#doctor didn’t even say like ‘oh your blood came back fine we still need to figure out what’s wrong’

[gaytobymeres]

So it turns out I don’t have anaemia so who knows what’s wrong with me 👍

[btsficsandsuch]

Hey ,hope you are doing okay. I wanted to request a taehyung × reader where she gets hurt or something when he was on tour but she tries to hide it from her but he finds out eventually. angsty with happy ending

Here you go. I hope you like it!!

I’m Alway Worried About You

This is not how you planned your Tuesday night going. Thankfully the emergency room wasn’t too packed and they were able to get you seen pretty quickly. “Okay Y/N. It seems you have a bad case of pneumonia. Everything will be okay and you’ll make a full recovery but we do want to keep you for the next 24 hours to give you some breathing treatments and make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”, the doctor advises you. You simply nod your head in agreement and watch as we walks out the door.

“You should really call Taehyung and let him know what’s going on.”, your best friend speaks up. “No I can’t do that. He’s on tour and he’ll freak out. He’ll be on the next plane back.”, you say shanking your head. She laughs, “And that would be a bad thing why? It’s obvious he loves you.” “I know he does but he’s already given up so much for me. I don’t want him to get in trouble. Plus the doctor said I’ll be fine so there’s no reason he ever has to find out about this.”, you reply. After convincing your friend that you’d be okay and didn’t need her to spend the night you said goodbye and settled in for the night.

The following morning you woke up extremely tired and with a massive headache. When the doctor told you that you’d be getting breathing treatments you didn’t think he meant every hour. You just finished yet another treatment when your phone started vibrating on the table next to you. Checking the screen you saw Taehyungs name flashing. You’d already ignored two of his calls so you knew if you did it a third time he’d have someone looking for you so you had no choice but to answer.

“Hello”

“There you are Y/N! I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry Tae. I was in the shower.”

“It’s okay. How are you? I miss you so much!”

“Aww babe I miss you too! How much longer until you get back?”

“Umm like two weeks.”

“Oh that’s not too ba-“

You’re cut off before you can finish. “Here you go Miss. These are your discharge papers. The dr will be in shortly to give your lungs one final listen.”, the nurse says before turning and walking away. You’re glad they weren’t currently checking your blood pressure because the machine definitely would’ve blown up. You were praying Taehyung didn’t hear that but before you even continue he asks,

“Discharge papers and doctor? Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine Tae. It was in the drama I’m watching on tv. The female lead was in the hospital.”, you said hoping he buys the lie.

“Alright. Well I have to get going. I’ll talk to you later. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Tae. Be safe! Tell the boys I say hi.”

After the call ended you let out a long sigh thankful that he didn’t ask any more questions. The doctor came in shortly after and checked your breathing. He said you still sounded a little sick but much better than yesterday. He gave you a prescription for an inhaler to use if you felt like your breathing was getting worse and signed off on your discharge. Your best friend was waiting in the lobby to take you home.

The next couple weeks went by fast. Every day you felt a little stronger and you only had to use the inhaler twice. Today was an exciting day because Taehyung was finally coming home after being gone for the last couple months. As soon as he walked in the door you ran and jumped into his arms, “I missed you so much Tae.” He spun you around the living room before giving you a kiss, “I missed you too Y/N.”

After spending some time catching up you both realize that you’re starving and decide to check out a new restaurant that just opened up. The meal was great. Taehyung told you all about the tour. He showed you all of the pictures and videos he took. You couldn’t stop the smile that was on your face. As the two of you made your way back home you held his hand close, just happy that he was finally there. You both walked from the car over to the elevator ready to get upstairs and cuddle and watch the newest drama everyone keeps talking about. You went to press the button on the elevator when you noticed a big yellow sign taped to the doors ‘Out Of Service. Please Take the Stairs. Sorry For The Inconvenience’.

Taehyung scoffs next to you, “For how much we pay to live here you’d think they could keep everything in working order.” You nod in agreement but have no choice but to take the stairs. Luckily your apartment is only on the fifth floor but it’s still quite a few stairs to take. With each staircase it gets harder and harder to breathe. Taehyung notices, “Are you okay Y/? We can take a break.” You shake your head, “No this is just a reminder that I have to start working out more.” The two of you continue up and finally reach your floor. You never thought you’d be so happy to see the tacky green carpet of the hallway leading to your apartment.

Now it seems that with each step your lungs are getting weaker and weaker. Sure you’re not the most physically fit person but you’ve never been this exhausted before. Then you remembered how the doctor told you that your lungs could be weaker for the next couple months as they fully recover from the pneumonia and that’s why he gave you the inhaler. You had stuffed the inhaler in the back of your nightstand drawer thinking you’d never need it again and wanted to make sure Taehyung never found it.

“Y/N are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look that good.”, he says pushing open the door to your apartment. You try to respond but realize you don’t have enough breath in your lungs to speak. You start to panic and begin pointing at your chest. “What’s wrong? Do I need to call for an ambulance? Y/N, try to breathe.”, he says clearly upset. Still unable to speak you start briskly walking back to your bedroom, Taehyung following close behind. Once you get to your nightstand you start pulling out item after item throwing them on the floor until you get to what you’re looking for. The navy blue inhaler. Quickly you follow the directions and push down inhaling the medicine and holding your breath. You Wait 10 seconds and do it again. After another 10 seconds you take one more inhale. Closing your eyes you sit on the bed and wait for the medicine to take effect.

Thankfully it only takes a couple minutes for the medicine to start working and slowly you can feel your lungs taking in more air. When you finally open your eyes you search for Taehyung and see him standing in front of you with wide eyes. “Y/N, what’s going on? We’ve been together for five years and you never told me you had asthma and I’ve never seen you use an inhaler.”, he asks with hints of fear and anger in his voice.

Taking another deep breath you grab his hand and pull him next to you. You decide it’s best to come clean. “I don’t have asthma. A few weeks ago I was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. They gave me this inhaler but I didn’t think I’d need it so I didn’t bring it and I’ve been feeling much better but I think taking all of those stairs overworked my lungs. I’m sorry if I scared you.”, you said unable to look at him. “Of course you scared me Y/N. I thought you were dying. Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital? That’s not fair to keep something like that from me.”, he said trying but failing to hide the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry Tae. The doctor said I was going to be fine. If it was something serious I would’ve called you. I just didn’t want you to worry about me.”, you said squeezing his hand.

Taehyung lifted your chin so you were looking at him, “Y/N, I’m always worried about you when I’m not with you. I worry if you’re safe, if you’re healthy, if you’re happy, if you’re eating and sleeping well. Just like you’re always worried about me. If something happens and I’m not here I need to know about it. Even if it’s a paper cut you got while opening the mail. Even if I’m on the other side of the world. Promise me if something ever happens again you will call me, no matter what.” You nod and kiss his cheek, “I promise. I’m sorry.”

He gives you a big boxy smile, “Good. Now let’s clean up and then meet me on the couch. We’ve got a whole drama to binge watch in one night so we better get started.” You laugh and begin placing things back in the drawer except for the blue inhaler you can’t seem to find anywhere. Panic sets in until you see Taehyung in the living room holding the inhaler and talking on the phone. You bite your lip trying to hide the smile that forms as you hear him say, “Yes the prescription is for Mrs.Y/N Kim. I was wondering what would be needed to be able to get enough of these inhalers to put one in every room of the house and to have one on me at all times.” You laugh at his concern. You know they’d never give you enough to do that but for the time being you’ll let him have this moment and you feel your heart swell at how much he loves and cares about you.

[condoriano-67890]

Wanted to write a Shanks X reader fanfic. It doesn’t actually have much Shanks X reader in it, but I dreamt about this scenario last night and thought it would be cool to write.

Shanks X gn! Reader

Summary: Instead of smashing his beer bottle over Shanks’ head, Higuma decided you were his target.

Warnings: Blood, reader getting hurt, violence & alcohol

You lived in Foosha Village, working as a bartender at Partys Bar, with Makino. She needed the help— after all, she was the only one working there. It usually wasn’t too busy.. unless Shanks and his crew were there. That when Makino really needed your help.

The Red Haired Pirates had been staying a while— and, as always, Luffy had been pestering them about joining their crew. Makino told him to stop pestering them— in the meanwhile, you were cleaning a glass, as the bar was almost all out of glasses. They were all in use.

Then, Higuma and his gang entered— they were angry, and looking for some booze. You could tell, just by the way they looked.

Before they could even say anything, you went looking for the last of the booze— to no avail. You quietly came back out, to hear Makino telling Higuma that there was no booze left.

“Haha— looks like we drank the place dry! Sorry man, but I have an extra bottle. It’s unused,” Shanks said with a smile, as he kindly offered his beer bottle to Higuma.

Higuma stared at it for a moment, before snatching the beer bottle from him. “That ain’t enough for me!” He exclaimed, before hurling it— right into your head.

The bottle smashed up against you. Beer ended up in your eyes, clouding your vision, as the pieces of glass cut up your face. A few smaller pieces ended up getting stuck.

All of the laughing in the bar stopped when you let out a shriek. Makino looked over— and, seeing this, she immediately ran over. “Y/n-san!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto you to keep you from falling into the alcohol display behind the counter.

Higuma stared at you, angrily, as Shanks immediately got up and ran over to help. Hongo, the doctor of the Red-Haired Pirates, immediately saw that someone needed medical attention— and rushed over.

Luffy was watching the whole ordeal, with rage in his eyes, before attempting to attack Higuma. Lucky Roux noticed this, and grabbed the little boy, restraining him.

Makino quietly sat you down, holding your hand, as tears fled from your eyes. But you made no sound. All you could do was tell yourself to breathe as Hongo carefully attempted to extract the pieces from your face. Shanks saw the sheer amounts of blood running down your face— and, ripping some cloth off of his own shirt, tried to plug up the deepest wounds, pressing the cloth to your face firmly.

Higuma rolled his eyes— and saw it as a fine time to leave. He’d brag to Shanks about himself later.

. . .

A short while later, you found yourself laying in a bed, in the one little hospital found at Foosha Village. It looked like every other building.

The beer was out of your eyes— your eyes still stung a bit, but it was out. The beer and blood was all cleaned up, and you were all bandages up on the face. Shanks and Makino stood over you.

“Y/n-san!” Makino said softly, smiling, as she went to hold your hand. “How are you feeling?” She asked, as Shanks smiled down at you.

“…my eyes,” you said softly, “..they sting. Could I get some eye drops?” You asked, as Makino nodded, “of course. I’ll be right back,” she said, giving your hand a squeeze before she let go and left, leaving you and Shanks alone.

“You good?” Shanks asked, chuckling, “your face is kinda swollen. You should see it in a mirror.”

You stared at him for a moment, before chuckling. “Don’t look at me, then.”

“I’ll always look at you!” Shanks said, before you blushed.

“…oh. I didn’t mean it in a romantic way, but I guess it came out like that, huh?” Shanks asked, laughing now.

You couldn’t help but smile at his hearty laugh. But then you thought— someone wasn’t in this room.

Luffy.

You turned your attention to his absence.

“..hey.. Luffy isn’t here. Doesn’t he follow you around like, all day, every day?” You asked, as Shanks’ smile faded.

“..now that I think about it, yeah. It’s a bit concerning.. I’m gunna go look for him,” he said, making his way to the door as you waved him goodbye.

As you laid there in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder.. was Shanks calling you pretty?

[mystery-star]

Whumpril 2023 - Day 10 | “I’m scared.”

Pairing: Ben Wade x reader (gender neutral)

Words: 1433

Warnings: injury, death

A/N: Missed a day? Find all Whumpril entries on my Whumpril Masterlist.

-

Only moments after the bullet planted itself into your abdomen, you knew this was bad. But there was no time to check it out now or do anything because you had to escape that posse. You knew that if Ben noticed you got shot he might do something reckless before you were in safety just to help you. So you used your coat to cover the wound. Oddly it stopped hurting a little after a while but by the time the posse was long behind you the pain came back. Maybe because all the excitement was gone and you could focus on your wound again. Ben’s glance fell over everyone as if to check that they all were here and seemed fine. His gaze stopped on you for a little longer and you just gave him an encouraging nod.

