#Holding back tears

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[hywenhei]

RECOVERY: Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | “What have I done?”

Painful recovery. Whumpees bathing for the first time since captivity, and every water droplet falling onto their burn wounds, pulling on their stitches, soaking through bandages. Whumpees having to sit and wait while pieces of glass are slowly extracted from within their skin, holding back tears when the cleansing alcohol gets into their cuts. Whumpees having to drink healing potions that are meant to help in the long run, but hurt like hell going down Whumpee's throat.

"Whumpee?" "hnn- wh're are we?" "You're safe now, Whumpee. Just rest."

Caretaker rushes into Whumpee's room the second they wake up. Just seeing Whumpee brings a whirlwind of fear and concern and anger to the forefront of Caretaker's mind, god, they're so angry that Whumpee made them worry like this and Whumpee could've died and Caretaker would be left in ruins and- Whumpee's heart rate has doubled and they've moved to the edge of the bed. Away from Caretaker.

"Whumpee, I got some- why are you on the floor? Again?" "Would you believe it if I said I was doing pilates?"

second last day of whumptober!!! i can't believe that it's nearly over - i still remember writing the first prompt list 😔 anyways see you tomorrow for, last but not least, day 31!!

[gum-iie]

studying is going great guys

[whumpypepsigal]

Whumptober 2024 | Day 30

Holding Back Tears

NCIS Origins s01e04: “You’re not alone.”

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 30- Recovery | Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears

This is another short one, but I hope you like it all the same!

Whumpee coughed themselves awake. They opened bleary eyes to fluorescent lights and a plain room. Something was strapped to their face. In addition, a quiet yet fast beeping came from somewhere nearby. Whumpee reached up to pull the thing- whatever it was- off of their mouth and nose. A gentle hand landed on theirs and moved it back to their side.

“Shh, Whumpee, baby, that has to stay on, okay?”

Whumpee turned their head.

“Caretaker?”

Their voice was muffled, and as they tried to speak, a few more harsh, wet coughs erupted from their chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Caretaker said, “don’t try to talk.”

Their eyes were red and puffy, they must have been crying. Why had they been crying? What was wrong?

“You’re in the hospital,” Caretaker went on, “you’ve been very sick, and I tried to take care of you from home, but you got worse, and I had to bring you here.”

Caretaker’s lower lip trembled, and Whumpee watched them swallow. They reached up a hand to their face. Caretaker leaned into the touch, letting out a shaky exhale.

“The doctors are giving you oxygen therapy, that’s what the mask on your face is for. It’s helping you breathe. You’ve- you’ve got an IV in your arm, and that’s giving you medicine. You’re gonna be okay- you-”

Caretaker bit back a sob. Whumpee wiped the tear that rolled down their cheek. They must have been in a really bad way for Caretaker to get so upset like this.

Whumpee opened their mouth to say something, but all that came out was another string of coughs. Their hand dropped back down to their side.

“Easy, easy,” Caretaker sniffled, “I told you, don’t try to talk.”

Whumpee weakly reached for Caretaker’s hand. Caretaker obliged and rubbed circles into Whumpee’s with their thumb.

…

Pneumonia, the doctors had said. A severe case. Caretaker was right to act when they did. Whumpee had almost died last night, it was a wonder they had woken up today at all. Caretaker hadn’t slept in twenty-three hours, but they didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Whumpee and their recovery.

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No.9 & No.30

Prompt 9: Bruises

Prompt 30: Holding Back Tears

Warnings: Violence and injuries

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif @jaaryl

The moment it happened, the fighting around you dulled into muffled arrangements of shouts and gunfire. A bullet could have hit you and you’d never have known. You could only see Daryl, barreling toward the large man that had grabbed and pulled at your ankle, his intentions no doubt nefarious. The hunter’s momentum was used as a weapon against him, a meaty hand wrapping around his bicep and fisting into the back of his vest. Your leg released, you could do nothing but watch Daryl be spun around and tossed, his back striking the tree trunk with a sickening thud. 

He was dead, you were sure of it. Dead or paralyzed, broken in half and suffering. There was a frantic shouting of his name, you could hear it along with a shrill ringing. The stranger reclaimed his hold on your ankle and began to drag you away, your nails clawing at the dirt as you tried to escape and make your way to Daryl. When everything around you catapulted back into realtime, you realized the screams for the archer had been coming from you. The stranger’s grip fell away, his body crumbling to the ground in your peripheral while familiar shouts began to filter through the chaos. None of that mattered. You were finally able to draw yourself onto all fours and crawl to where Daryl lay unmoving on his side. 

“Daryl!” You grabbed his shoulder and pushed him onto this back, his head lulling lifessly. Shouts and footfalls grew closer, louder, and your body coiled like a tight spring, ready to snap and defend the man lying in front of you. When Rick and the others came into view, you nearly collapsed in relief. The former deputy fell to his knees on Daryl’s other side and pressed two trembling fingers to the hunter’s neck.

“He’s alive.”

Your chin wobbled, the tears you were trying so desperately to control threatening to break through the dam you had constructed. “He hit so hard, Rick. The sound—I don’t know if we should move him.” A hand came to rest on your shoulder, the feather light touch you had come to know was Carol. 

“Come with me, sweetheart.” She was urging you up, pulling you away with her arm around your waist. You consistently turned to see what was happening, a distressed noise in your throat when Rick, Abe, Glenn, and Aaron began to lift Daryl. “We have to get him back to Denise.”

She made sense. Your panicked mind just hadn’t stopped playing through the worst case scenarios long enough for you to think logically. You allowed her to lead you to where the cars were hidden, your head turned to keep eyes on Daryl. 

The relief—and shock—had been so overwhelming that your legs had turned to jelly the moment Denise had said there were no visible bone abnormalities. Fractures were of course still a possibility that she couldn’t rule out. She ordered strict bedrest for Daryl until the swelling and bruising improved. She would examine again at a later time to plan the next course of action and ventured further to suggest he heal at home to keep him more comfortable. 

Rick had carried you home while Abraham carried the still unconscious Daryl. Abe wasn’t that much bigger than the archer but he was stout and able to lift Daryl with ease. You watched tiredly from against Rick’s chest, unnerved by your bowman’s limp arm swinging back and forth with each step. 

“Down or up?” Abe asked, once inside. Rick chewed on his lip, unsure of where Daryl would be best situated. 

