not spend so much of his time tinkering that he keels over from malnutrition or lack of sunlight.

· Rushing to the house he tripped over himself when dashing out of his workshop, crashing into a wall in the process. It was… a rather chaotic crash, hearing a deep, resonating crack through his head. He winced feeling his nose in great pain, something cascade from his nostrils. He also noticed how he suddenly couldn’t smell anything; not the rain, or metal, not even motor oil though he had gone nose blind to it long ago. “Oh, shoot.” The guilt only piling on, now he was going to worry you senseless. This was just… fan-freaking-tastict.

· The very least he could do was not wake you so early in the morning. Though trying to hide this would only worry you more so he’d tell you about what happened after you had woken up. As quietly as he could Kazuichi slinked through the house, tiptoeing into the master bathroom.

· Suddenly a pair of ear splitting screams pierced through the air. “Kazu-baby!?” “Babe!? WHY ARE YOU BLOODY!?” “WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE YOUR FACE WAS RAN OVER BY A TRUCK!?” The last thing Kazuichi expected to see when turning on the bathroom light was you in the room when it was dark. You both were panicking, you holding Kazuichi’s face, examining his bloodied nose, as Kazuichi held your face noticing how strangely your nose matched his with that red gushing from it. You also had a lot of cuts and bruises riddled in your flesh to match it.

· After fretting over one another, making sure any and all wounds were patched up, you and he sat side by side on the end of the bed. “What happened to you!?” “Well…” You sighed, your features seeming to grow heaver at the mere thought of whatever happened, sending a deep pain to shoot through your husband’s heart. “I was out for my nightly jog. On my way back home though I was mugged. I managed to escape but this person thought it was a good idea to just keep going after me, so I kept just jogging for a while, even after I thought I lost them, I… didn’t want to lead them home so I just kept going and going, and… I… had been through enough tonight and I didn’t want to deal with the police so I… I skipped going to the hospital. But I didn’t want to wake you up, so I decided to try patching myself up with the lights off.” “Y/N!” You hated seeing the worry in Kazuichi expression, so you immediately took his hands, squeezing them tightly, interlacing your fingers together. “B-but I’m okay! I swear! But what about you? I thought you’d be in bed by now.” “… Uh… I was working, realized how late it was and tripped into a wall when rushing back into the house-“ “Oh. My. Goodness. I’ve married an idiot!” “But what you went through was more important! How are you feeling? Are you sure you’re alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?” “No, no, I’m fine! But Kazu-baby, you need sleep if you smashed into a wall with enough force to break your nose! Come on, let’s just get to bed.”

· Neither of you got to bed that night, too worried about the other to do so. “Hey, Babe… Want to just cuddle and watch a movie? I…” “… I could really use that tonight. And maybe we could just have a cat nap in the day.” “Heh, yeah. A day lazing around with you sounds fantastic.” So gently he kissed your temples, scared of hurting you, but needing to show you in even a small way how much he cared.

Gundham Tanaka:

· With a groan Gundham stirred from his rest, realizing his phone vibrated so much it had fallen off the bedside table, screen side up, lighting up the whole room to which Gundham hissed, shielding himself behind the quilt and sheets. Slowly he crept out, reaching his hand over the bed, patting the ground till his fingers felt that smooth device. Squinting his eyes, he saw he had gotten many messages from you, but the last one simply said ‘never mind. You better not wake up because of this.’ Well… too late for that. Almost every message was a variation of ‘please pick me up’, but then the last few realizing that because you were texting him to pick you up because the buses didn’t run this late, Gundham would probably be asleep by now. Stiffly he sat up, lightly stretching before going to the closet.

· Walking into the rain, that soft pitter-patter that surrounding him caused him to wonder if by chance it was raining where you were… Just in case he brought a second umbrella, keeping it tucked under his arm… It was also rather chilly out so he brought an extra coat… He also wasn’t sure if you had brought any shoes suited for rain and puddles, so he brought a pair… And from the texts it seems you have been up for a while so perhaps you’d be hungry, so he also brought some leftovers in a small container with him… And maybe- Gundham abruptly shook his head at his own behavior. He needed to get going, not constantly going and in and out for something else… But maybe- “No! Enough of this!” With renewed conviction he strode down the sidewalk, not looking back.

· It was a rather long walk to be sure, it’d take an hour by train or bus so Gundham jogged along, occasionally checking his phone to make sure he was heading the right way. The Devas huddled in the scarf, snuggled into Gundham, concealing themselves in that warmth, a few occasionally chattering. “I agree, this is entirely too strange, but that’s exactly why we must make haste.” The splashes of his feet against the puddles rippled and warped the reflection of those bight city lights that were drawing ever nearer as Gundham dashed past.

· Once at the edge, where the streets and towering buildings met Gundham had looked down for but a moment, checking the apartment address when two of his Devas poked their heads out of the scarf, sniffing the air as one lightly nipped his neck. “Huh? My love is…” With a firm nod he began to follow their directions and dropped the phone into his pocket.

· “Y/N…” You didn’t move, simply glancing at him for a moment. “I told you not to wake up.” Your voice was so horse, so quiet, that even the softest patter of the rain drowned your voice out, Gundham had only understood your words being your Soul’s mate, having been with you for so long he could have predicted it should he have tried too. There you laid, curled up into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest on a bench in the park, under the dead light of a lamp pole. Gundham kneeled before you, holding out the umbrella, himself getting out from under it’s protection in the process before opening the second one for the Devas and himself. You sighed, sitting up. “Since you’re here anyway, I suppose I’ll accept your company. Not that I needed it, I, I’m fine… Just… forgot the time is all.”