“We’ll split up here” he then announced “We’ll meet in Nogales in a few days” he also announced who was coming with him and told the others to split up again. Then, without another word he started riding off and you followed him together with the other three men he had chosen.

“Where we going, boss?” one of them asked

“Small detour” Ben answered and threw a glance at you. You frowned. Was he making the detour because of you? To get you something from town again? Or did he know that you needed medical attention? No, that couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be so calm and would have long approached you already. Perhaps this was the time to tell him? “You alright, (Y/N)?”

“I…” you couldn’t make up your mind. Well, sooner or later he’d hear about it anyways and if you sped up now you got treatment faster “I think I got shot”

“You think you…” he stopped and rode back to you “You got shot?!”

“Yes” he looked at you in disbelief and worry

“Why the hell didn’t you say something? We have to get you to town, now!” it didn’t seem like he wanted an answer because he was already urging his horse on. With a sigh you did the same and followed him. A little confused the others followed “How could you not tell me?”

“I was scared you’d want me to see a doctor right away while the posse was still after us” he let out a low curse and muttered something under his breath. Now that you were riding faster again, the pain intensified and made you feel quite numb.

“Where?”

“Abdomen”

“Is it bad?”

“Hurts like hell but I don’t know how bad it is” he just nodded and you were glad he didn’t ask to see the wound. By now you saw the blood was already starting to seep through your coat but with the dark color it wasn’t easy to see from the outside.

“It’s about ten miles to the next town. You have to hang on ‘til then”

“I’ll try” after a couple of minutes you started to feel dizzy and swayed in the saddle.

“Hey” you felt Ben’s hand on your shoulder. “Hang on. We’re almost there”

“You said that five minutes ago already” by now you believed he was more saying it to calm himself down. Even though you felt so tired, your heart was beating like crazy and you felt the reins slipping from your hand.

“Woah” Ben made both your horses stop and sent off one of the men to inform the doctor in town that you were coming or even better, fetch him. He dismounted and then tried to help you off your horse and you more or less fell into his arms. He sat you down on the ground and kneeled down to, holding you in his arms. After pushing your coat away, he let out a little gasp. You too looked down and saw that the whole lower part of your shirt was soaked in blood, even starting to run down your legs.

“Oh shit” you muttered and felt even dizzier when you saw the blood.

“Yeah” he breathed and quickly pushed your coat over the wound again and pressing down, scooping you further into his arms. “You’ll stay with me, okay?” he whispered in your ear. “We’ll get you to town and the doctor will help you, yeah? You’re not going anywhere”

“Well to town probably” you joked, smiling when you heard him chuckle. He buried his nose in your hair “Shouldn’t we get going?”

“Yeah” he slightly let go of you, though not of your wound and tried to get you back to your feet but no matter how hard you tried, you just didn’t have the strength to be standing. After another try, he sat the both of you down again.

“I’m scared” you breathed and tried to cling to him. This wasn’t good, right? Even if the bullet hadn’t hit something important you could still bleed to death.

“Don’t be” he said, running a hand through your hair “You’ll be just fine”

“But if you can’t get me to town…”

“I will get you there” you frowned he didn’t seem pressed to get you there any longer. Did he know something you didn’t? Did he know your wound was fatal? You swallowed and dug your fingers deeper into his shirt.

“I’m gonna die” you whispered

“You’re not” he insisted “You can’t” again he buried his face in your hair “I can’t lose you”

“Ben…” you placed a hand on his cheek and winced when you saw the tears shining in his eyes. It started to add even more pain because while you had only been worried about yourself so far you hadn’t thought what it would do to him if he lost you. “Am-am I gonna die?”

“I don’t know” he said as his eyes spilled over “It’s possible” he swallowed hard and you moved your hand down to his throat. He caught it and placed it back on his face. “I’m sorry”

“It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong” black dots started to appear at the side of your vision and you tried to blink them away, only resulting in tears spilling from your eyes. Ben kissed your forehead. “I’m looking forward to our time off in Nogales” you whispered “You’re not off on some robberies and we can spend the whole day together”

“We will” he squeezed your hand “We can do whatever you feel like once you’re back on your feet”

“I’d like a picnic” you said

“Then a picnic we will have. Or even two” you smiled even though it was harder to move with each second and you felt like your body weighed a ton.

“Sounds good. But first I want to sleep” you mumbled and leaned your head against his chest.

“Stay with me, (Y/N)” slowly you tried to caress his chest a little but then let it be due to the strength it required and that you didn’t possess anymore.

“Promise you won’t forget me”

“Forget you?” he scoffed and shook his head “There’s no reason to forget you because you’re going to live. Do you hear me?”

“Promise me” slowly, he shook his head again and gave the hand on his face a squeeze

“There’s no way I’ll ever forget you. Never. You’ll always be the only person I love”

“No… You have to be happy. That’s what I want”

“I’ll try” he swallowed again “But without you I don’t know if I can ever be happy again”

“Oh silly” the corners of your mouth twitched up, unable to fully smile. “I know you will…” suddenly even breathing hurt and you felt your head getting even heavier. Your thoughts started spinning. No, not just your thoughts, also your whole head. And even the world around you.

“Shh” he pressed his forehead against yours “I’m here. I’ll always be here”

“’course” you mumbled and moved your fingers against his cheek. He brought the hand to his lips and kept it there. “Always thought… it’s the other way ‘round” you tried to look into his eyes but your vision was too blurry and dark to see anything properly “Thank you…” you tried to take a deep breath “for everything”

“Thank you too” he breathed “you’re everything to me. And always will be. Nothing or no one’s able to change that”

“You’ll find someone…” you felt your own voice getting more distant with each syllable “know you will…” with that, the darkness in front of your eyes overtook everything and you felt your body slump. The last thing you knew was Ben’s cry of anguish and despair.

-

Taglist: @woman-with-no-name

Return to the Whumpril Masterlist

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

[certifiedskywalker]

Trouble Doubled - Bucky Barnes

Even after everything, you’re still the person who Bucky Barnes runs to when things go bad. Only now, he brings Sam who fails to hide his grin when he sees how James melts under your touch.

WARNINGS: Blood, stitches, and TFATWS possible spoilers (I think I was vague enough)

“Ouch! That’s going to hurt in the morning!”

“Ha, it hurts now, actually,” Sam grumbled. 

You pressed your lips together to stifle the grin that threatened to spill over them. Unable to help yourself, you glanced at Bucky in the hopes he too was biting back a grin. Stood by the door, slightly shrouded in shadow, you could make out the half smile that played on his lips. Though, his expression quickly melted into a grimace as Sam groaned. Reality quickly crashed back down on your shoulders and you turned back to the man laid on the table.

“You’re not going to like this.” Before Sam could ask what ‘this’ was, you began to palpate his wound. He flinched away from your reach at first, but then settled in the discomfort.

“Mm, yeah, no, that doesn’t feel good, Doc.”

“Not a doctor,” you said, still pressing lightly into the bruised flesh. “And I have to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. Otherwise, you’ll need a doctor.”

“Gotta work on your bedside manner,” Sam said as he winced. You pulled your hands away with a sigh and he met your eyes. “Bad?”

“In the grand scheme of things, no. Just try not to throw yourself off a building for the next few days. Think you guys can manage that?”

“Maybe. Harder to fly without jumping first.” Sam groaned once more as he sat up and the pain seemed to convince him to heed your warning. “We’ll try, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes at him before turning to look at Bucky. Still tucked in the darker corner of the room, he seemed small. His brows were knitted tightly together by worry and you imagined that, if he met your gaze, you would see concern in his eyes. Pushed forward by your own worry, you strode over to him. At your growing closeness, Bucky lifted his eyes to yours.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

Despite his protest, Bucky did not lock himself in place. Instead, he gave in and let you lead him by the arm, over to the table. Sam eyed him with a wide grin as Bucky landed in the same spot he had sat in only moments ago. He mouthed something to the century-old soldier that you caught, but could not make out.

“What happened to taking it easy? You told me after, you know, that you would ease into things.” You gestured to the rags you had used to clean Sam’s more minor wounds; the fabric pieces were now dyed a reddish pink from blood. “That doesn’t seem like easing into it.”

“You didn’t see the other guy,” Sam quipped. 

“I like to think you didn’t leave any of him left,” you fired back as you pinched Bucky’s chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

Bucky did as you told him to and met your gaze. You took a sharp breath in at the sight of him, at how his pupils blew out slightly as you studied his reaction. All at once, the air around you grew thick. This close, you could smell the sweat and ash on his skin, along with hints of whatever air freshener he had in his apartment. 

Was it coconut? Sandalwood? You couldn’t parse out which as you found yourself lost in the blues of Bucky’s eyes. The sound of Sam clearing his throat shook you from your haze.

“No signs of a concussion.”

“Really?” Sam asked, grin still plastered on his face. You raised a brow at him in question before you turned back to Bucky. 

“Why? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he said, clearly tired of Sam’s commentary, “but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Super soldier or not, a head wound is a head wound. Can you?” You gestured to his jacket and, with a sigh, Bucky pulled it off his shoulders.

“How do you two know each other again?” Sam asked, glancing around the room. “And why are we in an abandoned building.”

“Hard to trace us back here. Didn’t want to lead them to Y/N’s place,” Bucky said, tossing his jacket to the side. He winced as he did, and then you saw the blood.

“Barnes!" 

With reaching hands, you peeled back the crimson-soaked material of his shirt. Your movement revealed a long gash along his side that, with each breath, sent dribbles of blood to his hip. Sam made a sound of surprise and mild disgust at the sight. You were inclined to agree with another shout, but you were too caught up in how to stop the bleeding.

“Lay back,” you ordered, pressing Bucky’s shoulder. He yielded and you pushed his shirt up to expose the entire length of the wound. “Why didn't you show this to me earlier?!”

“It’s not that bad.”

"You're bleeding," you huffed, "which is pretty indicative of bad, if you ask me. Sam?"

"This is not my battle,” he raised his hands and shook his head. “I know better than to intrude on a lover’s quarrel.”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke up to correct him. In your mind, you came up with a quick excuse: Bucky was bleeding and you needed to focus on stopping it. Sam’s comment could be corrected later. Though, when Bucky didn’t speak up, you felt your chest tighten. As you worked on dressing the gash, you glanced up at him and found his blue eyes trained on you. He was dwelling on your silence too.

You pulled yourself out of the whirlpool of his gaze and reached over his body towards your medical supplies. As you stretched, your chest pressed lightly against Bucky’s, but you swallowed hard and refocused.

“Sorry, need to sow you up.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but he did avert his gaze. He found some spot in the ceiling to stare at instead of you. His distraction allowed you to work without the prickling temptation to sneak glances at his features; for the most part. It was only when Sam moved to stand over at your side you did you look up from Bucky’s wound.

“What?”

“Nothing, just wondering how many times you’ve done this before.” 

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips at his reply. “Too many times to count. If it’s not an Avenger, it’s a masked savior from Hell’s Kitchen. Someone always needs stitched up.”

“But James here is your favorite patient?”

“Sam.” 

Bucky’s tone set you on edge. It was warning, cold, and unlike the teasing you had grown fond of. Sam, knowing better than to piss him off, backed away from the table. You looked from him to Bucky and back again. When Bucky did not dare to meet your gaze, you felt a lump form in your throat. Tension weighed down your tongue, stopped you from saying a word or asking a question, despite your want to. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be, old man. I’ll check with Torres, see if he has anything.”

Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above you. He was quiet, like the first time you met, and distant. His gaze seemed far away, as if he were looking through the ceiling of this hideaway. After you heard the door of the room close behind Sam, you went back to work on Bucky’s side in silence. 

Carefully, you sowed the gash and tried to keep your hands steady. Every other jab with the needle made Bucky wince. You flinched at his sharp intake of breath and mumbled an apology before you went on to the next stitch. Five apologies later, the bleeding slowed and you gently pressed a crisp, white bandage to safeguard your handiwork. 