“Down.” You offered within a yawn. “His room is safe to him, it’s his space. He’s more likely to stay there. Has the ensuite. Won’t have to leave.” You wiggled until Rick carefully lowered your legs and set your feet on the floor. “Thank you.” You knew your smile was strained but you offered it regardless. “I’ll go get some things together for him, bring more of my things down. I’ll take care of him once he’s in bed. Can you put him in his stomach please?”

“You sure, little lady? He’s stubborn as a mule. You know he’s gonna dig his heels in the minute he finds out he’s been benched.”

You didn’t even answer and continued up the stairs, smiling to yourself when Rick spoke up for you. 

“If there’s anyone that can handle Daryl, it’s Y/N.”

When you descended the steps to the archers room, Rick was sitting on the third from the bottom. He would never leave Daryl alone in such a state but respected the man enough to step away the moment he could. The archer’s scars had been seen by a few that night and while he had been less wary of showing them, it was always by choice. There was no choice for him this time. 

“I’ll be upstairs, Y/N. Just call me. Or Michonne or Carol—”

“Carol’s here?” You asked, confused, while sitting your bag of clothes and other necessities just inside the threshold of Daryl’s room. 

Rick nodded. “Should know we couldn’t keep her away when something’s happened to him.” It was your turn to nod. Those two were best friends. With a nod, you reached for and squeezed the deputy’s shoulder before stepping into the basement room and closing the door behind you. 

Daryl had been carefully placed on his belly, his shirt off. The bruising was profound and brought forth a rolling nausea deep in your gut. His back was various shades of purple and red, his scars even discolored from the trauma. Denise had supplied a few days worth of pain medication that you were all too aware would be a battle to administer. The archer could lose a limb and still refuse the medication out of worry that someone else would need it more than he ever could. 

You moved carefully to sit cross legged beside the prone man, your fingertips whispering over his shoulders in tender sweeps that avoided the mess of bruises. “You can wake up anytime now.” There was an unintentional plea to your voice. 

Still, he didn’t stir. 

It wasn’t until later in the night that you finally heard him groan, felt him shifting ever so slightly. You didn’t touch him, not immediately, giving him a moment to gather his bearings while you inwardly rejoiced to see arms and legs moving, albeit slow and jerky. 

“Daryl.” You beckoned softly, placing a hand on the back of his head. “Don’t try to move, love. You were hurt pretty badly.” You stroked his hair, hoping the action would soothe him but he only seemed to double his efforts at rising. Hands planted firmly against the mattress, he pushed his body upward, making it only a few inches before dropping back onto his belly with a choked off shout. 

“The hell happened?” He ground out between clenched teeth. 

“You became up close and personal with a giant oak. Courtesy of a Savior.” You recalled the fear that took hold of your heart when you heard the collision, saw him land in a heap. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

He was quiet for a few moments, breaths slowing and muscles relaxing. “How bad?” 

“Banged up. Denise says nothing is abnormal but can’t rule out fractures without seeing improvement.” You still worried, even after seeing with your own eyes that he wasn’t paralyzed. Seeing him in so much pain was bad enough. 

Daryl hummed quietly, mulling over your words. “Y’okay?” 

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” Your fingers caught on a tangle in his hair and gently worked it loose. “You should take something for the pain and rest. Denise gave—”

“Should save it for someone who needs it.”

“You need it.” You admonished, no real heat to your words. You had expected the argument, making it easy to counter without anger. When he merely grunted, you knew you’d never win. “Alright. It's here if you want it.” When he began to try and rise again, you pulled your hand away from his hair and waited, figuring he’d plop right back down but he didn’t. 

Daryl hissed and groaned with your panicked hands flailing around his back—not touching—until he was finally sitting up. The exertion through the pain left him pale and panting, his head hanging. 

“Denise didn’t want you moving around, Daryl!” You crawled over to sit at his side, leaning to catch his eye. 

The hunter scoffed. “She want me to piss on the sheets?” 

“Oh.” You reddened. You had used the ensuite as a reason to have him in his own room, but hadn’t given much thought to him actually using it. “I mean—no?”

Daryl gave a humorless laugh. “S’what I thought.” Standing, he remained hunched over, taking several hard breaths in preparation before he straightened. Staggering with a yelp, he caught himself with a hand on the wall, looking every bit as though he might faint. 

“Daryl, at least let me help.” You pleaded, now on your feet and in front of him. He blinked his eyes open, peering at the door as if he half expected someone to be watching, judging. Daryl was nothing if not self reliant, never admitting to weakness even at the expense of his own well being. 

Except when it came to you. 

He gave a sharp nod and gingerly raised his arm for you to duck underneath, assisting in balancing him when his legs weren’t willing to hold his weight. The pain must have been bad. 

“Just—I can make it from here.” He muttered, once the two of you had crossed the room. You didn’t argue, ducking from beneath his arm. The door closed and you moved away to give him privacy, though the silence of the house made it impossible not to hear. 

He was quick in relieving himself and even washing his hands, the door opening slowly to reveal a pain-stricken archer on the verge of defeat. 

“You okay?” You inquired softly. 

He nodded and winced. “Shit hurts.” He grumbled, shuffling out of the small bathroom. He waved you off when you tried to help. Getting back into bed proved to be just as difficult—if not more so—than getting out of it. Once he was finally resting on his belly, he quietly uttered “‘bout them painkillers.”

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you shook two tablets from the bottle. 

It was two and a half days before Daryl could manage to leave his room. He was stiff and sore, his back a painting of yellows, greens, and purples. Denise wasn’t naive. She knew that she could advise until she was blue in the face but he would do as he pleased. There was still the hope that he would take it easy under your influence. 

“Why don’t we go downstairs?” You tried from the porch swing, sipping your water as he carved away at some bolts. “I’ll make some sandwiches and we can use the record player.” He pinned you with an unenthusiastic glare. 

“Tired’a bein’ cooped up.” 

You hummed and tapped the side of your glass when an idea struck. “How about we go do what I suggested and tomorrow, we’ll go for a walk outside the walls?” It was risky. There were saviors everywhere, a war brewing, but that was a tomorrow problem. If you could manage to get the archer to rest for one more day, you’d work it out somehow. 

You knew you had piqued his interest when the knife stopped moving. 

“Y’won’t hound at me the whole time?” He regarded you with an arched brow. 