· That little blush that dusted your cheeks suddenly flared up feeling the warmth of the coat that surrounded you and seeing the small container of chicken teriyaki held out before you. “T-the hell did you bring this for?” “Nourishment is a necessity for building up strength, and we have quite a ways to traverse before we’ll return to our domains.” With trembling hands you took the container. You took a bite, slowly chewing it, taking in all the flavors… You tried holding it back, but quickly those tears mixed in with the rain that dripped down your cheeks. “it’s not good cold…”

· The tears that came pouring out, through hiccups and sobs you shoveled in bite after bite, all the while, Gundham taking off his coat and scarf, draping them over you. “Why, W-why do I even try anymore? I do everything they want, and they STILL blow up in my face! Why does mom always take their side!? I try to get along with her new partner, but they just never will try with me! AT LEAST I’M TRYING TO MAKE FATHER’S DEATH EASY ON HER, SO WHY DO THEY HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFFICULT!? WHY IS MOM WITH SUCH A JACK ASS!? WHY… why can’t I have my mom back? Why does she have to glom onto that fucking jerk!? Can’t she see they’re just taking advantage of her!? I… why? W-why.” Even as you hugged yourself, leaning forward, he didn’t dare move as you rested your head against his shoulder.

· Not saying a word you sat up, only now noticing the rain boots that were placed before you. As you placed them on, Gundham closed one of the umbrellas. He stood closely beside you as the pair of you walked along. “… you didn’t have to come.” “I know.” “It must have been a real pain to get up so late.” “It was.” “And to walk all the way out here.” “Jog.” “That’s even worse.” “It certainly was.” “… thank you.” “…” A light pink dusted his cheeks as he took a step closer to you, now shoulder to shoulder. Though exhausted and feeling like you were on the edge of both blowing up and collapsing, the gesture pulled at the corner of your lips, drawing a soft smile from you.

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iphoenixrising · 4 years

Note

How do you think the boys will react to Dr Tim in fear gas (like full dose of it)??

Hi babe.

I’ve said it before, but ah. Be careful what you wish for, heh.

But no, really hasn’t poor Dr. Tim been through enough? Guy has already narrowly escaped collapsing bridges, been up close and personal with the Joker, fought off Scarecrow’s goons, AND was smack dab in the middle of an honest-to-God Arkham Riot.Now we’re going to just get him all up in some fear toxin? Good Lord, can the man get a break? He hasn’t had some smut in a while tbh. (winks over to chippon)

BUT.

WARNINGS FOR:

Mentions of child abuse

Mentions of gore, blood, grossness

You will be crying by the end. Guaranteed.

Extreme mental and emotional HURT

Tim’s fears are Jesus-Fucking-Christ level bad

You’ve been warned :D

He’s not even back to work yet after that ambulance wreck, still feels the road rash, pulled muscles, and residual owfuck from a little rough and tumble time at Arkham Asylum.

But, he’s in a convenience store for fuck’s sake because Jay wouldn’t let him have coffee this morning (nah, Sweets. Ya ain’t godda get up yet. Jus’ go back ta sleep wid’ me, yeah? We’re gonna stay here all warm n’ snug. Sshh. I gotcha, Timmy), and he’d managed to wrangle himself out of Jay’s arms when he woke up again, found out there’s only enough grounds for a shitty, weak pot, and Tim can’t even stand the thought of it.

Unfortunately, he gets a whole lot of random bad guys stopping in for those terrible hot dogs and road drinks on their way out of Gotham.

(Crane looks just as horrifying as he remembers from the hospital that one time, and Tim fervently hopes, hopes none of these henchmen recognize him in a beat-up hoodie and saggy sweatpants.)

What makes matters worse?

Crane isn’t even trying to be, you know, an evil villain.

There’s a put-upon sign behind the mask, and the fear gas comes out of nowhere, getting everyone in the store because the guy just doesn’t want to deal with civilians right this moment. He missed the break-out and decided to have a party all on his own, but he hasn’t even gotten the time to get the plan for his next evil scheme ready yet.

So he raises a hand and sprays a little gas to keep people from being lucid enough to call the cops and rat him out. He needs some time for a good getaway.

Tim, however, sees the inevitable coming and is frozen to the spot, can’t get his weak knees to unlock so he can at least try to duck. Instead, he gets it full in the face.

In a sweep, Crane sprays the small store as his henchmen drop a $20 in front of the coughing clerk and take off back out the door. Hotdogs and all.

Tim scrabbles for his phone, the noxious cloud makes his eyes water, his lungs fucking burn on the first choked, shocked breath. Even when he tries to hold his breath, he’s too terrified, knees going out just as he thumbs the screen behind his back.

“Timmy?” is tinny and far away while he tries to at least breath shallow, eyes dart to the door, his brain tuned into the whole get out and away before the inevitable happens.

He’s got to get to Jay, he’s got to get out of here and get to someone. If he starts talking while hepped up on fear gas, he could give away everyone’s secrets. He could tell random strangers who everyone really is, he could tell anyone their weaknesses, he could put everyone in danger.

Building blocks. If he can get to a lab, to Steph’s, back to his penthouse, anywhere not here, he can probably crack the building blocks of the toxin before it takes him over completely.

He doesn’t even hear, “Baby? Ya there? Didja butt dial again? Thought I tol’ ya ta stay in bed with me, yeah?”