Immediately after you secured the gauze, Bucky moved to sit up. Before he could, you pressed on his shoulders again and pinned him in place. Though, you knew you couldn’t have pinned him if he hadn’t let you. Your upper body strength was nothing compared to his, you both knew that.

“Don’t move,” you said softly, “you’ll ruin my work.”

“It’s gonna be hard not to.” Bucky met your gaze and, in the dim light of the room, his eyes looked dark, almost sad. Something in his face, perhaps the dull, yet familiar laughter lines around his mouth or the bags under his eyes, alleviated the tension that had silenced before.

“You told me you wouldn’t. That you would take it easy and focus on making amends.”

Bucky closed his eyes at the disappoint that laced your tone. “I tried. I wanted to, Hell, I need to, but I can’t. I never could.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky began to sit up from the table top, “I’m a soldier. I need the fight.”

You watched as he moved, as your hands slipped from his shoulders and fell back to your sides. He pulled his shirt down over his freshly bandaged wound. When he was covered, Bucky looked back up to you, saw your frown and frowned too.

“Soldiers get to come home,” you pointed out, arms crossed over your chest.

“If they’re lucky. I’ve never been lucky.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at that. He was right. Bucky told you his story once before, after a therapy session left him feeling a bit more dry than high. He told you that he couldn’t tell you everything, that he wouldn’t. He didn’t have to, but you still hoped for him.

“Luck can change.”

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his feet. Now, at his full height, he towered slightly over you. Despite his looming figure, Bucky did not scare you. Even when he told you his story, what he had done, Bucky did not scare you. 

“Yeah, well, luck, or fate, or whatever, brought me to you and here we are,” he gestured to the dusty dwelling around you. You looked around with a careful eye before you playfully shrugged. 

“I’ve been in worse dives.” Bucky chuckled, a unforced sound that rose up from his chest against his will. “Really, I have.”

“I don’t doubt it. But we put you in danger, asking for your help here. I put you in danger.”

“Oh, are you serious?” You threw your hands up in the air, “there’s always going to be danger in this world. Aliens, war, bad luck.”

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he pressed, taking a step towards you. 

You could smell the perfume of the air freshener again, how it clung to his clothes. It distracted you, threw you into thoughts of what his apartment looked like, if he would ever share that part of him with you or if he would keep it locked away with his full story. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from asking, from wasting your breath on a question he wouldn’t answer. His words would have to be enough for you and, as if on cue, Bucky echoed his sentiment. 

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“How noble, wanting to keep me safe, Barnes. Just me?” 

Silence was your immediate answer. Silence and Bucky’s full attention. You didn’t miss how his eyes flickered down from yours to your lips then back again.

“Just you.”

In the quiet that followed Bucky’s statement, you became frighteningly aware of your heartbeat again. It wasn’t pounding like before, but it felt loud, like it was pressing against your ribcage, begging to leap out and into Bucky’s arms. As if propelled by it, you found yourself leaning in towards his warmth just as he seemed to shrink away.

Before he was out of reach, you lifted your hands to his face and cupped his jaw. Stubble prickled your fingers and palm, though you were far too enraptured to care.

“Then stay alive,” you said softly, “change your luck and come home.”

In your mind, you did not picture Bucky’s home as his mystery apartment. Instead, you saw only this moment captured by some invisible third party. You saw home as just the two of you and the image made you heart beat a bit faster. 

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, stewed in the new, easier tension between you. But then your resolve broke and you lips broke into a smile. Bucky mirrored your expression, a lopsided grin resting comfortably along his features. His eyes fell to the floor between you before he looked back into your face.

“Can...can I kiss y-”

“Yes, Barnes, please.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. Your hands slipped from his jaw to the back of his head where your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his brown hair. One of his hands found your waist and pulled you close to him, while the other cupped your jaw. In sync, his mouth moved against yours and everything around you melted away.

No more wonderings or mystery. It was only you and Bucky, come danger, trouble, or bad luck; and Sam who lingered outside the door.

[awkwardlyfangirly]

hello! i saw your requests were open so i was wondering if you were up for a rottmnt donnie x reader, where the reader loses their memory after a villain fight and doesn't remember the turtle boys?

eee i LOVE this prompt!! i had a lot of fun writing this, hope u like what i came up with!

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rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction ~ Donatello x female reader ~ tw/cw: reader deals with concussion / coma / memory loss ~ on a related note, I'm no doctor, and I just kinda did what I wanted to do with concussion / coma / memory loss, so please don't come at me for any medical inaccuracies or anything hahaha

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You waft back into consciousness with a dull throbbing headache pounding behind your eyes.

Ugh. You never wake up with headaches. Sleep usually makes your headaches go away.

Wait. You hear voices. Your stomach twists, hard and tight. Why are there voices in your room? Unfamiliar male voices in your room? Why is there hospital-heart-monitor-beeping?

You freeze, the blood going thick and icy in your veins.

Your ears buzz and you try to even your breathing and listen to what the voices are saying.

“It is not ‘fine,’” one of them snaps. “Look at her. Look. At. Her. Stop saying it’s all ‘going to be fine.’”

“Donnie,” a second voice says. “Just calm down. Just --”

“Stop telling me to ‘calm down’! She might never wake up. What then, huh?? What then? I… I…” The first voice shakes, and shivers. “I love her. I love her. And she’s…”

You hear it start to sob.

“Aww,” a third voice says. “Look, don’t cry. We --”

“Don’t tell me not to cry,” the first voice snaps. “I can cry whenever I want to. She’s… she’s…”

…not opening her eyes.

Go away, you beg. Go. Away.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” the second voice says, in a soothing tone.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Donnie. You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later.”

“You need to take care of yourself. You can’t just --”

“I’ll get some food when I’m hungry, okay? I just… I just need a moment with her.”

Silence for a moment.

“I’ll bring you some food.”

“...Okay.” The voice has dropped an octave, quiet and resigned. You hear footsteps leave the room, and then the creaking of someone sitting down next to your head.

“Hey,” the voice says. “I don’t know if you can hear me? I… I really don’t know.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Please wake up. You know I don’t… I don’t tell you what I feel about you, enough, at all. But I really do care about you. I guess it feels safer to say it now because I don’t even know if you can hear me. So if you can’t hear me, we’ll just forget this ever happened. But if you can? If you can, I just wanted to say that I… I like you. A lot. It’s weird; I knew that I liked you but I guess I didn’t know how much until… until… yeah. Yeah.”

Silence for another long moment. You can hear him breathing, shakily. You still haven't dared crack an eyelid.

“Please wake up,” he says. “Please, please wake up, or I’ll never forgive myself. Ever. Please wake up. Please. I’m. I’m -- I love you. I mean that. I love you. Oh, my Galileo. I feel, like, my chest turning hollow inside of me. Please wake up. I’m in love with you. Actually. Actually in love with you. I haven’t really let myself think about that, ever, but it’s true. I’m in love with you. I sound pathetic, don’t I? I know I do. But I’m serious. I love you. Please, please don’t make me lose you now.”

Should you open your eyes? What’s going on? You concentrate hard, but your head is still throbbing, and your mouth feels dry. Your limbs are heavy and your throat is thick. What happened to you?

What… what happened to you?

Your head is cloudy but you fight to think. The past few days feel blurry, hazy, fuzzy. What’s the last thing you can remember? You… you can’t remember what the last thing you can remember is. Think, Y/n. Think.

You… you remember some things? You think? But they’re fuzzy. Your head feels fuzzy. Your memories feel fuzzy. Fuzzy, unclear, out of reach. You can picture your childhood home and your apartment and your own face and the plot of Inception but you can’t remember why you’re in this room, or where you were the day before last, or who owns the voice that’s sobbing next to your bed right now. Why are your limbs so heavy? Where are you? Who is this? What’s going on?

You hesitate.

Footsteps walk back into the room. “Hey, Donnie?” Donnie. Okay. Donnie must be the voice next to your bed. You hear him sniff. “Hey. I brought you something.”

The footsteps walk over to where Donnie’s been sitting. “How is she?” You don't see it, but Donnie shrugs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Dee. The best we can do is just take care of ourselves, for her sake, and keep her comfortable, okay? Her body will wake itself back up when it’s time.”

You don't see it, but Donnie nods.

His throat is too tight to speak. He knows that as soon as he tries to say something, he’ll start crying. And he won’t be able to stop. He’s not used to crying. He usually doesn’t cry. But here he is. A mess, an emotional wreck, by your bedside.

Raph leaves the tray of food on the bedside table. “Do you need anything, Dee?”

Donnie shakes his head and waits for him to leave.

“Okay,” Raph says, looking at him with so much obvious concern in his eyes. “We’re all in this together, remember? Let me know if I can help at all. And update us if anything changes. Okay?”

Donnie nods.

Raph looks at his unconscious friend for a moment before walking back out of the room.

Donnie stares at the tray of food and stares at his girlfriend and stares at his hands and tries to breathe and starts crying again.

It’s uncomfortable, and painful, and loud, choking whimpers cutting through his throat and chest. And it hurts. There's a pain deep in his stomach, a hard little stone that won’t go away.

He loves you. It took this for him to realize that.

The Hamato brothers and you had been out for an evening walk when your walk was interrupted violently, unexpectedly, by a combined team of foes. They sprung out of the shadows and attacked.

You were unprepared, untrained -- Donnie immediately stepped in front of you, to protect you, and shouted for Leo. Leo turned and held out his odachi to form a portal but it was too late. Your attackers had spied you and swooped.

It was a brief but fierce struggle, ending with a desperate retreat, and by the time the brothers got back to their home, sweaty and bloody and shaken, you were a comatose lump in Raph’s arms.

You've been this way for a week now. Donnie has barely slept or eaten -- he’s been busy sitting in silence at your bedside, or frantically trying to develop any sort of way to help your current state. His efforts have been fruitless. You haven't budged.

He’s detected a concussion. Concussions frighten him. The brain, after all, is the most important organ, and the one that makes any person be themself. If your brain is permanently damaged in any way -- or even worse, if you never wake up --

He rubs his arms and stares at you. You’re so beautiful, so peaceful, two feet in front of him but so, so far away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His heart stutters and whimpers and he puts his head in his hands for a moment.

You finally make up your mind and open your eyes.

The figure at your bedside is… not what you were expecting.

You watch his eyes widen and he presses his hands against his mouth.

“Oh. My. Sweet. Sweet. Galileo,” he whispers. “You’re alive. You’re. Alive.”

You're staring at him. This is him, right? The Donnie who was saying that he loved you? Well, he’s some sort of… thing. Probably not human. Hopefully not human. He’s green, and… and green.

A green, humanoid Thing.

“What the actual heck is going on,” you say. Your voice is stiff and crackly and it doesn’t work at first. You cough a bit and try again.

“What the actual heck is going on. Am I… dreaming? Like actually? I think… I think I am. Right? I mean, I have to be. You’re. Um. Green.”

Donnie is staring at you with something wide-eyed and terrified on his face.

“Do you… how much do you… how much do you remember?” he says, slowly.

“Remember about what?”

“Oh, my gosh. What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

All of his fingers. He’s holding up all of his fingers.

Your head is still throbbing painfully with each rapid heartbeat. The green man who says he loves you is holding up all of his fingers.

All of his fingers. As in, three fingers.

You stare at his three long green fingers.

“Y/n?” He’s looking at you with an intensity that would melt diamonds into coal.

“Three,” you say, quietly. Where are you? What’s happening? Your head hurts, so much.

You look around yourself.

The room is small, and closed off on two sides by curtains. No windows, but two walls of cold hard stone. There are a couple IVs in your arm, and a heart monitor beeping steadily, and a green man who says that he loves you.

“Y/n,” he says, slowly. “This is important. Do you… remember what happened? Do you remember why you’re here?”

You shake your head. Your brain rocks in your skull and you bite your tongue, hard, as your head throbs even harder.

“We were ambushed,” he says gently. “You were hurt. You have a concussion.”

Concussion. You feel yourself shiver at the thought.