“Not the whole time.” You teased. “But you carry a gun and I’ll carry your bow. We’ll trade if we need them.” He narrowed his eyes, considering your offer. 

“I’ll carry it myself but keep it off my back.” 

Pursing your lips, you feigned deep thought, tapping your chin. He regarded you impatiently, clearly two seconds from dismissing the entire notion. 

“Done.” You acquiesced. It was better than nothing and much better than what he would have done on his own if left unchecked. “Now downstairs with you while I make some grub.” Rolling his eyes, Daryl sat the bolts aside and pulled himself upright with the help of the porch railing. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, woman.” He griped when you held open the door for him, making a grand gesture of ushering him inside. 

“I love you, too.” You laughed as he snorted and disappeared down to the basement. 

[hideousvampire]

chris after kissing jake in naked in new york

[amethystfairy1]

"I'll break your kneecaps!" - Pearl, probably.

Today's whumptober is up, please enjoy!

[drabbles-mc]

I Said I'm Fine

JJ Maybank x F!Reader

For Day 14 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: false smile / holding back tears / "I said I'm fine"

Warnings: 18+, language, angst

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I've been wanting to write for JJ again for a while now and these prompts just seemed to good to pass up for him. Hope you enjoy!

OBX Taglist: @garbinge @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The pogues all getting back to the Outer Banks was the biggest news on the island since they’d all gone missing. It was funny to you how much people had switched up about them once they were missing. People that you knew for a fact had never said a kind word to any of them were suddenly saying how worried they were, how they hoped that they were all okay wherever they were. It was all bullshit, and you knew it, but it wasn’t worth fighting with them over.

You almost wished that any of it had been sincere, because at least then it wouldn’t have felt like you were suffering alone. But, as it stood, you had no one. The more time that went by, the less people even pretended to care, and the more alone you felt.

But then they all came home.

There was nothing else in your life that could’ve compared to the feeling of relief that came when you found out that it was true, that they really were all back on the island. All of those weeks with absolutely no news, and now you were going to be able to see them all again. It felt like your heart was going to leap clean out of your chest.

You didn’t really know what you expected, but when you stopped by the chateau to see everyone, the only person that you saw there was John B. It made sense that everyone would’ve gone off in their different directions, but part of you was hoping that you would be able to see them all together before they split off.

It didn’t stop you from hugging John B tight enough to you to risk cracking his ribs. “I’m so glad you guys are okay,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes.

He laughed but you could hear the heaviness in it as he said, “Yea, me too.”

Pulling back, you quickly wiped the tears from your face. “Where…where is everyone?”

He shook his head, looking as bewildered as you felt. He didn’t know what else to do besides shrug. “Not sure. I think that everyone went…went home. Sarah went to get some stuff from Tannyhill but then she’ll be back here.”

“What about JJ?”

John B shrugged again. “He didn’t say where he was going exactly. Just figured he was going back to his house.”

Your heart sank at that. His house. His house that you knew for a fact was now taped off and slated to be seized by the bank. His house that he had been dying to get out of for years before all of this, and now it was only going to be worse.

Trying to get your feelings under control, you nodded. “Right. I’m, um, I’m gonna go see if I can catch up with him. I’ll try to track down Pope and Kie tomorrow.”

John B nodded. “Sure thing.”

Pulling him into another hug, you told him, “I’m so fucking glad you guys are home.”

He eased into the hug, squeezing you back for a moment. “Thank you.”

Without wasting another minute, you took off from the chateau back to your car and started towards JJ’s. You’d been stopping there on your rounds while everyone had been gone. You’d been stopping by the chateau too, on the off chance that they all appeared again and were just trying to lay low like the last time they dropped off the radar.

Practically jumping out of your car, you started making your way towards the front door. You saw the tape across it, but you also saw the way that the front door had been opened anyway. A heaviness settled in your chest as you realized that JJ had to come home after so many weeks away, to this. You’d been spending all of those weeks alone, but JJ had to come back to loneliness. That was an entirely different kind of pain.

Letting yourself in the house, you called out for him. “JJ?”

There was the sound of something clattering to the ground followed by the heavy footsteps that let you know that while a lot of things might have changed, JJ still hadn’t lost his boots. Any of the comfort that you found in that realization, however, was lost when JJ emerged from where his bedroom used to be. The lost look on his face broke your heart, but what made it worse was the fact that he tried to paint a smile on over it as he said your name.

“What’re you doing here?”

You wanted to step in closer to him, but it felt like your feet were glued to the floor. “I just, um, I wanted to come and see you.”

He held his arms out, the fake smile growing sadder by the second. “Here I am.”

Something about the sadness in his face got your feet to finally cooperate with the rest of you. Crossing the room in what felt like two long strides, you landed yourself right in front of him. “I missed you.”

“I—” his sentence was cut short for a moment as you wrapped him up in a hug. He settled into it, but you could feel the way that he was beginning to shake as he said, “I missed you too.”

The two of you stood like that for a long time, wrapped up in the middle of the dirty living room of Luke’s abandoned house. You were making up for lost time, all the days and nights that you’d spent worrying about him, about all of them. Every day that went by it felt less and less likely that you’d ever get the chance to hug JJ like this again. But he was here now, and you didn’t want to let him go.

JJ, on the other hand, was holding you tight in the hopes that if he held you tight enough, held you long enough, that the world around him would somehow change. As long as your arms were squeezing around his middle, and his eyes were shut tight as he buried his face into your shoulder, the sad reality of all that he had to come back to on the island wasn’t something that he had to deal with.

You could feel it as he started to shake more, could feel how he was trying desperately to hold back his tears. Running your hand up and down his back, you said, “You can talk to me, you know.”

That snapped him out of the sad but wishful state that he’d been in. Pulling away from you, he sniffled and shook his head, trying to blink his tears back into submission. “Talk? What’s,” he forced a laugh, “what’s there to talk about?”

“JJ—”

“No, no,” he waved you off, taking a step back, “I’m fine. Really. Why,” he let out a sad laugh as he held his arms out, gesturing to the room around you, “why wouldn’t I be good? I’m home! All those weeks away and I’m finally fucking home!”

You felt your bottom lip starting to quiver. “I’m sorry.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck—he could feel the anger threatening to roll over him. It wasn’t about you. None of this was your fault. But the longer he stood there, looking at you and the sad, sympathetic look in your eyes, the more he felt like he was going to take it out on you anyway. It wasn’t fair. But nothing about any of this really was.