Not with the door right there.

All he has to do is make his weak knees fucking work, ignore the burn in his lungs, his brain, his eyes teary with the cloud still thick around him, with the abrupt slam of his heart in his chest, with the sudden shadows in the niches that hadn’t been there before.

He just has to get to that fucking door. Has to be able to run.

Tim manages to mostly get there before the screaming starts.

Dick is working the day shift in the uniform when word Crane struck come over the wire.

Whenever it’s one of the big bads, he gets close enough to get the details before handily disappearing to slip into something a little more comfortable.

(He knows his ass is spectacular in the Nightwing suit.)

A boop from his pocket is his Batcomm notification, and he pops it in just as he dips into the men’s room with a plan to get out one of the usual windows.

“We’ve got Crane on the move, O. Might want to drop B a line.”

“Already aware, Boy Wonder. It’s more severe than you realize.” His phone goes off as Dick is shimmying out the window and up the building where he keeps a spare suit in a nice waterproof bag hidden in the overhang.

When he checks whatever oh shit is added to a potentially deadly scene, he’s got a text from Jay and a picture from O.

Surveillance footage from inside a convenience store where Crane evidently attacked some civilians. His breath catches when one of the faces turned away to try avoiding the gas is–

Timmy.

“Fuck,” is a little breathless with a very different kind of fear, and Dick immediately turns it up a notch, throwing his suit on and slapping a domino over his eyes. “What can you tell me, O?”

Quick check on what he’s got to work with.

“B and Rob are already in pursuit. Signal is approaching to assist. As far as we can tell, this is the only place Crane managed to hit. Everyone’s mostly been accounted for by GCPD.”

“I sense a but coming–” and he checks his phone two seconds before time to fly, and the text from Jay is something about Tim and screaming, and now he won’t pick up the phone...

“O?” Because dread strikes him in the chest.

“He’s the only civilian missing. He must have already taken off before the patrol car got there.”

“He was hit with fear gas, and he took off?”

The jumpline is already in his hand before he even hits the edge of the roof at a run. It’s go time.

So, it’s a race to find Tim, all doped up on fear toxin and probably tripping out of his mind in one of the most dangerous cities in America where people like the Joker and Two-Face might hold a grudge.

Jason was already suited up before he sent that text to Dickie, was outta there when the sounds came over the line, the familiar screams. It’s a particular flavor of terror spelled out that Timmy, was probably in trouble.

He hits up O with the deets while Nightwing hits the almost-night, making the first swing fucking count.

The world alters and shift around him, almost throwing him off his feet more than once.

He’s already completely lost his sense of direction, trying to keep his eyes closed in a last ditch effort to keep the hallucinations at bay.

(It’s just chemicals fucking with your brain. You can beat this. It’s not real. None of it is real. You know that. You know it’s just–

Brick under his fingertips, abrading the sensitive skin. Stumbles over a curb, and the loud whonkkkkk almost rips a surprised yip out of him. Tim cracks his eyes open, heart picking up when the yellow lights look like the porch light from the Johnson’s house–

– before they brought him back.

“He’s…a special child. He needs more than we can give him–”

“He can’t get along with the other children, so I’m afraid–”

“Well, you see. Mary is pregnant! It’s-it’s a miracle, and we like Tim, really we do–“

Tim grits his teeth, hears so much wahwahwah than anyone really talking, telling him to get the hell out of the street, what is he thinking?

But instead of a shadow of a motorist that had pretty much almost run him over, all he can see is Detective Gordon, way back when he’d been the one to come to the Drake’s manor and give him the news.

His mom and dad weren’t coming back, not ever.

“N-No,” he whimper screams, slamming his eyes closed, and takes off again. It’s a full tilt run, every person he meets with someone else’s face.

Michael McCannon, the guy that beat the shit out of his foster kids.

Lilly Wright, wanted the income from having a foster in her house, didn’t care if he went to school, if he slept, if he ate, if he was dead in a gutter because he fell off a roof running after–

He smacks his palms into brick, scraping his face, turns and there’s Tony Stark back when he’d first met. Intimidating and imposing, eyes narrowed in distaste.

He runs faster, only half recognizes the buildings as he goes. He knocks into someone, eats face in an alley, panting and sweating, eyes full of tears, brain on fucking fire.

“Drake!” Hissed from the shadows, the darkness parting for red, gold, and green.

But it’s too much red, too much red.

“N-no, nonono,” and now he’s outright sobbing, scrabbling to his feet because Dami, Dami, is in a ragged, torn tunic, skin broken and blood fucking pouring out of him.

He’s got both hands on the vigilante, brain failing him, spitting out the mortality rate of being run the fuck through.

“No, no, no Dami, Dami,” he’s pressing on the worst wound, tears streaming down his face, babbling incoherently, apologizing, begging this kid, the little brother he should have had, not to fucking die and leave him too.

Robin, laying where the doctor had apparently thrown him, is staring up in shock, hands on Drake’s forearms where he’s pressing at some imaginary wound.

“Don’t die, Dami. Stay with me! Please stay with me!” Is fairly screamed in the cold night.

And Robin catches his breath at this, this, as one of Drake’s worst fears.

“D-Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I-I can’t lose you, too.” Tim weeps, pulling both hands back, staring down at what must see as blood and viscera.

“I am sorry, Timothy,” Robin breathes out hoarsely, frees a hand to pull back, teeth clenched against what he’s about to do, and punches their doctor with real intent.