Concussion. Memory loss. Of course. But this… this would mean that you have lost part of yourself. And you have no idea how much you’ve lost.

“A concussion?”

“A concussion.” He exhales, leans forward. “Important question. Um. Do you… do you remember… me?”

Your heart twists. You should. You should remember him, you know.

But instead you have to look this weird green thing in the eyes and tell him no, you don't remember him. You don't remember him at all.

Something fades inside of him, and he rubs his arms, and he says, “Oh no. Oh, that’s not good.”

The room is small and the IVs are in your arm and the heart monitor is beeping beeping beeping and the green man is in love with you and you're probably in love with the green man too and your head is THROBBING and you’re seeing black with each heartbeat and your limbs hurt and your chest hurts and your stomach hurts and there are IVs holding you down like chains and there are no windows and you close your eyes again and pretend that it’s all a bad dream and it’ll be gone when you wake up. It’ll be gone when you wake up.

“Stay here,” Donnie says. His voice is fast. “Stay here. I’m going to go get Raph.”

You keep your eyes closed. It’ll be gone when you wake up. It’ll be gone when you wake up.

More footsteps come into the room. “Y/n?”

“She doesn’t remember,” you hear Donnie saying, frantically. “She doesn’t remember why she’s here. She doesn’t remember me.”

“Y/n?”

It’ll be gone when you wake up. It’ll be gone when you wake up.

“She’s awake,” Donnie says, sounding irritated. “Believe me, she’s awake.”

Tattletale.

“Y/n. It’s okay. It’s us! We’re your friends. You don’t have to be afraid, okay? We want to help you. We want to help you remember. But you need to talk to us.”

It’ll be gone when you wake up. It’ll be gone when you wake up.

“Y/n,” the voice says again.

“Maybe she’s just scared,” says another, smaller voice. “I mean, if she doesn’t remember anything? I’d be scared, too.”

“We can't just leave her!” Donnie snaps. “She needs us!”

“She needs rest,” the smaller voice says. “She’s been through a lot. She’ll be fine for tonight.”

Donnie starts to grumble something in response, but the other voice speaks up. “C’mon, Donnie. Let’s just give her some time, okay? Let her rest. She’s been through a lot.”

“But --”

“C’mon.”

And then they’re gone, for the rest of the night. Leaving you with your thoughts and your heart monitor and your throbbing head.

At first you think you won’t be able to sleep, but the next thing you know, you're opening your eyes to voices whispering around you. Without windows or a clock, you can’t really keep track of the passage of time; but as soon as they see you pop open your eyes, they start talking.

“Good morning,” the largest one coos. “How are you feeling?”

You're feeling much better. The aggressive pounding behind your eyes has turned into a dull ache. Your limbs feel more cooperative, and your head feels a bit clearer. But you still can’t remember much at all. Your brain starts to hurt if you try too hard.

“Better.” You smile, politely.

“Do you remember… any of us?” asks the green man dressed in blue.

You shake your head.

Donnie is there, standing off to the side, rubbing his arms and staring at the ground. You don't like to look at him for too long. It makes your stomach start to hurt again.

“Well, hi,” the blue one says. “I’m Leo. This is Raph. And Mikey. And Donnie. We’re your friends. Not enemies.” He gives two thumbs-up.

“I’m going to disconnect the IVs,” Donnie says, taking a palmful of hand sanitizer and rubbing it into his skin vigorously. He grabs some gloves and walks to your side and puts his hands on your wrist, gently.

He disconnects the IVs. It’s painful, and gross, and you don't watch. Instead you watch him. The crinkles in his forehead and the quiet hurt in his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. His hands are steady and he lets them linger on your skin a little too long. He presses a bandage over the IV insert point with a gentle tenderness.

He wasn’t kidding about loving you. You can feel it radiating off of him.

It makes you feel so bad. You don't remember him at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as he smooths down the bandage. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

He looks up at you. Your eyes meet.

His mouth tightens a little more.

They gather around your bed on little chairs and talk at you. They tell you about who they are -- turtle-human mutant ninjas -- and who you are -- their friend; they don’t mention anything about your relationship with Donnie -- and how long you’ve been injured -- a week -- and what happened to make you this way -- they were attacked, and you were injured. Eventually your head starts to throb again and you wave them away.

But Donnie doesn’t leave.

He stays seated at your side, on his little chair, rubbing his hands together and looking at you.

You look back at him.

He smiles awkwardly at you.

“I heard you talking to me,” you say, your heart pounding uncomfortably. “When I was asleep. About. Um. Being in. In love.”

“Oh,” he says. “That.”

“You meant it,” you say. “Yeah?”

He rubs the back of his head and nods.

“Gosh,” you say. “I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t remember you. At all. I’m so sorry.”

He laughs nervously and rubs at his arms, his hands moving quickly and jerkily. “At least you’re not dead,” he offers.

“Yeah. At least I’m not dead.”

“Well. Um. We are… dating. We’re together. I do science, you let me experiment on you, you read books, I let you read them to me. It’s a good cycle.” His fingers fidget. “A good cycle.”

You study him. He’s handsome, all tight muscle and pleasing lines, but there are deep bags under his eyes and his eyelids blink a little too slowly. He’s so tired. His shoulders slump.

“Donnie, I think you need to get some sleep.”

He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“He is not fine,” calls a small voice.

“Mikey! Stop eavesdropping!”

“Get some sleep!” Mikey shoots back.

You giggle before you can help yourself.

Donnie rolls his eyes.

“You really should get some sleep,” you suggest. “I don’t mind. You should, you know, take care of yourself.”

Donnie looks at you sharply, his brow furrowing slightly.

Take care of yourself. That’s what you would tell him, over and over and over again. Take care of yourself. You’d lean against him as he worked himself to the point of oblivion, brushing your lips over the top of his head. Take care of yourself, you’d say, and convince him to let himself sleep. You’d pour flavor packets into his water to make it more appetizing so he’d hydrate himself somewhat, and you always made sure he ate. “Take care of yourself,” you’d say. “Take care of yourself. I want you to take care of yourself. Please -- for me?”

For you.

“You sure you’ll be alright by yourself?”

You nod. “Yeah. I could use some rest, anyway. My head, ya know.”

“Yeah. Of course. That’s good. You should take care of yourself.” He fidgets his fingers with one another.

When you open your eyes again, there's a different face at your bedside. Mikey. The little orange one with the round face and big eyes. He has his knees up on the chair, and a sketchbook pressed against them.

“Welcome back to the world of the waking,” he says when he sees you looking at him. He turns the sketchbook around. “What do you think?”

It’s you, a perfect pastel likeness, your eyes shut, your brow furrowed. You see the ugly cuts and bruises on your skin. It looks just like you.

“It’s amazing,” you say. “Wow. You’re good.”

He beams.

“Do you want to see some of my others?” he asks, softly. “I thought it might help you remember.”

Your breath hitches. That’s right. There’s a whole life, a whole existence, that’s been ripped out not only from your life, but from the lives of your friends as well.

You try to reply, but you can’t speak. So you just nod, and he hands the sketchbook to you, after flipping carefully to a certain page.

“This is all of us,” he says. This artwork has a more cartoony style, the features simplified and expressive. You find yourself, standing next to Donnie. His arm is slung over your shoulders and you're staring at him, a heart drifting from your eyes.

“You can go through the rest,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

So you flip through the pages. You see the turtles, and their rat dad, and April (she came to visit earlier, and you do remember her, seeing as she was part of your life before the concussion). You see yourself. You see Donnie. You see yourself and Donnie, captured in various quiet moments -- both in evening wear with Donnie pressing his lips to the back of your hand; his head on your lap, fast asleep and drooling, and you’re looking up at the viewer with an affectionate twinkle in your eyes; your arms around each other's shoulders, staring softly into each other's eyes.

“I drew you a lot,” he admits. “You’re so in love and it’s so inspiring to me. So I drew you.”

He has drawn you a lot. Over, and over, and over again. So soft and gentle and tender and intimate. It’s making your head spin and your chest squeeze.

“I don’t remember this,” you whisper, your voice quiet and cracked. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“It’s okay,” Mikey says, softly. “It’s not your fault. Don’t feel bad. You can’t help it.”

Your fingers trace over a drawing of you and Donnie, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked.

“I should remember,” you say. Mikey is so easy to talk to, quiet and sweet and receptive. You can’t stop your mouth, and you’re not sure that you want to. “I should remember. Look at him. He told me that he loves me, that he’s in love with me. And I don’t remember him at all. It’s like he lost me, you know? There's so much grief and pain all over him every time he looks at me. It’s so hard. I hurt him so much and I don’t remember it at all.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says again. “Injuries happen. We all know it. And you’ll heal. Your brain will heal. Or even if it doesn’t, we can make new memories with each other!”

You stare down at the drawing.

“Yeah,” you say. “I guess.”

After a little while, they start letting you get out of bed and walk around. You explore their home, slowly, carefully, going back to the bed to rest whenever you need to.

Your first glimmer of memory is in their home. You know where every room is. You're able to navigate well. You find their silverware in the first drawer you look in.

But you still don't remember the people, or the memories you have together.

They start showing you movies that you don't remember -- Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu, mainly. You can’t stop laughing at Jupiter Jim and the Bad Hair Day on Mars. You're shrieking, pressing your hands against your mouth to try to quiet yourself, shoving your face into Donnie’s shoulder.

He freezes. You're shoving your face into his shoulder.

They all saw him cry in your sickroom. They all know that it’s been hard for him. But he won’t let them know how hard it’s been.

Y/n. Y/n. The love of his life. He loves you so much. As a person. As a friend. As a partner. He’s ready to commit to you -- well -- maybe, maybe, almost ready to consider it. He wants in sickness and health, and death do you part, and a white picket fence, and your warmth held tight against his, and never again going without someone to listen to him, and just -- just -- he just loves you. He loves you, he’s in love with you, he’s smitten, he’s head over heels, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, etc., etc., etc.

He hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his blanket clenched tight in both of his hands. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Every time he closes his eyes, he’s been seeing you broken and bloody at his feet, feeling his shaking hand desperately check for a pulse, watching Raph carry you, wringing his hands together and biting his nails and refusing to sleep for the first few days you laid in that bed, just working and working and working to try to help you at all. At all.

He’d wanted to carry you home, but he’d been too shaken, too weak, and Raph took you from his arms. He hadn’t even been able to carry you home. What kind of partner was he?

His brothers have been leaving him alone for the past couple of weeks, now that you’ve woken up. They’ve let him sit at your bedside and help your trembling limbs learn how to walk again, and they’ve gently coaxed him to go to sleep. But they’ve been careful with him, and he can tell. Part of him is grateful for it; part of him wishes they’d do more. You were his support system, and now he has nowhere to turn.

You were his support system; but something even more than that. He could tell you things that he couldn’t even begin to try to put into words for anyone else. Sometimes he could just sit in front of you, and stare blankly, and you would understand somehow. You understood him somehow. Before he met you, he’d never even hoped to believe it might be possible for someone to understand him the way you did.

And now you don't remember him at all. There's no recognition, no light, behind your eyes when you look at him. Only confusion, and regret.

He keeps dreaming about you, dark and twisted dreams about you, and he keeps fighting the urge to touch you. He’s so used to touching you. His whole life, he’s never really liked hugs or touch unless he initiated them or agreed to them in advance, and you’d been totally fine with that. But you liked touch, more than you told him. And one time he’d pulled you against himself in a bean bag, and then he’d glanced down and you were crying, softly, teary-eyed and weepy.

He’d let go of you and apologized and you’d just leaned closer and told him that no, no, you weren't crying because of anything bad. You just really, really liked to be held.

And after that, you were in constant contact. You held hands and leaned against one another and hugged and cuddled, and now he has to fight against that urge. His body misses yours. He constantly has to pull his hands back -- don’t, Donnie. You can’t just touch her casually anymore. She doesn’t know who you are. You’re a stranger. She’s never loved you. Stay. Back.

And now you're shrieking with laughter and pressing your face hard into his arm and he’s frozen, heart pounding, feeling himself melt like you must’ve the first time he held you close. His breath catching, his eyes turning wet.