“What do you have to be sorry for? I said I’m fine. I’m back,” he kicked an empty beer can to the side, “back in paradise.”

You knew that there was nothing to say that was going to soothe the pain he was feeling. Everyone else was coming home to things that were theirs, coming home to families of some kind. But not him. He had an empty, foreclosed house and that was it. John B had the chateau, Sarah had John B, Kiara had her parents, and Pope had his. Everyone had someone to lean on, something that was waiting to welcome them home. JJ had you, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t what he was looking for.

“You don’t gotta stay,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “I’m all good here, if you couldn’t tell.”

“I want to stay,” you told him, hoping to make him realize that he wasn’t as alone as he felt.

He scoffed. “No one wants to stay here. I don’t want to stay here, that’s for damn sure. Luke didn’t wanna stay here either! Hell, I didn’t even want to come back at all!”

The tears that were lingering at the edges of your eyes finally started to spill over. “JJ…”

“No, no,” he waved you off, “don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that, say my name like that.”

“I’m not—”

“What are you even doing here, anyway?”

Wiping at the tears on your face, you asked, “Is it not obvious?” You could tell by the look on his face when he opened his mouth that he was going to have another sarcastic comment for you, so you cut him off before he could start. “I’ve been worried sick about you for well over a month, JJ. You were missing. I, I was worried that you were dead.”

“Well,” he threw his hands up, “I’m not. I’m good. So you can—”

“You’re not good, JJ! Stop saying that!” You took a step towards him, erasing the distance that he’d tried to put there. “You’re not good. Nothing…nothing about this situation is good. I, I get that.”

You didn’t get it fully. But you were at least in a place where you could see it more than anyone else had been capable of. That’s why you were standing there with him while everyone else was gone. You were expecting JJ to throw it back in your face, though, the way that you couldn’t possibly understand it all. You braced yourself for a tirade, but it never came. The anger that was beginning to flood his eyes slowly started to drain, the sadness and loss creeping back in its stead. You saw the way he tried to keep his tears at bay as he shook his head at you, trying to figure out what to say next.

All you wanted to do was pull him out of that god forsaken house and never let him go back. Your mind was already racing, trying to come up with a plan for it all. But you also knew that the best plan in the world wasn’t going to matter if JJ didn’t agree to it. It all hinged on him being willing to let his guard down, let someone help.

“Please come stay with me,” you finally said.

He froze, clearly not expecting that to be the next thing you said. “What?”

“Come stay with me. At least for a little while, until we figure out what to do next.”

He shook his head. “No, no I can’t…you’re just…no. I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He stepped back and started to pace. “Just because you feel bad, doesn’t mean—”

“This is just as much for me as it is for you,” you said, cutting him off.

It wasn’t a lie, either. You didn’t want JJ to be squatting in Luke’s house for a multitude of reasons. You knew that nothing good was going to come of that. However, you would’ve been lying if you tried to say that convincing him to stay with you and your family didn’t have some selfish ulterior motives to it. All those weeks of not knowing where he was, it would be nice to know that he was just down the hall.

He could see the sincerity in your eyes. Part of him knew that he wasn’t going to end up winning this argument, but another part of him wasn’t going to let him give in without a fight.

“What about your parents?”

You laughed and shook your head, wiping at the tears on your face. “I’ve been telling you for years, JJ, my parents actually like you.”

He never believed it when you said it. You didn’t exactly blame him—most people on the island didn’t like JJ simply because they knew his last name. That, and he had a hard time not feeding into the animosity of it all once he found out that people didn’t particularly trust him. But your parents hadn’t ever treated him poorly, hadn’t ever made him feel less-than. You knew that some of it came from pity, but it was better than them treating him poorly.

It'd been a long enough stretch of silence to allow him to think when you finally spoke up again. “Please?”

He hesitated for another moment longer, but then gave in with a nod. “Okay.” He wiped at the tears on his face. “Just, just until I figure out something else.”

Relief flooded through you as you nodded. “Of course.”

Stepping in, JJ wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, finally allowing himself to fall apart for a moment. “Thank you.”

You held him tight. “Of course.” Hooking your chin over his shoulder, you let your hand trail up and down his back. “I love you, you know.”

You felt the way he nodded as he kept you clung close to him. “I know.” He let out a sigh of relief. “I love you too.”

[khoirkid]

A chance I’ll have to break - IsArt sketches in collaboration with @amethystfairy1

This may be my favorite piece on my end in the series. It’s such a pivotal moment and I got it to look how I pictured it in my head :)

[katyawriteswhump]

omega found, omega lost 5.1

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 5.1/6; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort.

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr Chapter 4 on tumblr On AO3

For whumptober prompts day 23, I'm doing this for you; day 21, let the bedsheets soak up my tears, no. 25, it's for your own good; no. 29, fatigue, no. 30, hospital bed/holding back tear, no. 31 asking for help, and alt prompt, motion sickness.

Chapter 5.1: I'm doing this for you

A few hours earlier

“Don’t tell mom, okay?”

Steve’s dad pulsed his hand, and Steve was too weak to return it. His brain was fogged, and the weight of his bones pinned him to the mattress. After his father scuttled off, his news gradually seeped beneath Steve’s clammy skin and into his aching head.

It was all right.

For starters, he’d learned that Eddie hadn’t ditched him. He’d allowed Hopper to take Steve to ER, because he’d had no choice. Now his dad was going to find Eddie, which was pretty much the first time his dad had gone behind the back of his Alpha wife. As far as Steve knew, that is. Hopper was in on it, too.

Somewhere, deep beneath layers of grinding misery, hope kindled.

In less than an hour, he was sitting up in bed IV-drip free—chewing on a granola bar, then bouncing the wrapper off the ceiling. Dustin dropped by in visiting hour, apologising profusely for going off grid. Apparently, it was because Wheeler had kept on yelling hoax ‘code reds’ whenever he got fangs deep into a coding marathon with Suzie. And yeah, they made a half-joking pact to kick Wheelers’ butt, ASAP.

When Dustin left, Steve considered the epic task of getting out of bed. He wanted to call around to see if his dad had any news, or if any of their friends had heard from Eddie. Dustin had promised to get the whole gang on the case. Annoyingly, though, the pup’s visit had drained Steve, and his eyelids grew heavy as his bones.