As he hopes, Tim goes down like a stone, unconscious on the dirty ground, tears still on his face from terror and grief.

In a breath, Robin is on his feet, kneeling over Drake, tapping the comm in his ear. “Hood, N, Father. I have located him. He has been…affected. I am uncertain if the anti-toxin in my belt would do further harm, so I have not administered it as of yet.”

“Rob,” Hood’s response is immediate, “Big Wing’s with Daddy Bat takin’ care a’ the last of ‘em. I’m headin’ atcha now.”

“Meet me at the Black Bird. Hurry,” Robin cuts off, and gently, oh so gently for his normal, lifts Tim’s upper body against his chest, points a gauntlet at the roof to fire the jump line, reel them both in.

At sixteen, the youngest vigilante has nearly outgrown the doctor, and has no trouble lifting Tim up to carry him across the roof, occasionally looking down to make sure Tim is still out.

His own vehicle, the Black Bird, is hidden close to a safe house for the Bats. Balancing Tim in his arms, he taps his utility belt, the container hiding the car folding away.

Hood is on the ground, immediately takes Timmy from Rob, looking at the scrapes on his face.

“In, in!” Robin snaps, shooing Hood in the back with their Doctor. “We must get him to the Cave immediately.”

He dives in the driver’s seat, revving the engine fast, tapping his mask for the whiteouts to slide up. He takes in the immediate area with a glance, and peels out into the night.

Jay deactivates the helmet, tosses it in the front seat, wraps both arms around Timmy in his lap, tapping the comm to listen up at Dickie and B on clean-up whiles he winds up to get all the deets outta the Demon.

“Tell it ta me straight, Lil’ D. How bad wassit?”

He’s looking in the rearview because the kid’s eyes always give him away.

He ain’t prepared to see the Demon blinking rapidly, jaw clenched tight. “He is fully effected. Hallucinations, inability to discern outside voices. I called to him. He was not able to hear me. See me, yes, but he believed I was…dying. He attempted to treat me, asked me not to…”

Robin makes a hard right turn, shoves his foot against the pedal to drift it. He shoves in the clutch, shifts the gears, biting down on his lower lip (“Don’t leave me, I can’t lose you.”).

He evens out, hitting the Robert Kane Bridge to take them out of Gotham proper and closer to the Manor.

“Dames?” Jay makes it soft because the kid is obviously shook.

Robin pushes the car to 105 mph to sail over the bridge.

“His fear was he would be unable to save me. The wound…he believed the wound made by Hush would kill me yet again, I believe.”

Jason Todd breathes in sharply, freeing up a hand to fit at the back of Rob’s neck, make circles with his thumb.

“Sorry that mighta brought ya back.” His tone is low with sympathy, empathy.

And for a moment, Damian Wayne, not Robin, leans back into that hand, lets it ground him while the night flies by the window, while he watches the darkness for everything while he downshifts, when the road starts getting less defined further out of the city they go.

“It is not that,” Damian admits, “one day, one of us, perhaps all of us, will not return. Nothing he can do will prevent that.”

“I know, Baby Bat. Let’s hope it ain’t any day soon, you feel me?” And Jay, tries to keep it gentle, tries to keep the circles going, tries to be easy about it so Baby Bat won’t try ta pull away, put it all back inna box to fester.

“Agreed. However, do not be surprised if he comes to fighting. We must monitor his vitals closely if this toxin is similar to the last batch.”

“I gotcha. S’all right, we’re gonna take care of him, ain’t we?”

Damian makes an affirmative noise and leans forward out of Jay’s grip, pressing the gas, then gearing back up.

Tim comes to as the restraints are tightened, Alfred Pennyworth securing several sticky discs to his chest, and a pulse oximeter to his finger.

“We’ll see you soon, Son. Be a good boy while we’re gone.”

Makes his eye fly open wide, his heart slam painfully against his rib cage, his arms jerk where his wrists are restrained.

“Boys,” a cultured voice calls the second his eyes open, but Tim can’t see anything, not with his heart in his throat, not with his Dad’s voice ghosting out after over a decade and a half.

When he glances over, horrified at the tall figure coming closer, hands raised up in surrender, and his eyes were empty, gorey sockets, black sludge from the empty cavity. Purple lips and half-rotting flesh, the last clothes he’d seen his father wearing, his best suit, the one he’d wear to Drake Industries on the stints they were home and Dad worked in the office.

Tatters and grave dirt, bone peeking out from shriveled flesh…

“Dad,” is a broken, hoarse croak, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried. I tried to be good,” and the closer his dead, decaying Father gets, the more he fights whatever is keeping him still, won’t let him run for his own fucking sanity, “I tried! I tried and you still didn’t come home! It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t–!”

He chokes, gags because Dad is right by the bedside, and now Tim can see the inside of his black mouth, the tongue putrid and pale without blood, and the smell–

He’s probably screaming, even if he can’t hear himself.

Something is strapped over his face, and he fights it, knows it’s a plastic mask, pumping something into his lungs, just like the fear toxin.

A turn of the head, and it’s the reversal of his first meeting with-with

The Joker.

Harley isn’t on the table bleeding out this time. It’s the two of them standing over him, a huge needle full of green sludge right by the Joker’s shoulder, right next to his horrifically sick smile.

He’s wearing a mock head lamp and white coat, Tim’s own badge dangling from his pocket. He turns to the smaller figure of Harley, the nurse sidekick with a frightening set of tools. The orbitoclast is brown with old blood and brain matter, the leucotome wire is rusty, the plunger to send that wire into his brain almost black with old gore.