You glance at the screen again and start giggling once more.

“This was always your favorite,” Donnie says softly, not daring to look at you. He knows that if he looks at you now, he won’t ever be able to stop again.

You quiet for a moment, solemnly, but you immediately start giggling uncontrollably again.

“I believe it,” you whisper back. “It’s. so. funny.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles.

He looks at you. Oh, banana pancakes, he gives in and looks at you.

You're so beautiful. You're so alive. You don't remember him but you're alive and you’re awake. You're alive and you’re his. You’re his. You have to be. You’d promised him, late one night, delirious and giggling in the kitchen. You’d kissed him slowly and whispered that you were his, no matter what. No matter what. You’d always be his. You’re holding onto his arm now, tightly. You’re his. Your eyes are bright and you’re giggling and your breaths are hot on his skin and he kisses your forehead before he has the chance to think about it.

You blush bright and put your face back into his arm.

After the movie, he heads to his lab to get some work done and try to clear his mind; and after a few minutes he hears a knock at his lab entryway. He recognizes it immediately. It’s you.

“Come in,” he calls, turning around in his chair and pushing up his goggles. You walk in awkwardly.

“Hey,” you say, rubbing at your arms.

That’s a gesture you picked up from him a while ago. And you're doing it now. He’s so interwoven with your subconscious that you don't remember him but your muscle memory sure does.

“Have a seat,” he says. You sit down carefully on a stool, and he waits for a moment to see if there's anything you want to talk about. You're silent, and so he turns back to his work. You sit forward and watch.

After a little while, you speak.

“Was I… in love with you?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Donnie says, putting his goggles back up again. He doesn’t look at you. “I mean, you told me you did. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t be convinced. You told me again and again and again; and again and again and again my only response was that your love wasn’t enough for me. That no matter what you did, I wouldn’t accept your love. I could never accept it. I would ask again, and again, and again, and again. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But yes, yes, you did love me, I’m sure. I’m sure. So I’m just going to apologize for that now. I’m sorry for treating you like you weren’t good enough. You’re not not good enough. You’re more than good enough. You’re so perfect. So perfect that I couldn’t believe that you would love me at all. I really don’t deserve you. I’ve never deserved you. But you stuck with me anyway. I really appreciate that. I really appreciate you.”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you whisper, staring at the tech on his table. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, softly. “This sort of thing is always a possibility. We all know that. We’ve all accepted it.”

You swallow. “I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re okay. You’re alive. And that’s what matters. That’s what matters. I’d rather you were alive even if it meant you’d never know me at all.”

Why is he so sweet? He’s so gentle with you. So full of love. You reach out for his hand, and he grabs yours and brings it to his lips.

“I love you,” he tells you, simply, honestly.

You smile at him.

“I know you don’t remember me,” he says, quietly, “and I know it’s possible that your memory will restore itself and I also know it’s possible that it never, ever will. But if it doesn’t -- would you be willing to try to learn to love me again?”

You lean forward until your foreheads are touching. You sit together for a minute, breathing the same nervous air, sharing the same quick pulse, your fingers intertwined and your hands shaky.

“I would,” you whisper. “I would.”

You sit together in silence for another long, long minute, and finally Donnie starts to speak again.

“I’m Donatello,” he says, his voice small but firm. “What’s… what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you say, softly.

“Nice to meet you,” he whispers.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Would you like to get coffee sometime? I like you a lot. I think we should get to know each other a little better.”

You squeeze his hands, hard.

He’s so sweet. He’s so sweet.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” you whisper.

He’s gently leaning in, unconsciously, closer, closer, and you press yourself forward until your lips are touching. You kiss him softly at first, but you feel him trembling, hungry and desperate, and he’s wrapped you in his arms like he’ll lose you forever, forever, the second he lets go. He’s kissing you hard.

And technically you only met him a couple weeks ago, but your palms fit so well against his, and your mouths move in perfect harmony, and something about him feels like coming home.

“I think I could love you again,” you murmur against his lips, and he kisses your eyelids.

[primofate]

Hi there, can I request the boys seeing you got injured or being attacked, whichever is fine ^^

Hey anon! You didn’t specify how injured but I’ll just run with it hahaha :)

Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 1

Part 2 with Zhongli

Part 3 with Xiao

Characters: gn! reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though

Masterlist

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If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link: 

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Diluc

“Master Diluc, if I could just interrupt--” one of the caretakers in the winery walked up to his office and prepared for the assault of words that could be fired towards him, sure enough, Diluc interrupted. “What is it? I’m a little busy right now, make it quick,” he hadn’t turned his face to look at the grim expression weaving in and out through the caretaker. Hadn’t bothered to look up to check if there was anything amiss, but the caretaker continued quickly “It’s Y/N,” the caretaker had only paused for a moment but Diluc had already picked his head up at the mention of your name. It was here that he realises something must have gone wrong, the caretaker’s expression was not a pleasant one. He was up on his feet, eyes widening a fraction at the following words, “They came back to the mansion seconds ago and they’ve been injured past what Adelinde could fix so we called for a doctor—”

In Diluc’s hurry he had stumbled over his chair, it tripping behind him with a thud on the floor but he ignored it and fast runs towards your room. Dear Archons he should NOT have let you go on that commission by yourself. You could hold your own, yes, but things happened and he really should have thought that through first. He was berating himself for it as he swung the door open. “Y/N?!” 

The urgency in his voice tells you that he perhaps had the wrong idea of what was happening, it was really just a gash on your leg, although it was bleeding profusely, the cut must have been deeper than you thought. The maid had already placed a tourniquet to stop and slow the bleeding. You tried not to show it in your face, not wanting to alarm your lover any further, but it. hurt. like. hell. “Diluc, I’m fine, it’s just a gash,” 

The maid that was previously sitting on the chair next to your bed moves away, Diluc replacing her, his eyes didn’t tear away from the wound on your leg, his expression contorted to that of worry and nervousness, before finally turning to your face, reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. “Stop lying. You’re pale, you’re sweating--” of course he sees through you, he knows the second you get upset, knows every crease on your forehead and every slight furrow of the brow. He had memorized every inch of his beautiful, beautiful treasure. “Your hands are trembling, you’ve lost too much blood, where’s the doctor?!” He grips your hand at the realization that you might actually be in a more dire situation than presented, and just on cue the doctor comes through the door, asking for some time alone with you to do his job. 

Diluc paces outside the door, unable to stay in one place for long. He kept thinking about how frail you looked. How, if you were unlucky, it wouldn’t have just been your leg. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t know how he was going to let you out of his sight from then on. He knew full well it would annoy you to have him following you around everywhere but.... How could he not after this?

The doctor emerged half an hour later and explained that you just needed a bit of rest and that, with a little healing magic, you didn’t need the stitches at all. “Don’t let them use that leg for a day and they should be fine, it’s nothing life-threatening but they did lose a lot of blood and is going to need time to recuperate. They’re asleep at the moment,” 

Diluc takes note of everything and quietly slips into your room. They must have sedated you in the process and he sighs as he plops down on the chair that was still placed next to your bed. His eyes soften at the sight of you finally relaxed and less in pain, hand reaching out to brush off strands of stray hair that blocked his view of your face. “You’re the only one who can scare me this much,” he mutters under his breath, as if complaining and he swears that he sees a very small and light grin on your face, as if teasing him. He smiles a little, just happy that you’re stabilized and leans in to kiss your forehead, opting to stay by your side till you wake up.

----------

Kaeya

“What do you mean unconscious?”

“J-Just as we said, Captain. They were unconscious when we found them,” Kaeya sighs in slight exasperation. Normally he was a jolly camper but when the knight in front of him is unable to say how injured you are, Kaeya gets a little wordy. “I meant to say why were they unconscious? Were they hurt? Where are they now?”

Kaeya stands. He was in the middle of some Favonius paper work. “They were bleeding profusely from the head,” Kaeya stops as if lightning has struck him and stares pointedly at the knight. “These details should be said early on,” he thought that it had just been something less threatening. Perhaps you had somehow passed out, exhausted, on your bedroom floor. Or perhaps had just rolled from the bed and onto the floor. They said that they found you in the bedroom, and his blood froze when he realizes that someone went in there to attack you.

Kaeya doesn’t bother talking the other knight into giving better reports next time, he’d do that later. He could guess that you were probably taken into the Favonius infirmary. Sure enough, when he walks in there, face scrunched up into what could only be described as worry and anger mingling together, you were awake, head bandaged up and your eyes meet. His heart breaks at how you still smile at him despite the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. He stands next to the infirmary bed and gingerly touches your cheek, peering into your eyes. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around you. “Who did this?” and there was that angry and cold undertone in his voice that you rarely heard, as if his cryo vision had taken over his whole being.

“I’m sorry, Kaeya, I-- I can’t quite remember,” You put a hand up to cover half of your eye, your head was still throbbing and in quick realization Kaeya eases up on you and gently pushes you on your back to rest. “It’s fine, sorry, I just--” he cuts his own speech off and takes a deep breath in. Focus on the good. He tells himself. “I’m glad you’re alright, take it easy, I’ll take care of things,” By that he means he might just slaughter whoever even had the guts to break into your house and attack you in the middle of the day. The break-in was reported by townspeople, and Kaeya was sure as hell he’d get every witness to describe that asshole’s face. 

“You’re staying with me for the moment,” he decides quite quickly, and you had no qualms with that whatsoever. Hearing that you had no protest at all, he grins and leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, afraid to hurt you. “No complaints? Perhaps this was your grand scheme all along to come live with me,” You can’t help but chuckle at how quick he bounces back. “Maybe, honey. Maybe,”

----------

Albedo

“Ow--” the knife clatters to the floor, as blood starts to pool around your finger. Albedo spins around at the meek sound you make, ignoring the knife on the floor and strides over to you just as you’ve turned on the sink and started running water on the small cut on your finger.

“Let me see,” You turn to him, blinking. His face was blank. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but he was staring straight at you. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a small cut,” but he doesn’t waver and glances at the water running over your finger. “Let me see,” he tries again, this time rather forceful. That got you to obey. Turning the faucet off and awkwardly offering your hand to him.

He receives it and cradles it in his as if it was porcelain, upturning your hand to look at the small cut on your pointer finger. It was tiny. Really nothing compared to wounds that a knight might sustain. Albedo sighs and looks up at you, “Don’t go anywhere,” before stalking off, coming back a few seconds later with a first aid kit. “...Al, it’s alright, it’s not a big deal,” Albedo would only let one person give him a nickname. You. No one else. Frankly he thought the nickname was weird but if it danced on your lips, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Y/N, you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to take this lightly,” he takes out some ointment and a small roll of bandage, starting with the ointment. “Everything and anything that hurts you is a significant thing,” his gaze darkens, as if glowering at that microscopic cut. “Miniscule or massive, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he starts wrapping your finger, “if it taints your skin, I cannot help but feel--” he doesn’t know the right word, but you do, judging from how his hold on your wrist tightens. 

A soft smile paints your features at how he was such a worry-wart. Sometimes he was so bad at navigating his own feelings but you could decipher them anyway, from his actions. You let him worry over you, and thank him once he’s done. He finishes his work by taking your hand, and pressing it to his lips, his eyes darting up to lock on yours. That made you blush every damn time. His green eyes were just so mesmerizing, and so was his heart.

----------

Childe

Dear mother of the Archons, perhaps whoever was responsible for your injuries had some type of death wish. Everyone should offer prayers for whoever had cut you up. Your arms and legs were littered with small scratches from trying to run away from the attackers, you thought going through the thick forest was a good idea. In essence, it had slowed the thieves down. They had managed to throw a fire bomb at you that severely burned your right hand, and the right side of your abdomen. 

Perhaps it was thanks to adrenaline running through you that you had actually managed to make it to the gates of Liyue, just before the bridge, but you’d crumpled down right then and there. The Millelith guards didn’t recognize you, but the three Fatui agents walking on the bridge did. “Someone had better tell him,” The group of Fatuis scrambled nearer to you, one of them picking you up, but glancing at the other who had just spoken up. “I’m not doing that, you do it,” it was slightly comical, seeing them pass off the duty of who was supposed to report to Childe about it. “You know how he gets when it comes to them, I’m not doing--” then one of them finally gets their bearings together.