He sensed his mom draw close a few minutes later. He had already hunkered down beneath the blankets and now he pretended to sleep.

He listened to her latest conversation with the doctors, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe she knew he was awake and didn’t care? It’s not like his opinion had ever been worth shit to her, even before he presented as Omega.

As they left, he swore he heard her softly growl: “Steven. I’m doing this for you.”

He remained motionless save breaths reduced to shallow quivers in the back of his dry throat. When her stinky perfume had retreated far enough, he sat up, leaning heavily on his palms, and tried to quell his trembling. Then he pushed the side bars down, swung his legs over and slid out of the bed.

The room swayed and swerved like he was on a ship, and his knees felt like water. He grabbed the bars to steady himself, while the pain in his heavily bandaged ankle gathered pace. Hot tears pressed in the back of his eyes, his throat. Shit, he wouldn’t cry now.

He fucking refused it.

He had to get better. He had to tough this out like… like a goddamn Omega. If he didn’t haul ass out of here today, his mother was going to send him back to that clinic. Oh yeah, she’d be all, “It’s for your own good, darling,” like last time.

He’d be treated as a piece of meat.

If her path crossed with Eddie, then Eddie would be dead meat.

Okay, his dad said he’d be back soon, but waiting was now unbearable. Besides, Eddie had smelled him from over a mile off. Steve was sure he’d pick up his Alpha’s scent trail, no sweat. He should be leading the search, not languishing here. On top of everything else, he was desperate to pee, and equally desperate to find a mirror and sort out his hair, so…

Okay, baby steps.

Or, rather, heavily limping steps. If he could make it to the washrooms and back, maybe there was hope of getting out of this dump.

He plucked a comb from his bedstand. Slowly, he made for the door, dragging his bad foot, then hopping unsteadily. The smallest pressure on his injury set his ankle screeching, as if his stitches had split. He struggled on, little keening noises escaping him. A nurse intercepted him at the door and offered his assistance—which Steve refused—and then a crutch.

Steve begrudgingly accepted that, and it helped. He made it to the washroom, cringed at himself in the mirror, then sorted himself out best he could.

On exiting, he allowed himself a small fist-pump. As he stared down the corridor, though, his shoulders collapsed, and his chin drooped. The few yards back to his room stretched out like miles. He took a moment, wedged between the crutch and the wall, his panted breaths so thick they drowned out the ceaseless buzz of the lights.

You can do this. Do it for Eddie. Do it for the Alpha you’ve been brushing off for months, who you couldn’t stop thinking about… and now who you literally can’t live without.

After all, according to his Dad, one of the doctors literally prescribed Eddie.

“Hello, Omega.”

Steve yelped. His crutch toppled sideways, even as a pair of arms slithered around him from behind.

“Oh yeah, you’re ripe and juicy!” drawled a familiar voice. “My pups will eat his pups outta you from the inside, and then…”

Snap!

Steve whirled around on reflex and nipped Tommy Hagen, who staggered back, rubbing the flesh between his shoulder and neck.

“I was kidding, okay? God, since when did you bite, dude…Hey, you look like shit.”

“Back at ya!” Also, rude! He’d managed to salvage his hair quite well, in the circumstances. Steve slithered down the wall toward his haunches. Tommy grabbed Steve’s elbow, then grabbed his crutch, slid it back under Steve’s arm and helped him stand. Tommy had paled beneath his freckles, and actually looked mildly guilty.  “What are you even doing here?” demanded Steve.

“Came to visit you. Retard move, clearly.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you came for. Gloat away then.” Tommy shrugged, still faintly cowed. Steve rode his tide of fury and went in for the kill: “Listen, Tommy. You are gonna go grab me some clothes from somewhere, and I’m gonna get discharged. Then we are gonna drive all night, if that’s what it takes, till I pick up Eddie’s scent.”

“Munson? Jesus, Harrington—you really are out of your pretty little head. Word is, he kidnapped you and filled you up with his trailer-park pups. It’s just so you to fall for a criminal.”

“Don’t be dumb. Eddie’s a hero—he saved my life.” Plus, this Beta had no idea about an Alpha-Omega bond, let alone a soulmate one. “Listen. I’m absolutely not pregnant, but my mom’s gonna drag me off to some specialist Omega clinic where they’ll lock me away and run tests, and…” Steve paused, fretting his lip ragged.

He didn’t have the time or the mental strength to handle the juggernaut of emotions barrelling through him. But he knew that threat wasn’t why he’d dragged himself from his bed, to Hell with the pain and the stupidity of it all.

It was Eddie. Eddie was in danger, and Steve needed to protect his Alpha. How screwball was that?

“Look, I can’t wait around while my dad messes this up. I need to find Eddie myself. Now.”

“You really do suck at being a good little Omega. Shouldn’t you be all—” Tommy flung the back of one hand to his brow “—woe is me! Let the bedsheet’s soak up my tears!”

“Screw you, Hagen. My secondary gender doesn’t define me, okay?”

“Says the pampered Omega pining for the dime-store Alpha who fucked his tiny peabrain out his ears.” Tommy looked smug again. So, default Tommy. Then his eyes slitted and he turned all sly: “What if I want to claim your mom’s reward for the freakshow’s head?”

“I’d rip your throat out myself.” Steve’s upper lip twitched, displaying his little canine teeth—a weary token gesture. His latest shot of adrenaline was basically spent.

Tommy ‘pfffd,’ though deep in those rolling eyes, something softened. Or maybe it was Steve’s wishful thinking.  His exhaustion getting the better of him, Steve’s knees sagged.  Tommy whacked out a hand to steady him, and Steve glared with everything he’d got left:

“Look, if you’ve ever actually been my friend, now is the time to make good on it.” Okay, he wasn’t sure that would wash. “I’ll pay you. Fuck, you can have my damn car.”

Jesus, did he mean that?

Whatever.

Steve would scratch Tommy’s eyes out later, once he’d gotten what he needed.

Half an hour later, Steve huddled in the passenger seat of Tommy’s car, ratcheting his stiff, cold limbs into a foetal position. His stomach lurched at the smallest bumps in the roadway, sending bile burning up his windpipe and into his throat. When Tommy breaked or sped up, the g-force drag through his guts set him whimpering.

He’d not felt this crappy on a journey since he was a kid.