And he fucking chokes.

“Hold on to those, Nurse. If my wonderful formula doesn’t do the trick, then we’ll have options! Huh, huh, huh,” and the bastard leans into him, that sickening smile, those wide, lucid eyes.

“He’s going to be our good boy, one way or the other, isn’t he?” And the dark growl of it, the promise is what makes him start screaming again.

Hands on his straining arms, a big body right by the bed when he turns, flinches away as far as the hold could let him.

“Oh no. No no no,” is a whimper, a plea, “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Mr. Johnson, I swear. I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

The grip on his arms becomes bruising, painful, terrifying all over again.

Tim clamps down, remembers the beatings hadn’t been as bad if he could keep quiet.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a little shit.”

It’s Mr. Johnson’s words, but Jason’s voice.

“You need a good ass beaten’, kid. That’ll straighten you right out. That’s what all you fuckers need. Lucky for you I don’t mind making sure you keep on the straight and narrow.”

He doesn’t realize he’s chanting, “don’thitme, don’tdon’tdon’t, please please, don’t,” while Mr. Johnson backs off, the old recriminations and reprimands rolling right out in Jay’s smooth baritone.

He’s outright sobbing, arms trembling above his head where he’s trapped, trapped. He can’t move, he can’t run, he can’t hide, he can’t–

And a blink takes him to the same fire escape outside his penthouse where he’d found Nightwing bleeding out, pulse already weakening, breathing shallow–

“What–“

The whiteouts on that domino are up so he can see Nightwing’s blue eyes flutter open weakly, can see the hand move gingerly to the bleeding wound on his abdomen.

“I can help you,” he yells out, hoping to make those eyes look at him, to get the vigilante to come to him, “I can save you, but you’ve got to get here.” This time his hands, his arms, his whole body is straining to get free, to reach the vigilante that needs him, that’s dying on him while he fucking watches.

The vigilante half-smiles at him, finger stripes more dark than blue, and his head goes back, visibly slumping.

“Nightwing, Nightwing, look at me! Open your eyes!” He knows he’s begging, fighting, but there’s bands around his chest, around his wrists, his ankles and thighs.

“I need, I need sutures, gloves, blood bag, and-and, I need, I need–“ but Nightwing’s head flops and his chest stutters, “LOOK AT ME! You can’t die like this, you can’t. I’m right here, I can save you!”

He sobs out loud, whole body jerking to get free.

“Ssshhh, baby doll, ssshhh,” makes him open his eyes even though he can barely see through the tears streaming down his face, his sobbing, his heart pounding copper in the back of his throat.

And there’s Jay, lying on his chest, all soft and sweet, with a post-sex grin. He’s too beautiful to be real.

“Jay?” He croaks.

“Yeah,” all soft and sweet.

Until he tilts his head, and the horrific smile below his chin leaks rich red down his throat.

“J-Jay?!” His eyes go wide and horrified because there’s his vigilante boyfriend bleeding out all over his chest, far gone enough to be silly and loopy with blood loss.

“S’okay, yeah? When s’time, s’time. Don’t gotta be sad about it, Timmy.”

“N-No, no, put-Jay, listen to me, put pressure on it, okay? Put both hands and press down. You-you’re loosing too much blood. I need you to–“

“That ain’t what’s happening here, Timmers.” Slurry and low, Jay’s face getting pale, eyes fluttering. “Like I tol’ ya b’fore. One day…one day I ain’t gonna come back. S’ just gonna be my time.”

And Tim’s shirt is wet with it, Jay’s blood staining him, soaking through his clothes, the weight of his big body heavier as his strength goes, as his eyes get dimmer, the jade flecks all but gone.

“You can’t. Jay, babe, you can’t. You have to fight. Please fight,” his hands are straining, but he’s so tired, weak, isn’t strong enough to get to them, to save them from their fates. "I don't... I can't be the last one left standing again. I can't. Please, fight. Please!"

'"Nah, Baby. Small right now. Love ya. Love ya s'much."

"I love you too," he sobs, can't breathe, can't think.

(He’s never been strong enough, has he? He’s not strong enough to be what they need.)

He finally can’t fight anymore, just stays pinned under Jay’s weakening body to cry and shake apart.

“Do something,” Dick yells, tears running down his face where he’s pinning Tim’s legs down so he stops hurting himself fighting the restraints.

Alfred, eyes narrow and wet-looking, huffs and turns on his heel abruptly. He fishes out supplies from the cabinet, uses a clean hypodermic to puncture the sedative.

Master Jason is staring up at Master Tim’s face, trying to be that boy in the Robin cape from all those years ago. Trying to be strong in the face of such horrors.

“Master Bruce, account for general anesthesia,” Alfred calls briskly and injects carefully into the IV.

“Understood,” the quickly working vigilante calls back from the lab, running the number a second time, darting looks at his children doing one of the hardest jobs he’s ever asked them to do.

He can tell by how Damian’s shoulders are shaking, Dick is opening crying against Tim’s hip, Jay’s lower lip trembling, eyes wet where he’s keeping Tim’s forearms pinned around the IV in his arm.

He add the variables, taking deep breaths, makes mental notes all over the place to look into Tim’s past foster parents.

Johnson. Right.