“Shut up, get them to the healer first,” The tallest one shoves the one carrying you, urging him to go fast and off he went. Now it was just two Fatui agents looking at each other. Two Fatui agents who decided that they would just face his wrath together. “Sir,” one of them starts as Childe turns around to look at them. He actually had no tasks today and was just about to go off to find you. “About Y/N...” Childe’s eyebrows shoot up, what in the world could these agents have to say about you? “We’ve sent them to the healers, they collapsed at the entrance of Liyue, it... doesn’t look good...”

All hell descends upon Childe’s demeanor and poise. His face darkens, his eyes burning holes through the two agents and his fists closed up on his side. His bow appears and hovers behind him, the only thing that shone through his dark person. “The two of you--” he starts, “are going to find out who did it. I’m expecting a report by nightfall,”

Childe himself shows up at the healers quarters, and was told of your condition. “Their hand is going to scar,” keeps reverberating in his head. Like the sound that he imagines the skulls of those who dared touch you crunching under his feet, over and over again. Childe actually winces when he sees you. Small bandages on your arms and legs from the scratches, your right hand wrapped up adequately and, he couldn’t see it now, but he was sure your abdomen was wrapped too.

You cracked an eye open, feeling another presence in the room. Childe immediately appears next to you, leaning over the bed and watching your expression. “...It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, tracing over your bandaged hand. You remained quiet for a moment before nodding your head slowly. Just remembering it caused a blinding pain in your mind’s eye. You’d been given drugs to ease the pain now, but there were still traces of it lingering on your skin. “How dare they,” both your eyes snapped open at Childe’s nearly contorted voice, shadowed and overpowered by rage. 

You pick up your good hand and touch his arm with the tips of your fingers. You didn’t like it when he got like this. “Childe, it’s alright,” far from it, but it was the only reassurance you could offer. He catches your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your hand to his cheek as if it was a lifeline. “It’s not. It’s not,” he repeats to himself, his anger also stemming from the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. “They’ll regret even laying eyes on you,” You knew he wanted to go now, knew that he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but you yet again pull your hand away to grasp at his shirt, the fabric scrunching up under your hold. “...But stay with me for tonight? Please?” 

That got him. He would never say no. His form relaxes and he leans in to kiss your lips, gentle yet with a hidden hunger in them. “Of course,” he simply says, as if his previous agenda forgotten.

But he would never forget. He would never forget for as long as he could see that scar. 

Tomorrow, he would decimate each and every one of them.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

[frogtanii]

tw. serious self loathing

kenma hated hospitals.

the cold sterile air, the incessant beeping of machines, the loud voices of the doctors — mix it all together and you get the perfect recipe for kicking up kenma’s anxiety.

it was bad enough, what with you being the one in the hospital bed, tied up to all those machines but all the other more extraneous details certainly didn’t help.

kenma’s eyes darted around the white hallway, his knee bouncing erratically as he tried to listen in through the door at what the doctor was saying. earlier, when he had tried to follow behind the rest of the house members to get your diagnosis, he was stopped by kuroo’s hand on his chest and a sad shake of his head.

he’d made his way back to the cold, unforgiving seats lining the hall right outside your room and attempted to overhear, something, anything, that would abate his anxieties.

unfortunately, the conversation was over before kenma could glean anything of substance, the door swinging open as the doctor exited, the atmosphere left in the room being tense and uncomfortable.

kenma quickly stood to his feet, glancing from face to face to discern some kind of news, be it good or bad. “w-what— is she okay? what’s going on?” as much as he willed it not to shake, his voice cracked in the middle of his sentence, his fear for you clearly bleeding into his words.

at the sound of his broken voice, all heads in the room turned towards him. he scanned all their faces but his eyes were stuck on atsumu’s, his own burning with a righteous fury.

before kenma could blink, atsumu was on him, shoving him up against the wall while pressing an arm against his chest. the thumping in kenma’s chest intensified, his eyes widening in dread as his breathing quickened.

he could faintly hear the sounds of protests from the other house members and off-duty nurses but they were swiftly becoming drowned out by the blood and static rushing in his ears.

“atsumu. step down.” sakusa gritted before yanking atsumu off of kenma, allowing kenma to collapse onto the floor. the residual adrenaline and anxiety came to the point they were overwhelming, his breath coming in short pants as he tears leaked from his eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, i didn’t know, thought that it would be ok, thought she would be okay but she’s not, oh god this is all my fault, i’m sorry, m sorry,” his words came out like a broken faucet before he couldn’t stop them, his arms wrapping around himself as he rolled into the fetal position, determined to erase himself from his surroundings.

a presence appeared in front of him, crouching down and grabbing his hands before where they were digging into his skin, cradling them gently within their own. “hey bud,” bokuto said kindly, a big smile on his face despite the circumstances. “breathe with me, ok?”

kenma nodded before matching bokuto’s exaggerated breathing, in and out, in and out, until his heartbeat was finally back to normal and he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse. “you wanna tell us what happened?”

he firmly kept his gaze on bokuto, determined not to look at everyone else’s scared, angry, or hurt expressions as he explained himself. “i-i saw yn g-go to the bathroom and it was fine because o-of course it was but then i s-saw meiko follow and it d-didn’t register? it happened so f-fast and then i got distracted and it e-escaped my mind until y-you guys brought it up. i j-just— i didn’t think m-meiko was gonna do anything. we were in public and—“

“that won’t stop her.” kenma chanced a look at suga who was the one who spoke, his eyes downcast and stormy with anger and... sadness?. “you didn’t know and that’s whatever, but meiko is fucking crazy. never underestimate her again.” he warned with a grave tone. all kenma could do was nod, a fresh wave of tears coming to his eyes.

“‘m sorry,” he whimpered, his gaze falling upon the white lines on his suit pants. the group let out hums of acknowledgment before falling back into a tense silence, the only sounds coming from the hospital around them.

it didn’t last very long.

“yn! yn!” a deep masculine voice rang from the entrance of the hospital, followed by a quieter platitude and then a host of shushes from the nurse on the floor. the taller man with dark hair managed to lock eyes with kenma, his body moving quickly until he was right in front of the group.

“i need to see her. now.” the man’s voice was dark and menacing but kenma was the only one who seemed to shrink at the sound, the others sizing the outsider up and glaring him down. atsumu waved them away before bringing the pair into a hug, the shorter pink-haired man sighing deeply into the embrace.

atsumu exchanged short “pleasantries” with the two newcomers before turning towards your door wistfully. “uh, ya will be able ta see her soon enough but her throat is fucked pretty badly. she’s asleep right now but doc says she won’t be able to talk for at least a week.”

kenma’s heart caught in his throat. you wouldn’t be able to speak?? because of him?? the thought made him clam back up, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders to shield him from the rest of the hall. he could hear more voices, a door clicking open, a soft gasp, and a growled threat but he was too strung up to focus any more than that.

my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, played over and over on repeat in his mind, his inner demons taunting him for ruining your life. you would never forgive him, never lay your eyes upon him again without showing disgust and disdain. it was what he deserved, especially after the hell he put you through, no matter how much it hurt.

he faintly recognized at some point in his self loathing, that he was moving somewhere with the group, their hands on him as though they were leading him someplace, not that it mattered.

kenma already knew he was a horrible waste of space and this cemented it for him. but, his mind so helpfully offered, even if you are a piece of shit, you can still do something, something big. make meiko pay for how she hurt you and suga and the rest of them.

oh, he was going to do something alright. he was going to do something so large, so enormous that meiko’s reputation could never, ever recover.

kenma was absolutely going to get his revenge. not for him, no, he could care less about himself. no, he would do it for you and all those who had suffered by her hand.

after all, it was the very least he could do.

℗ poker face

the least he could do

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - i feel so horrible today so i don’t have much to write here??? KJSSN ty for reading n don’t forget to feed me <333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[storiesforallfandoms]

i’m giving up this life ~ thomas shelby;peaky blinders

word count: 1996

request?: no

description: after his wife takes a bullet meant for him, tommy finds she was holding a secret from him, and that it is time for him to give up on the gangster lifestyle

pairing: thomas shelby x female!reader

warnings: swearing, violence

masterlist (one, two)

Tommy closed his eyes as the shot rang out. For once, he was prepared for whatever was coming, and he even started to silently ask for forgiveness in his next life.

However, the end didn’t come. There wasn’t even any pain that would’ve indicated he was shot. When he opened his eyes, he found his wife laying on the ground at his feet instead, a pool of blood growing around her.

The man who had attempted to kill Tommy was frozen in shock as he watched the infamous gang leader fall to his knees. He took his wife into his arms, cradling her as he frantically tied to stop the blood coming from her wound.

"Come on, love,” he begged. “Wake up, stay with me.”

Her skin was ice cold. Tommy’s hands were stained red within seconds of touching her wound. He was panicking, his mind wasn’t working properly.

Anger started to course through his veins, and in one quick motion, he pulled his gun and shot the man until he was riddled with bullet wounds. He scooped (Y/N) up in his arms and quickly carried her out of the room.

“Tommy!” Arthur called as Tommy emerged from the building. “What happened?”

“I don’t know where she came from,” Tommy said, still in a partial daze of anger and worry. “One minute it’s just me and him, the next I find (Y/N) in front of me after...she’s bleeding so much.”