On top of all that shit, Tommy’s endless whining drilled right into his aching head: “I’m running out of empty houses here. Christ, I don’t get how you know he’s in a basement. Let alone the point of pulling up outside and not even searching the joint.”

“If he was in there, I’d know it,” husked Steve, his throat wrecked by the acid. “Keep going.”

“Jesus, all right. I’ll try the old Hess farmhouse. But if you puke, I am dumping you out in the nearest ditch.”

Everything after that had been a fevered blur. By the time they reached the farmhouse, Steve was flopped on his back in the seat, arms and legs splayed, breathing so hard of Eddie’s scent he was pretty much hyperventilating.

Tommy wrinkled his nose at him. “Are you seriously leaking slick all over my car? Man, I know I’m getting yours but—”

“Your car can eat shit,” moaned Steve, his insides an unbearably empty ache. “You can eat shit! He isn’t here, Tommy. He isn’t here.”

“How do you know, shit for brains? I mean, this place is pretty much sending you into heat, and I’d bet on Carol’s Alpha dick that it’s got a creepy-ass basement. Just like you saw in your seriously fucked up wet dream.”

“He was here. I’m sure of it… but he’s gone. He’s gone.” Steve sobbed openly, too far gone to even care. “God, what if my mom…. What if she found him? Oh God, Tommy… it hurts. I can’t… I… it hurts so much. I can’t face the future… Any future without him.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Tommy slammed his palms up: “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I’m taking you back the hospital.”

A flash of wild grief ripped through Steve, igniting a fresh round of cramps in his guts. He eked tight words from his clenched teeth: “I swear to God, I’ll d-die on you before you reach the hospital, then m-my mom will hunt you down and swing you from a tree by your intestines.” He’d heard of it done, long ago in Viking packs or something.

“Where the fuck else can I get rid of you?”

 “D-drive to Wayne Munson’s trailer. Do it. Now.”

It was the last coherent idea Steve had. He’d cranked himself back into a ball, wishing for anything, even death, to bring this horror show to an end. At length, he’d gleaned a fresh whiff of Eddie’s scent.

The car door opened. A kind face emerged out of the gloom. Tommy and Wayne helped him out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the trailer.

“I’d sling him straight in Eddie’s bed,” Tommy grumbled. “Unless you wanna be scrubbing slick off your couch for the rest of the year.”

To be fair, Steve felt too wretched to be as slick as Tommy made out. On sinking into Eddie’s shallow mattress, though, he no longer felt so sick, though butterflies rustled in his stomach. Wayne brought in extra blankets and cushions to form a little nest around him, muttering, “There ya go, son. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Wayne got him to sip some water from a plastic bottle and gave off slightly stressy vibes that defied his soothing words. Still, Steve’s butterflies settled, and after he’d drank enough to satisfy Wayne, he settled too. Wayne tucked Steve in with a comforter so infused with Eddie’s scent that a faint chirrup escaped him.

The little room around him, floor and walls, was cluttered with stuff. Cassette-tapes, LPs, clothes, stickers, guitars and bones, and skulls—pictures of those, at any rate. Eddie’s stuff. Steve loved it.

Even without him, this nest proved more healing than any hospital bed. Steve cuddled a pillow to him, pressing it to his aching loins, and drifted away.

...

Chapter 5.2 on tumblr

(it's gonna be fine, okay!?!) Second half of this chapter will be up soon!

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 30

RECOVERY hospital bed | holding back tears / "Forever?"

"And do you recall when-"

"Shhh. Keep it down, the hour is late."

Vil and Leona were sitting next to Yuu's sickbed in the infirmary, cracking jokes as they had been for the past hour.

It felt like just about everyone in the school had visited them bedside- most frequently, it had been a rotating carousel of their friend group, but almost everyone they knew, and a few people they didn't had stopped by for a chat.

Yuu had expected it to be exhausting, and it had been, a little, but they found hospital life surprisingly boring. When they weren't sleeping, the only thing it seemed they could do was stare at the ceiling in boredom, their concussion preventing most activities that required focus.

Right now, it was Vil and Leona keeping them company, Vil animatedly recounting a hiking expedition the two of them had been on as second-years, and he hadn't taken kindly to Leona's insinuation that he was being too loud.

Vil shot daggers at the beastman, who ignored him.

"And yeah, I do, if you're talking about that time when Diamond accidentally pitched himself over the edge of the pond leanin' back too far takin' a photo," said Leona.

"He did what?!" guffawed Yuu, disregarding the earlier reminder as they chortled, only muffling their sounds after a moment.

"It was awful for him," Vil sighed, a bit dramatically, fingertips draped over his chest. "He looked like a drowned cat."

"I think that was more the loss of his phone," grumbled Leona from the corner of his mouth. "He did make a pretty sorry sight, I'll give you that."

Yuu tried to let out the last of their residual giggles as quietly as they could, sides hurting from the effort.

"I'm not gonna be able to look at him without thinking of-" Yuu was cut off by their own laughs, the little devils having started up again at the reminder of the story.

Leona snickered. "Me neither," he concurred, leaning back in the chair as he folded his arms.

Vil just shook his head.

"I do fear you were right, Leona," said Vil, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes as he stood. "We should be going."

Yuu pursed their lips in childish frustration, but in truth, they relished the end.

Of the day, that was. Their concussion and other injuries, for which they were no longer being given the strongest tier of medication, made it tiring to stay awake, and so Yuu was anticipating sleep eagerly.

With the heaving sigh of a much older man, which Yuu suspected was exaggerated, Leona slapped his hands on his legs and stood up from the chair.

"The herbivore's right," he said to Yuu's sallow expression.

"Awwww," groaned Yuu. "But I'm bored."

"We'll be back tomorrow," said Vil. "Please, try to get some rest. You body needs as much energy as it can get if you're to heal your body, and your mind."

Yuu gave them a watery smile as they left, but before Yuu could truly tuck in, Leona returned.

They were about to ask what he needed, if maybe he'd forgotten something, before Leona leaned his head down right next to Yuu's ear.

"Don't dawdle," he gruffed. "Make a move."

Then he was gone, and Yuu was left all alone.

After a moment, they craned their neck up to look at the only other bed that was filled in this section of the infirmary.

It was actually surrounded by curtains on racks, but the shadows told Yuu the only person who would be in there at this hour was.

With a little adjusting, they got out of the bed and rolled it over to Malleus's. It wasn't possible to Yuu to move without the cumbersome burden right now, because they were chained to it.