And the hardened bat can’t say his heart isn’t thundering in his throat watching Tim’s struggle, scream, cry out in grief, trying to use his reasoning and logic, having the fucking Joker of all people as part of his perpetual nightmares…

Bruce takes a calming breath, forces himself to be the Bat while he aches for the kids.

Twelve hours later, he comes to somewhere not his Penthouse or Dick’s apartment.

It’s chilly wherever he is, but for some reason his whole body just aches, hurts like he’d been in another damn car wreck or something. It’s too much effort to lift his head and look around, not when he’s pretty sure he’s in Dick’s lap, recognizes the smell of Dick’s jugular.

He hums a little, glad someone at least gave him a blanket because he’s at least mostly warm. His nose is pretty cold, but he just snuggles into Dick’s neck and sighs.

He tries to raise his knees to fold in, get warmer, but his heels bump into legs, and cracking his eyes open, he realizes Jay is sitting by Dick on the floor of the Cave, Tim laying over their laps.

He’s got a cotton ball taped to the inside of his forearm, and no idea why. He blinks a few times, lifts up enough to see Dami on Jay’s other side, head nudged against Jay’s shoulder. A hand is still on Tim’s ankle.

The sudden need to go to the bathroom drives him from their huddle on the cold floor, but at least he spreads the blanket out over them after he manages to pull out of their arms without waking them.

From their faces and expressions, whatever he isn’t immediately remembering couldn’t have been good.

But first, bathroom. Then, maybe coffee? Because that? Would be absolutely stellar at this juncture. Maybe some ibuprofen.

Luckily, there’s swanky digs in the Bat Cave, a set of lockers, showers, nice hot tub for long soaks after a night of kicking bad guy ass.

All the vigilante amenities.

He’s bleary and sore, staggering to the bathroom, noting B is asleep on the big computer, and Alfred sitting back in another chair, tea cup and saucer on the hard drive next to him.

He smiles a little, wonders if he can find a few more blankets somewhere.

A glance in the mirror as he was washing his hands shows him a bunch of road rash city. Man, he must have been caught up in the middle of something again.

Seriously.

He splashes cold water on his face, works out the low throbbing ache of his bandaged wrists.

He’s shuffling back, thinking about just waking everyone the hell up to send people to bed, like themselves because his ass is numb, and there’s warm beds upstairs. When there’s pounding footsteps, skitters, and slides, whoosh of air, and Dick is right there up in his face, panting like he’d just sprinted all the way across the Cave in a quick hurry.

“Timmy?!”

He blinks up, still bleary about everything, his throat and voice wrecked as fuck, “hey honey. How was your night fighting shitty bad guys?”

He has no idea why Dick’s expression crumples, his eyes getting teary out of nowhere. He’s not prepared for Dick to start crying, to see his beautiful boyfriend hold a hand over his eyes and break down.

“Dick? Dick?”

He goes from holding himself, shuddering with the cold and ache in his bones, to up in Dick’s face, hand on his shoulder, looking for some injury, something to tell him how to help–

But Dick takes a few shuddering breaths under his hand, and Tim just wriggles his arms around Dick’s chest to hold on for a few long seconds before he gets full-on octopus hold right around his everything.

(Okay, that’s a relief.)

“…was it bad?” He asks softly, making circles with his palms as wide as Dick’s hold will let him.

“Y-Yes. It was bad. You don’t remember?” Dick sniffles against the side of his head, rocking them both gently.

“Not yet.” He shrugs an unconcerned shoulder. As someone who’s had a concussion (okay, okay, concussions), and has worked in the medical field in one of the most dangerous cities on the fucking planet, he knows there are plenty of bad guys with chemical weapons that don’t always leave short term memories in tact.

Dick shakes a little and holds him tighter.

“Fuckfuckfuck. Didja find 'im??!” As Jay rounds the corner and almost slams right into them.

He skids to a stop as Dick swiftly shifts them around out of the way. Jay doesn’t do anything to dislodge Dick’s grip, but palms the sides of Tim’s face, his eyes a hard, icy blue.

“Hey, Sweets, hey,” low in a dark way, not the usual, fun dark way. Tim has a strike of fear, takes stock of himself, of Dick, of Jay, wonders who else in the Cave might be hurt! That’s why they’re here. Someone got hurt coming after his ass, didn’t they?

“Dami? B?” He interrupts, eyes going from Jay to Dick and back.

“Fine, everyone’s fine,” is curt, short with him in a way that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have enough evidence.

“O-kay. You both are fine. B and Dami are fine. Alfred?”

Over his head, his boyfriends exchange a look that is really starting to worry him.

But the next twelve hours are virtually impossible to escape. The sordid details come out once Tim remembers being in that convenience store. He gets snatches of half-lucid memories, probably never will remember the entire things. The brain is the most fascinating part of the body for a reason, not only as the control center, but also as the decision-maker on what things to blot out to protect itself.

By the time Dami starts out, they’ve migrated up to Wayne Manor, parted ways to shower and wash off the night. Dick and Jay bracketing him in, being absurdly gentle, consistent soft touches, fingers wrapping around his, hands on his back, kisses pressed into his hair.

There’s some scrapes on his forearms along with the ones on his face, washed gingerly in the shower where he finally feels warm again. Alfred leaves a special bled of his healing goop and has set out pajamas for all of them before he left, requesting them to please come have breakfast.

Tim’s stomach rumbles while they’re getting dressed, and he’s pretty much picked up, and carried down the massive staircase.

(Ugh, this is after the bridge fiasco all over again.)

But the end result: food and coffee in Wayne Manor, so bonus?