Arthur opened the door of his car. “Get in, I’ll get us to the hospital.”

~~~~~~

The wait was agonizingly long. Tommy had begged to be in the room with (Y/N) as they operated on her, but the doctor was firm in having him wait in the waiting room. The Peaky Blinders may have had most officials in Birmingham under their thumb, but the doctors still held a certain level of professionalism no matter who their patients were.

Polly came to be with him while Arthur and the boys went to deal with the body Tommy had left behind. She was watching him pace back and forth in front of her. “Tommy, pleas sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

“How much longer till we hear something?” Tommy asked, ignoring his aunt. “They’ve been in there for so long.”

“It takes time, dear. They have to make sure she doesn’t have any complications and she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Why don’t they know yet?”

Polly sighed as Tommy finally sat next to her. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and struggled to light it. His hand was shaking so much the flame wouldn’t stay over the cigarette. She placed a more steady hand over Tommy’s and guided the light to the cigarette.

“She’ll be okay Tommy.”

Tommy was blinking back tears as he took a puff from his cigarette. “Why would she put herself in danger for me?”

Polly took Tommy’s hand in hers. “Love makes you do crazy things, and she loves you so much.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. Instead, he took another long puff off his cigarette.

(Y/N) was an angel; a kind woman with a heart of gold who was strong and unafraid of anyone or anything. Tommy could never understand what it was that made her fall in love with him, and he’d never understand how she could love him so much that she’d risk her life for him.

When the doctor emerged and called (Y/N)’s name, Tommy was standing within seconds. “Is she okay?”

“She will be after some rest,” the doctor told him. “She lost a lot of blood, but you got her here just in time. We managed to extract the bullet and stitch up her wound. They’ll both be just fine.”

“They?” Tommy asked.

“The baby.” Tommy’s eyes widened, which answered any questions the doctor had. “You didn’t know.”

Tommy was shocked into silence. He didn’t even know (Y/N) had suspected she was pregnant. If she had known. Maybe she didn’t, or else she would have told him, right?”

“Can he see her now?” Polly asked, coming to Tommy’s side.

“Of course,” the doctor responded. “Go on in, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy’s feet moved before his mind caught up with him. He found (Y/N) in her hospital bed, her eyes closed and the color slowly returning to her face.

He was almost afraid to touch her as he pulled a chair up next to her bed. She looked so fragile, like even a slight touch would cause her to shatter into pieces. He gently brushed her hair from her face, allowing his hand to linger against her face for a moment longer.

“I’m not worth this, love,” he whispered. “I deserved that bullet, not you. It was meant for me. I should be the one in this hospital bed.”

His hand moved from her face to her stomach, gently touching the spot where his child was growing inside of her.

“I didn’t even know. I continued to put your life in danger because of what I am, and because of that we almost lost our baby.”

With no one around to see him, Tommy let the tears freely run down his face.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was unconscious for a total of three days. Tommy did not leave her side for a single moment. Each of his family came to visit their sister-in-law, and to make sure Tommy was okay. Polly often brought food for him, knowing he wouldn’t eat otherwise.

The doctors continued to give (Y/N) a shot that was meant to help give the baby nutrients to grow while (Y/N) was unconscious. Every time someone came in to give her the shot, Tommy just wished she would finally open her eyes again, that she’d finally be okay to grow the child on her own.

Ada was the last to visit, bringing a small bouquet of flowers with her for (Y/N).

“How is she?” Ada asked, taking a seat in the chair next to Tommy.

“The doctors say she’s stable,” Tommy responded. “They say it’s only a matter of time until she wakes up.”

“She’ll wake up soon,” Ada assured him. “She’s a fighter, remember? A real Shelby.”

This managed to make Tommy chuckle slightly, the first time in days that he showed even the slightest positive emotion.

“I suppose Polly has told the family our surprise announcement,” he said, his eyes trailing back to (Y/N)’s stomach again.

“Only me,” Ada responded. “She figured you two would want to tell everyone when (Y/N) wakes up, but she also knew you’d need someone while she’s still out. Someone who doesn’t have a cock between their legs.”

Tommy smiled slightly again. Polly always knew what he needed, what they all needed. For the woman who never birthed them, she was truly their mother through and through.

“I’m terrified, Ada,” Tommy admitted. “Not of having the baby, but that what I do - who I am - is going to put that baby in danger. I’ve known for years I’m putting (Y/N) in danger, but she’s always insisted she doesn’t mind. It was her choice to be a part of this family and this life, but that baby didn’t get to choose. We’re forcing him into a life of danger, all because of me.”

Ada put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, but she didn’t try to dispute him. Of course he was right, they all knew he was. Every Shelby man knew the risks of bringing a child into the world of the Peaky Blinders, even Ada knew when she gave birth to Karl. But for Tommy it was so much worse. Tommy wasn’t just a Shelby man, or just a member of the Peaky Blinders. He was their leader. He was the one with a massive target on his back constantly. He was the one their rivals would look to first to find a way to gain leverage over him - meaning they would look to (Y/N) and their baby first.

“I’m giving up this life, Ada,” Tommy said, the words coming out just as he made the decision in his head. “All of it, I’m giving it all up. The minute (Y/N) wakes up and is okay to leave the hospital, I’m taking her to the Garrison where we’ll announce she’s pregnant, and then I’m announcing my leave. Arthur can take over for me. Then, I’m taking (Y/N) as far away from Birmingham as I possibly can. Somewhere fit to raise our baby together.”

Ada was smiling at her brother. “I think that’s a perfect idea, Tommy.”

“Do you really mean it?”

The Shelby siblings looked over to see (Y/N) looking over at them, her eyes still blinking in an attempt to adjust to the bright hospital lighting.

Tommy jumped up from his seat and took (Y/N)’s face in his hands, kissing her face repeatedly. She giggled as he did so, before moving her head so he would kiss her lips. Ada stood as well, smiling down at her sister-in-law. “I’m glad you’re awake, (Y/N).”

“I’m glad you’re the first two I got to see,” (Y/N) responded. “Are those for me?”

“Yeah, I brought them,” Ada responded. “An assortment of your favorites. I figured this drab room needed something to brighten it up.”

(Y/N) smiled weakly. “Thank you, Ada. I really appreciate it.”

Ada gave (Y/N) a gentle hug before leaving her alone with Tommy. His touch was still gentle as he took her hand in his. She was still cold, but he was beginning to feel a slight warmth in her fingertips. It was almost like she was coming back to life all at once.

“I’m sorry I jumped in front of that bullet, Tommy,” she said. “Arthur tried to stop me from running into the building, but I knew what you were going to do and I just...I couldn’t let you...”

She trailed off, but Tommy knew what she meant; I couldn’t let the father of my child die.

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” Tommy said. “I’m sorry I put you in danger, not just that time but all the times before as well. It’s not fair of me to keep doing this to you.”

“It’s your job, Tommy, and your family. I knew that when I married you.”

“But our baby didn’t know that when we created him.”

(Y/N)’s hand trailed to her stomach, the same way Tommy’s often had when he thought about the baby. “Is he okay?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Tommy’s lips. “It is a boy?”

(Y/N) smiled back at him. “Oh, I don’t know, but I have a feeling. Your mum had three Shelby men before she had one girl, and Ada and John have only had boys so far. I figure it only makes sense that we’ll have one, too.”

Tommy brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.

“Did you mean it, Tommy?” she asked again. “About giving up the Peaky Blinders?”

“I meant every word I said,” Tommy responded. “I almost lost you, (Y/N), and I’m not risking that again. I’m not risking losing our child, either. This life was not meant for families, and it’s best to get out before we bring a little one of our own into this world.”

(Y/N) was practically glowing at this news. While she supported Tommy with whatever decision he made, she’d be lying if she said the thought of bringing a child into his world hadn’t scared her. To hear him come to the decision to get out all on his own made her heart feel warm and made her feel happy.

“I love you so much, Tommy,” she said.

“I love you, too, (Y/N). Rest again, love. When you are cleared, we have a lot to tell the family.”

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood

Word Count: 1837

Part 1

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp

When Natasha sees your eyes close, she finally comes back to her senses. She squirms away from Steve, crawling under an ambulance and making her way towards you. She ignores Steve telling her to stay put and doesn’t hear Clint telling police officers the direction the bullets came from. All she can think about is bringing you to safety.

The ambulance engine is still running, causing its underside to reach temperatures that make Natasha feel like she is hiding in a furnace. She holds her breath from the fumes as she crawls to the front of the vehicle, throwing her arm out and reaching for your hand.

“Y/N!” she screams. “I’m right here! Hold on!” Her fingertips brush yours and she grabs onto your wrist tightly. You’re bigger and heavier than her, but the adrenaline gives her strength. With a massive heave, she drags you under the ambulance. You smear through the puddle of your own blood and it soaks through the back of your shirt. 

There isn’t even enough room for her to lift her head, but she grabs onto both your arms, digging her elbows into the ground and crawling backwards. “I got you, Y/N. I got you,” she pants. But the lack of space and your deadweight make it impossible for her to pull you all the way through, so she backs out from under the ambulance. “Steve, help me!” she shouts.

“Move!” Steve says to her, although his shoulders are too broad to fit in the narrow gap. However, his arms are long enough to reach both of your hands, and all it takes is one big tug for you to come sliding out from the ambulance. 

Your eyes fly open suddenly, awakened by the agonizing pain coursing through your shoulder like a lightning bolt. You scream, and as much as it makes Natasha’s heart hurt, she’s glad to see that you’re still alive. 

“You guys need to get out of here right now!” Clint yells. “Take the ambulance!”

Steve pulls you into a standing position and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you onto his shoulders effortlessly. You flop over him like a ragdoll, pain pulsing in your stomach when you bump against his chest.

BOOM.

A bullet shatters the sideview mirror of the ambulance.

“Go, go!” Natasha urges, putting herself between the danger and you and Steve. Steve runs with you to the back of the ambulance and flings the door open. There is no gurney, so Natasha helps him lay you on the floor and climbs in after you.

“Stay with Y/N. I’ll drive,” Steve offers, going around to the front. “Clint, we’re taking Y/N to the Quinjet! Hold the scene down!”

“Copy that!” Clint is just as concerned for your safety, but he knows you’re in good hands. Steve jumps into the driver’s seat and throws the ambulance in reverse.

BOOM.

The windshield explodes.

“Let’s go!” Natasha screams, ducking her head.

“Hold on!” Steve backs into a sharp U-turn. The tires screech as they find traction on the road to accelerate forward.

Natasha practically lays on top of you to prevent you from rolling around. From a shelf, she grabs a handful of gauze packets, tearing them open with her teeth. She rips your shirt open and presses the gauze first to your shoulder, then another to the side of your stomach. You’re completely soaked in blood and it continues to pump out of you with each heartbeat. Your face has faded to a sickly pale. 

“N-Nat,” you whisper, trying to move but pinned down by the pain. “N-Nat—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” she comforts. “Just keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

You see the blood smeared on her face, her neck, and her hands, too delirious to remember that it’s yours. “A-Are you h-hurt?” you stammer.

Natasha wants to laugh and cry at the same time. You’re so in love with her that even in the face of death you don’t even think about yourself. “No, I’m fine,” she says, grabbing onto your hand and interlocking your fingers. She looks over at Steve, veering through parked cars and roadblocks. “Can we hurry it up a little?” she asks in panic, even though she knows he’s driving as fast as he can.

“I’m trying!” Steve swerves around a fire hydrant and the sudden movement jolts everyone in the ambulance. Natasha presses down on you too hard and you grunt in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “We’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

Your vision fades into fuzzy shapes and blurred colors. Even breathing seems to be too much of a task for you. Steve parks behind the Quinjet and comes around to help carry you in.

“Do you need me to go with you?” Steve asks as he lays you across the back seats of the Quinjet.

“No.” Natasha shakes her head. “Stay and help Barton.”

Steve doesn’t even try to argue. “We’ll find who did this, Nat. I promise.” He goes to the controls at the front and presses a few buttons. “The coordinates for the Tower are set. You’ll autopilot all the way there. Just make sure to update the medical team on Y/N’s condition.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“Everything will be okay.” He places his hand on Natasha’s shoulder for a moment before jogging back to the ambulance. As soon as he’s off the Quinjet, the door raises shut and the engines blast on. You’re several states away from New York, but at the speeds the plane can travel, you should be there in minutes. You just have to hang on until then.

Natasha leaves your side only to grab more gauze, pressing it against your bullet wounds to slow the bleeding. She rolls you to your side so there’s no pressure on your front or back, but grimaces when she sees that your back looks as bad as your front.

“N-Nat,” you try whispering again, but she is quick to shush you.

“Not now, okay? Just stay awake for me, Y/N.”

You’ve never felt so weak before. It feels like you were hit by a bus and ground up by its tires. Your mind processes in slow-motion—probably a side effect of the blood loss—and you already forgot how you got into the Quinjet. But the physical pain isn’t your greatest concern anymore. You just don’t want to lose your fight and leave her.

Natasha fits an oxygen mask around your face and the cool air is comforting, but you know your time is ticking away. You don’t notice the Quinjet hiss to a landing or acknowledge the team of doctors suddenly hovering over you.

“We’ll do the surgery in room six!”

“Prep a blood transfusion!”

“Two gunshot wounds from a large-caliber gun!”

The doctors move you to a gurney and wheel you off the Quinjet. Natasha holds onto your hand as they take you to the surgery room, but a doctor stops her from entering with you.

“No, Romanoff. You gotta stay out here. We’ll take it from here.”

Natasha doesn’t fight back, letting your fingers slip through hers as you disappear behind the doors.