So was Malleus, for the record, though his charges were quite a bit more serious. As it turned out, they'd both broken an assortment of magical laws in their respective overblots.

Given their injuries, it had been advised that they be held in the school's infirmary, lest they die before sentencing. As far as jail cells went, it wasn't so bad.

Yuu quietly pushed their rickety bed, trying not to wake Grim, before parting the curtains to Malleus's little room.

He looked totally despondent. That's the only way Yuu could describe him, lying half-melted into the bed.

"Hey," said Yuu softly, and he slowly creaked his head to look at them. Yuu could see the deep bags under his eyes, and the many bandages that wrapped his body didn't look particularly comfortable.

"Can I get in?" asked Yuu, and Malleus shrugged.

They knew he was just being sour. At least, that's what they hoped. It had all been quite the ordeal for Malleus, and they knew he had a tendency to put up his walls when hurt.

Yuu didn't get in, wanting it to be well and truly Malleus's decision.

"Have you gotten many visitors?" they asked instead, despite already knowing the answer.

Malleus nodded. "Silver and Lilia have been by, but the majority of my time has been taken up by Sebek."

"That's good," Yuu said placatingly.

Yuu knew. Oh, how they knew. By now, the sound of his voice endlessly droning on was wired into the very being of Yuu's brain, seemingly finding himself a chatterbox at the injury of his master.

At least it was some level of social interaction, and for this reason Yuu couldn't stay irritated for long, even as they wished to never hear his voice again.

They didn't know what they were doing here. Malleus was obviously despondent, unable to be roused from his depression.

Yuu just had to see him again. There had been this burning desire all week, and they supposed it was finally quenched. He didn't look to be in the mood for talking all that much, anyway, and so Yuu decided it was time to call it a night.

"Well," they whispered softly. "Have a good night."

They turned to walk themselves back to their spot before feeling an icy hand grip them, and in the next moment, Yuu's gravity had changed.

Suddenly, they were lying in the crook of Malleus's arm, freed from the handcuffs.

They squeaked in surprise, but Malleus simply rolled over onto his side, cuff rattling against the bars.

That reminded Yuu that they were currently free, their wrist unshackled from the manacle.

With nothing to tug on it, Yuu instinctively hugged Malleus, who responded by rolling over and trapping them on the bed.

"My therapist says I need to be more open with my feelings if I want to grow as a person," he said, straight into their ear.

Yuu could feel his warmth seeping in through their thin clothes. His arms kept them locked firmly in place, as Malleus found his new home in their neck and buried himself there.

"And I have strong feelings for you," he mumbled sleepily, "so promise to stay with me now, and we can discuss forever later."

Yuu didn't know how to answer at first.

"F-forever?" they stammered out.

"Forever," he sighed onto their skin.

Yuu lay still, hearing Malleus's breath even out as quiet settled over the hospital room.

"I have strong feelings for you too," they whispered, "and I'll stay as long as I can."

Reaching up to pat his cheek, Yuu closed their own eyes.

[onlyhereforangst]

I don't know when it'll be, but I promise I'm gonna call you, okay? requested by @acvross-the-universe

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #30

Trope of the day: holding back tears

_

Their day went well. At least this is what Whumpee keeps repeating in their head every other minute because since they came home, they can feel their mask crumbling. But they can’t break, not yet.

Caretaker has been home earlier than expected, they rummage through the kitchen, making dinner while humming to the music that is playing. And of course they ask the dreaded question.

“Is everything okay?”

Whumpee grits their teeth, trying to keep their nose from tickling, eyes from burning with tears. It’s hard to swallow as a tight knot forms in their throat.

But Whumpee nods, blurred vision from tears betraying them of their composure. They breathe out shakily, body tense. They won’t cry, not yet. Not yet, dammit.

Caretaker has them crumbling when they reach out to make them look up.

[psychologeek]

Whumptobrt #30+31: TimKlone (end scene)

Whumptober index - there are at least 5\6 parts in the series before this No. 30: recovery | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?" No. 31: asking for help | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.) If anyone wondered "I'm alive, I'm just not well" is a perfect summarry of my current state.

"What's her Kryptonian name?"

Tim stays silent for a moment.

"She... doesn't have one," he finally says, quietly. "

He looks at his daughter, avoiding her father.

"Tim-"

"I- I couldn't, I'm sorry. I know, I could have asked Clark or Kara or- but it didn't feel right. It didn't feel- I'm sorry, I couldn't -"

And there's a hand around him.

"It's okay".

"No, it's not," Tim still doesn't look away from the child in his arm. "It's - it's also her culture. Her traditions. I was - I shouldn't left her out".

"You didn't," is the  quiet reply. "You did your best, and that is enough."

Tim is-

Tim is sitting there, a baby in his arms, and there's another's hand who wipes her face as he cries.

(There's another hand that holds him).

~

"How do you say light?"

The question comes out of nowhere.

"Light?"

"No," Kon says. "Not in English. In that language you sometimes humm in. I remember you once gave an hour long lecture about why Kryptonian names doesn't make any sense. Something about Kal means easy or lightweighted?"

 There's a moment of confusion before Tim realises.

"Or"

"Or what?" Kon looks confused. "What are the options?"

"No, that's how you say light in Hebrew. 'Or'."

Kon's eyes widen with horror,"I'm not calling our daughter Orel! "

"It's actually pronounced Or-el, not o-re-l," Tim corrects him unnoticed.

"I mean, you can also have 'Ori', which means 'my light', or Uri- which is aort of, more ancient and less used? But it means 'my fire'. It's actually also considered to be one of the angels that sits over a newborn's cradle to-"

"Ori," Kon mumbles behind him. "my light. I like it. Ori-El. It's you and me, both of our history, but together. New. And it's a reminder: I'll always have a place to call home, I'll always have a light to guide me. Even in the darkest times."

~

(Like it? I have more mini-fics Whumptober index | And full size fics on ao3. )

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 30 - holding back tears

Warnings: grief/loss, dissociation

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: sometimes crying for yourself and all that you’ve lost, can be cathartic

a/n. One to go - for those that have come along for the ride, followed it all from start to finish and perhaps have been lurking in the back, thank you for all your comments and likes. I think until made to upload and post every day I forget how hard it it, how tedious and oftentimes him is much I want to keep fic to myself because it’s such a feat in putting it out there. So for those that have interacted I thank you from the bottom of my heart for encouraging this. Until tomorrow dear ones.