Dami is looking at him like a kicked puppy. A perpetual pissed off kicked puppy, but he tilts his head to the side inquiringly, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“I found you almost at Sheldon Park,” Dami starts softly, but at least everyone’s eaten first.

He flinches a little when Bruce tells him what he’d said about his Dad. When Alfred tells him about the Joker and Harley Quinn either going to inject him with some crazy sauce or lobotomize him.

(Yup. Pretty horrifying either way.)

Dami tells him about seeing everyone die around him while Dick has a firm hand on his knee under the table, their chairs closer together than necessary. Jason gives no shits keeping his fingers wrapped up tight, squeezing occasionally. Alfred keeps the mug in his free hand full, stands just by Dick’s other shoulder.

“I mean,” he finally starts after everything is out in the open, “it’s literally a toxin that fucks with your brain chemistry. Not shocking I’d see pretty awful things. I see awful things...a lot, so,” he shrugs a little helplessly in the face of the whole family looking utter raw and split open. “I...I’m...sorry, really sorry I worried everyone. I’ll try to stop getting into trouble so much, you know? But, um. It is Gotham.”

The family crowds around him, bringing in rank around the table.

And if he doesn’t have to stay at the Manor for the next week, geeze, and get coddled as fuck by the Batfamily, and get picked up from Mercy General every. single. night. for a while, and get wrapped up against two incredible vigilantes that whisper soft things against his throat, his ear, his mouth, his, well, his everything.

If he doesn’t get Bruce herding him into the study where the fire is burning, and it seems like the Batman is the most patient person ever to let him–let him talk about some of those old pains when he was in the system.

If Alfred literally can not make him eat enough food to be satisfied. Ever. And gives him a side-eye when he starts to push away a plate that has even a bite left.

(Alfred pizza is god-level, and you’ll never convince him otherwise. But if he eats anymore, he’s going to die. Please stop killing him with your tasty love.)

If Dami doesn’t make him watch NatGeo Wild with popcorn and boxes of candy, then grudgingly plays Mario Kart with him until Rainbow Road is like theirs. No questions asked.

If he finally doesn’t go back to his penthouse, breathes in the familiar smells, gets absolutely destroyed in the Best. Possible. Ways for the next five straight hours. If he isn’t a boneless pile of I can’t possibly come again, for the next week at least.

If Baby Bird, Timmers, Sweets, Timmy, and Baby aren’t wrapped around him with arms and sweet kisses pressed to his forehead and hair every time he leaves for work or they leave for patrol.

If he was before this, in the slightest bit uncertain he belongs with them, as part of their family–

–he sure as hell knows better now.

At least that’s one less thing to be afraid of.

Note:

In Tim’s fear fueled delusion, the Joker is Alfred, Harley is Dami holding equipment to treat him. His dad was really B taking the blood samples from Alfred to analyze. He’s horrified once he realizes what Tim is seeing.

Mr. Johnson, the abusive foster parent is Jay, which Tim kind of associates because of the accent.

Dying Nightwing is Dick bent over to hold his legs down, and the next switch is really Jay laying over him upper body to keep him from hurting himself more.

(Congrats for making it to the end. *Hands tissue*)

#winter answers #doctor!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #read at your own risk #read the warnings #hurt/comfort #fear gas #holy shit tim #you will cry #but it's worth it #my fic #my writing #dickjaytim #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #cuddle tf out of our boy #bruce wayne

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

broken bones are better with a friend

prompt: broken

whumpee: malcolm bright

fandom: prodigal son

heyo! hope you enjoy this fic :) it’s pre-brightwell and i found it very fun and surprisingly easy to write considering i don’t do a lot of ship adjacent stuff with them! but ughhh i love them sm....i miss them :’(

“Bright!” Malcolm hears Dani yell from somewhere quite far behind him. “Hold on! Backup’s almost here!”

Since when have I waited for backup? Malcolm wonders, pushing himself to run even faster after their escaping suspect. In front of him, the man rapidly changes directions and goes racing down an alleyway. Malcolm follows, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

“Hello?” he calls out, slowing to a walk, looking up and down the alley. He doesn’t see the suspect, but he’s certain that he’d come this way. “I know you’re in here. You might as well come out.”

He steps past a rusted dumpster, looks behind it to see nothing of interest, and is suddenly slammed backwards into the unforgiving brick surface of the wall behind him.

The suspect pins Malcolm’s arms to the wall with ease, despite Malcolm’s frantic attempts to shake him off. Up close, there’s a glint in his eyes and a smile on his mouth that makes Malcolm absolutely sure that this is their killer. Which does not exactly bode well for him.

“I didn’t do anything.” The man’s voice is grating and low and dangerous. Malcolm kicks at his legs and receives a knee to the stomach for his trouble. He bends over instinctively, but doesn’t make it very far, seeing as how both of his arms are being pressed into the wall.

“Sure you didn’t. You just happened to be running from the police, then?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You already said that,” Malcolm says, praying that Dani and that backup she’d promised are close behind him.

“Don’t care. It’s true.”

“We both know you killed those girls -”

Malcolm is cut off by a kick to his ankle. He feels something crack and yelps in pain.

“Shut up,” the suspect growls. “You just shut up right now.”

Malcolm nods. For a second there is silence.

“You thought you were helping them. By killing them.”

“What?”

“The girls. You thought killing them would save them.”

Suddenly the suspect is even closer. He shifts his arms rapidly, one arm now barring Malcolm across the chest and preventing him from escaping, while the other one slaps him hard across the face.

“I told you to shut up.”

“I’m not very good at listening to instructions.”

“Enough!” the suspect snaps, and Malcolm has a feeling that whatever comes next is not going to be good. But Dani is bound to be close by now, and if he can just hold this man off for a few moments more…

Whatever thought he was about to have next is interrupted by an extremely unpleasant twisting sensation in his arm. Malcolm is pulled around, away from the wall, and suddenly quite a bit of weight is being put onto his ankle, which starts hurting about ten times worse. He bites back a cry of pain this time, but not five seconds later he is screaming when the suspect suddenly grabs his arm, holds it out, and slams his own arm right into the center of Malcolm’s forearm. It hurts worse than Malcolm thinks anything has ever hurt before and for a second he can’t focus on anything except the pain, and then the suspect is grabbing his face and forcing Malcolm to pay attention to him.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” he whispers, and then he’s letting go of Malcolm’s face and running away and Malcolm tries to follow him but the world starts spinning and his ankle buckles beneath him and then he’s falling, falling, falling, and then he hits the ground and his broken arm makes contact and he thinks maybe he screams again, and then everything goes bright white.

“Bright! Malcolm. Open your eyes.”

Very slowly, Malcolm blinks his eyes open. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the walls of the two buildings and above them, the sky. His left arm feels like it’s on fire and he turns his head to make sure it’s not. His right ankle also hurts, though much less in comparison. He doesn’t even have to check to be certain that it’s not burning. It still hurts, though. A lot. He groans and the voice speaks again.

“Bright, say something” It’s Dani! But if she’s here -

“He got away,” Malcolm says urgently, using his good arm to push himself up. His head spins, but he stubbornly rides out the dizziness, closing his eyes until it passes.

When he opens them again, Dani is crouched in front of him, looking worried. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But the suspect -”

“We have him in custody. Of course, we could have gotten him into custody without you breaking any bones if you hadn’t gone after him on your own.”

“Or he might have gotten away for good.”

Dani sighs, the long-suffering, put-upon sigh of one dealing with the self-sacrificial tendencies of Malcolm Bright. “He might’ve,” she acknowledges. “I’d ask you not to do anything like that again….” She trails off, since both of them know how that sentence ends.

A few seconds of strained silence pass, and then Malcolm decides that sitting on the ground is not the best thing that he could be doing at the moment. He very carefully pushes himself up onto his feet and then nearly collapses when the weight of his body hits his hurt ankle.

Immediately, Dani is there, slipping an arm around his back and taking the weight off of his ankle. “What in the hell made you think that was a good idea?” she asks, and he gives her a one-shouldered shrug. “A bus should be here in maybe two minutes,” she continues. “Wanna sit back down?”

Malcolm relents with a nod, and together they gently sink back to the ground, leaning against the wall. Dani removes her arm from around Malcolm’s back but keeps a hand on his shoulder. “How much does it hurt?”

“A lot,” Malcolm answers honestly. “I’ve never broken a bone before.” And he certainly has no desire to repeat the experience. The pain is constant and burning and it’s not all-consuming but it’s impossible to ignore and it hurts and he just wants it to stop -

Dani’s hand presses into his chest. “Hey, calm down,” she says, voice gentler than he’s ever heard it. “I know it hurts, but panicking is only going to make it worse.”

He nods jerkily, forces himself to breathe calmly, and blinks the tears from his eyes. He can do this, broken bones are common and really, he could’ve had it so much worse. He is going to be fine.

Malcolm mentally repeats this over and over to himself: I can do this, I’m going to be fine, until at last the ambulance arrives. Dani helps him stand and guides him to the paramedics; and as they start checking him over and saying things like, “we’ll need to take you to the hospital to get these set,” and “are you sure you don’t want any painkillers,” his only thought is that he really doesn’t want to do this alone. But Gil is bound to have his hands full with their recently-caught murderer, and his mother is busy with some kind of social event that he’d been very relieved to get out of, and Ainsley’s on an assignment, and -

And Dani’s in the ambulance and they’re closing the doors and she smiles at him, sitting down next to him on the gurney. Her arm comes back to rest on his shoulder and he turns to look at her and he supposes he must look a little confused, because she says, “what? I’m not allowed to come with my friend to the hospital after he broke his arm and his ankle chasing after a serial killer?”

“No, I’m - I’m glad you’re here,” Malcolm replies, trying for a smile that probably doesn’t go so well with his grimace of pain as one of the paramedics pulls off his shoe to get a better look at his ankle. “It’s always better to break a bone with a friend.”

Dani laughs and turns to look at him at the same instant that he turns to look at her. She’s smiling but underneath it she looks worried, and her hand is steady and warm on Malcolm’s shoulder, and maybe it’s the pain and the adrenaline or maybe it’s not, but he thinks I want to kiss you, and then he thinks that maybe that’s not his best move, sitting in the back of an ambulance with an arm and an ankle that hurt like all hell, or maybe it’s a good idea and -

“Malcolm? You good?”

When he smiles at her this time, it’s genuine and happy and not at all underlined with pain. “Yeah. Apart from the broken bones and all. I’m...I’m good.”

thanks sm for reading this!!! i hope u liked it :)

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump5 #broken #prodigal son #malcolm bright #broken bones #my writing #i say things #anyway 2day i finally played prodigal sim! it is so fun and cute and well done and i think i will be playing it quite a bit more #over the summer...highly recommend.

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