(Also if you’re American; please vote blue like your life depends on it, because you never know how much your politics affects everyone else’s, oftentimes our lives depend on it to)

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

A response comes days after Maria takes her letter. Natasha is unsure how it got to Olivia, and even less sure how the response comes back.

The folded paper in her hand is more than a note, it’s the first piece of mail she’s ever received.

Natasha tries not to think too hard about it; if she thought about all the firsts she’s had since arriving here, then she’d probably be overwhelmed.

She can’t bring herself to open it.

There’s so much hope that hangs in the balance.

If it’s not what she expects, if Olivia can’t give her what she wants, she knows she will be devastated, the kind she won’t ever get over.

She doesn’t feel brave enough.

Not yet.

Clint brings breakfast and seems to notice something is wrong.

He asks her, but she shrugs him off, pretending to smile even as he cocks his head in worry.

They debrief and she mumbles her way through it. Natasha can’t concentrate, thoughts seem fleeting, and she worries about the ‘what ifs’ that hide under the bed.

They eat lunch in the cafeteria and Maria joins them. Natasha sits passively, not eating and watching everyone else in the room.

They watch her too. They seem to side eye her and she openly stares.

She doesn’t care enough to be subtle. If they’re looking, then she will too.

After they beat Clint in front of her, she doesn’t care about appearances and there’s no Thompson to threaten her for misstepping.

Maria tells her that both of them have a meeting and asks if she wants to go to the library.

Truthfully, Natasha just wants to be alone.

She shakes her head, and tells them to drop her back.

She’s still not allowed to be left alone in SHIELD. Probably worried about what could happen to her, or perhaps what she might do to others.

Clint gives her one last look of worry before the door shuts.

Natasha sits on the floor, across the room, staring at the bed.

What if Olivia knows more?

What if she can tell her something, anything about her past?

What if she can’t?

It feels like a battle of wills, stuck in the in-between of knowledge and not.

Natasha picks at her nails, unconsciously bites the inside of her mouth.

She hears Clint knocking and chooses to ignore it.

He calls out and she replies that she’s okay, just wants to be alone; and, to her surprise he leaves.

She’ll never get over having her own space and her requests respected.

Another first.

She stares at the bed.

She can do it.

But what if?

.

Natasha swallows.

She knows she’s lost time. The world feels quieter in the dark of night, even though her room has no windows. It’s the principle. Night holds a special quietness within it.

The cadence of the universe seems to be something she’s always been in tune with, and probably, has saved her once or twice.

The letter is in her hand.

She can’t remember getting it.

Just like she can’t remember why there are half crescent moons embedded into her palm where her nails have been digging in.

There’s no writing on the outside.

She can see and feel the writing.

Olivia must press hard, when she writes.

The paper seems to be stock printer paper.

Not lined.

The black pen has a shadow that she can see.

Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

‘Natasha,’ it reads.

Tears well in Natasha’s eyes.

She can’t help it and it surprises her as she swipes them away.

‘Thank you for your note.’

Natasha bites down heavily on her lip, trying to hold herself together, taking a deep breath.

‘I know. She was safe with you. If we could save all those we loved, then the world would be a much kinder place. I have so much to tell you. And likewise, I think you can fill in some gaps for me. You’re not alone.”

Natasha forces herself to take a shaky breath.

‘I’ll be here to answer all the questions I can. But first, you must make agent. Once you’ve done that, meet me in Seattle. I’m sorry that this isn’t easier, and for all that’s happened along the way. Meet me in Seattle and we will talk more.’

The letter signs off with a cursive O.

Natasha lowers the paper, feeling emotions that had been pushed down, repressed for years.

Tears stream now, and she lets herself sob.

She holds the letter to get chest.

Memories, feelings, grief, loss, pain and hope all curl in her chest and she cries.

Natasha feels her breath catch as she lets out a moan, and she lets a wail go, the sadness of losing herself, her past tied into starting a new life, even if it had not given her the safety that she had expected.

It was something.

Olivia had given her hope of something she had never even dreamed of.

Answers.

Why her? Why had it been her abandoned and sold to the red room?

She cries for her younger self, that she could never go back and save.

Memories of Yelena pushing back her newly blue hair and hugging her, telling her she’d miss the red but how cool she looked with it.

Memories of her first kill, the trial of the silent knife as she was given her first weapon, and the training they’d received turned into something vital.

She takes a breath but lets the tears continue.

Such indulgence in emotion, she thinks, as she sniffs and tries to swallow, feeling her ears block and unblock.

Reading the letter again, more tears come.

Natasha doesn’t know how long she lets herself cry, but for the first time ever, she does it without reserve, without restraint and lets herself feel the feelings that flow through her body and cries herself to sleep.

.

Clint knocks and waits until she opens the door.

He’s slightly earlier, worried since the night before, that she had been grappling with bigger thoughts.

He knew what was in the letter from Olivia and what it promised.

So did Maria.

They’d had a discussion as she’d walked him to the car, about Natasha becoming an agent.

There’d be a board review before the decision, where they’d have to give evidence of her debriefs, her progress and usefulness to SHIELD.

Clint was ready for it.

He’d been making Maria practice with him, giving evidence to support her, so that he was ready for all the arguments they may raise.

She even had her own.

He’d asked her why, and Maria had shrugged.

Clint didn’t know what had passed between them when he was in hospital but he knew Maria had been affected in a way that maybe even she didn’t understand.

What he did know, was that Maria knew Natasha’s worth, and even perhaps more than that, Maria knew her own worth - just how vital she was to the functioning of SHIELD.

Coulson had also been promoted.

The strike teams that had been sent after them needed to be replaced. Coulson had asked Clint if he wanted to become a part of one, but Clint wasn’t sure what that would mean for Natasha.

He hadn’t given a straightforward answer, instead asking Coulson the one question that was on his mind- What would happen to her?

Coulson hadn’t responded. Clint thought maybe because he didn’t have the answer just yet.

Clint sighs and knocks again.

Natasha opens the door; and smiles shallowly at him.

He can tell she’s been crying, eyes rimmed red and face flushed.

Speechless, he fumbles over words to ask if she wants to go for breakfast.

Nodding, she zips up her hoodie, and he realises it’s the first time she’s worn something other than the SHIELD issued clothing.

.