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

“Any updates?” Clint and Steve finally arrive a few hours later, but you’re still in surgery.

“Not yet.” Natasha paces the kitchen anxiously. Although she found the time to wash your blood off her hands and face, she hasn’t changed out of her uniform yet.

“Nat, you should get cleaned up. Y/N isn’t going anywhere,” Clint says.

“I know, I just…I want to be there when—” She can’t finish her sentence, falling into Clint’s arms and crying into his shoulder.

“Y/N is a fighter, remember?” Clint says, rubbing her back.

“But the amount of blood—”

“Super soldiers don’t go down easy,” Steve reminds her. “Y/N will pull through. And besides, you’ll be there to help with the recovery.”

Natasha nods, pulling away from Clint and wiping her face. “I’m sorry I froze when I saw Y/N get shot—”

“What are you apologizing for?” Clint asks.

“I don’t know—I put you all in danger because I couldn’t get myself out of the way—” she hiccups. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve assures. “In fact, you were the one who dragged Y/N to safety, remember? I couldn’t fit under the ambulance and Clint was just sitting around like a duck—”

“Excuse you,” Clint interrupts, and Natasha smiles thinly.  

“So, did you find who did this?” she asks.

“Uh—” Clint and Steve look at each other awkwardly. “Natasha, we—”

“Did you find them?” Natasha repeats with more force. Clint motions for Steve to explain.

“That’s the thing,” Steve says. “We don’t know who did this. We scoped out the whole area with the police. We went out more than a mile, but we couldn’t find anything. No shell casings, nothing.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me a ghost shot and tried to kill Y/N?” Natasha scoffs.

“No, we…” Steve tries to find the right words. “We think it was a setup, maybe like a hired assassin or something.”

“Who would want to kill Y/N?” Natasha asks.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

Natasha knows you have a lot of baggage from your past, particularly when you were forced into illegal covert operations by the government. But it’s been a long time since then. You became your own person and changed your life for the better. Unfortunately, not everyone sees the side of you that Natasha and the Avengers do.

When Clint and Steve leave to shower and change, Natasha finally does the same. She dresses in clean clothes and curls up on your shared bed, inhaling your scent through the pillow and blankets.

Sometime later, Clint visits and knocks on the door. “Hey, Nat? Y/N just got out of surgery—” He doesn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence and is almost run over by Natasha as she hurries over to the medical bay. She doesn’t know which specific room they’re keeping you in, but it’s like she’s drawn to your very presence and finds the correct one instantly.

You lie upright in the bed, propped forward with pillows so there’s less pressure on your back. Your right arm is in a sling and your entire torso is wrapped in bandages. An IV drip leads into the veins on your hand, while a blood pouch sends blood into the vein inside of your elbow. You have an oxygen tube up your nose and looped around your ears.

“I heard the doctor went a little overboard on the anesthesia,” Clint says from behind Natasha, startling her. “You know, with the super soldier serum and everything. Y/N will probably be out of it for a while.” Natasha walks to your side and kneels, gently taking your hand. Your skin is clammy and colder than normal, but your pulse beats strongly.

“I’ll be here as long as it takes.” Natasha raises your hand, mindful of the wires around your wrist, and kisses your fingers.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 3!

AN: Thanks for the amazing support from everyone! Definitely didn’t think I’d get that kind of response, but I’m extremely grateful for you all. The next part will reveal the identity of the shooter, so I hope you’ll stick around for that. :) Peace out!

[ragingbookdragon]

And I Will Still Be Here Stargazing PT. 2

A Batsis x Batfamily Story!

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Assault

Author's Note: Gotta start it slow and get into it! Hope y'all are enjoying so far! -Thorne

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

You’ve been missing for an entire week.

That entire statement had her ushered into a side room of GCPD while Gordon called her family, and all she could to was let the officers poke and prod at her whilst asking her questions about what happened to her all week. Expect she had no idea how to respond. She hadn’t been missing for a week, at least that’s what she believed.

When the officer checking her out showed her their phone, she was flabbergasted at the fact that sure enough, an entire week had passed between that night and now. She couldn’t wrap her head around it and she could tell some of the officers were getting annoyed with her lack of explanation.

“Probably out getting bent in a high riser all week. We should test her for cocaine and ecstasy.”

Her head shot up and she glowered at the two officers snickering just outside the door. “I wasn’t doing drugs, you assholes.” They stopped laughing and gaped at her, and suddenly she realized that she’d heard their whispering from that far. Her cheeks warmed and she looked back down to avoid their stares.

“Miss (Y/N), we should get you to the hospital to do a rape kit.”

She glanced at the officer beside her. “I wasn’t assaulted, ma’am.”

“You never know,” she explained. “It’s always better to be safe than—”

(Y/N) reached out and put her hand on her arm. “I wasn’t assaulted. I don’t know what—” something flashed across her mind, a memory, or a nightmare rather, the same officer before her, drowsy and helpless, locked in a room with a coworker. She yanked her hand away, understanding why; swallowing thickly, she murmured, “I’m fine. I just need to talk to my family.”

“Are you sure?” the officer asked, concern evident all over her face. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“Yeah, I’m fi—”

“(Y/N)!”

She looked up, seeing her family running towards her; (Y/N) was on her feet in seconds, colliding with her dad, arms wrapping around his waist as he placed one on the back of her head, holding her close. Her brothers and sister crowded around her, all holding tight to their missing sister.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered harshly, unshed tears in his voice. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes at the fear in his voice and she swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what’s going on, dad. I’ve been missing for a week?”

“You don’t remember?” Dick questioned lowly in her ear so no one could hear, and she shook her head.

“No. All I remember is seeing the comet that night and then…I was waking up the next morning.” She turned her head so she could see her eldest brother’s face. “A week has apparently passed but I don’t know how.”

Bruce hummed, pulling away from her and he took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he assured and stood back, glancing at Gordon. “Thank you for finding her, Commissioner.”

Gordon huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “We didn’t. She found us.”

(Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “Am I free to go home, Commissioner Gordon?”

“You were never not allowed, Miss (Y/N).” He stepped close and rested a hand on her shoulder as he murmured, “But I do think you should go to the hospital.”

“But I’m not—”

“We’ll have Doctor Leslie come to the manor for a personal check up.” Bruce interrupted and she internally thanked her father.

“Of course, Mister Wayne.” Gordon said. “Drive safely.”

Bruce rested his hand on her shoulders and ushered her out of the building and into the car.

***

What was she missing? Obviously, the entire week between then and now, but God, what was it? What had happened between then and now? Had she slept through an entire week? It wasn’t possible. Her family would’ve found her and brought her back. So, what really happened to her? Maybe she had been abducted or something? But her dad would’ve known the second something had entered Gotham. He always did. So, what—

“(Y/N).”

The firm call of her name shook her from her thoughts and she jerked up, looking at the rear-view mirror and into her dad’s eyes. “Yes sir?”

“We’re home.”

(Y/N) took a moment to gaze at her surroundings, and sure enough, the car was parked in the garage. It was just her and him, so the others must’ve gone inside. “Oh…I guess we are.”

“Come up here a minute.” He said and she crawled into the front seat, resting back against the cushions, eyes directed to the wall before her. “Are you alright? And I mean really alright?”

She didn’t even know at that point; she was so stunned trying to process everything, and she gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, dad.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “I’m not lying to you when I say that I have no idea what happened.”

“What do you remember?” he asked, eyes narrowed in that way that told her he was calculating every word for every scenario possible; that it wasn’t her dad looking for answers, but Batman instead. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out and he reached over, placing a hand over hers, squeezing tightly. “Close your eyes. Start from the very beginning. From the last thing you remember to now.”

(Y/N) nodded and took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. “I remember Alfred dropping me off in the field around seven. The sun was still out, and I had enough time to set up the telescope on the tripod.”

“Keep going. You’re doing good. What did it smell and sound like around you?”

She made a face. “Like a farm. But fresher air. I could hear the cicadas and crickets around. The occasional tractor equipment.” (Y/N)’s eyes shifted beneath her eyelids. “I got bored waiting, so I got on my phone until the sun went down. When the stars came out, I went between looking at the sky through the scope and out of it.”

“Then I called you. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I talked to you and then I saw the comet.” That’s when things started to fall apart, and she shook her head. “I remember pulling away from the lens but then…the next thing I remember is coming to in the field.” (Y/N) opened her eyes and gazed at her hands. “I must’ve fallen asleep, but I don’t remember getting into my sleeping bag. And I certainly don’t remember sleeping for a week straight.”

Bruce merely stared at her, sighing, “We’ll give it time. Maybe something will come to you the longer you’re awake.”

She shrugged and reached for the door-handle, but when she grabbed it, it curled under her grip, and she froze.

“What was that?” he questioned, and her eyes went wide as she hurriedly bent the handle back.

“Nothing!” (Y/N) clambered out of the car and didn’t even close the car door behind her, running up the steps and into the kitchen where she was met by her siblings who pulled her into another hug that she was helpless to escape from. And she was fairly sure that Dick was sobbing on her shoulder.

***

Leslie frowned at the young woman across the room, gesturing for Bruce to follow her into the kitchen. “You’re not going to like the news.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Blood and urinalysis are both clean. So is the assault kit.” Leslie stared at him. “It’s almost like she really slept for an entire week.”

“It’s not possible,” Bruce argued. “We scoured that field and all of Gotham with help from every superhero alive.” He sighed. “Something happened to her. She dropped completely off the grid and suddenly reappeared back on.”

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bruce. I don’t have an explanation for this. She’s healthy as a horse.” She placed a hand on his arm. “But if anything changes, give me a call and I’ll come back.”

He nodded, seeing her out. “Thank you, Leslie.” Bruce closed the door and wandered back into the living room, and though he felt such an inner turmoil over his daughter, the sight of her asleep and sandwiched between all her siblings, being protected by them, made him smile.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 28 - Sunlight [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, hospitals, medicine.

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Survival makes people stronger.

Everyone’s voices were so muffled that for a moment it felt as if you were under water. It came and went just like the warmth, just like the comfort—

One moment there, the other moment far away, and anytime you tried to reach through that haze, you were pushed back into the numbness.

You could swear at some point your father was there too. You were still at the cabin, in that dress, sitting across from him by the chessboard, and then back at the weekend house where your sister was chasing you around the piano, your mother calling out for you to stop running, then someone pushing you into the lake by the cabin before it changed again and your father handed you a knife.

If this is hell, I’d like to talk to the manager.

But eventually, it all came back to you. There was this heaviness on your hand, your chest and ribs hurt terribly and your forehead kept stinging as you tried to open your eyes to meet the bright lights of the hospital room.

Ah. You weren’t in the woods anymore.

You had made it after all.

The constant beeping of the machine caught your attention for a moment before you looked down to see Spencer’s head resting on your hand, his fingers entwined with yours. Your mother was by the couch, her eyes fixed on the ceiling with a crumpled tissue in her hand and Mina was resting her head on her shoulder.

“Mom?” you rasped out and your mother’s eyes whipped to yours, Mina sat up and Spencer’s head shot up.

“Oh thank God!” your mother jumped out of her seat to come to your beside and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making you wince. “Oh thank God you’re okay…”

“Hey,” Mina wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, “Welcome back brat.”

You smiled and turned to Spencer who was still holding your hand tight, watching you with bloodshot eyes.

“I know,” you said, “No eyeliner right?”

A small sob mixed with laughter rose from his throat and he pressed your hand to his lips, swallowing thickly.

“Hi.”

“Hey professor,” you tried to smile but you were in too much pain to do so, “Is there like…a morphine button or-?”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Mina rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her, and your mother pulled back.

“How do you feel honey?”

“Like I crawled out of hell,” you said, “Is- is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“With Kenzie and Nolan, outside.”

You let out a breath and turned to Spencer.

“You figured it out?” you asked, “The note?”

“Ophelia, yeah,” he sniffled and nodded fervently, “Cabin by the lake, we were on our way there when—” he stopped talking as if remembering it was way too heavy on him and you squeezed his hand.

“How did I….” you looked between them, “Survive? Erica shot me.”

“The helicopter,” your mother said, “We sent it with a medic and a sniper just in case.”

“You sent a helicopter with a medic and a sniper?” you repeated, “Mom, that sounds like a joke.”

“Well I’m glad you find it funny,” your mother wiped at her eyes again, “Because you’re grounded for the rest of your life.”

“Okay,” you shot a look at Spencer, “Ignore this.”

“No, not even your boyfriend can help you right now.”

“They still like you, no worries,” you explained and he shook his head slightly, reaching out to touch your cheek as if trying to prove to himself that you were real.

“I thought—“ he started and blinked back the tears, gritting his teeth and you rubbed your thumb over his hand.

“I’m fine,” you said and lifted your head when the thought hit you, “Wait what happened to Lincoln?”

A shadow crossed Spencer’s eyes and your mother flexed her fingers as if she wanted to throttle someone upon hearing his name.

“That monster is currently handcuffed to a hospital bed,” she said, “But not to worry, we put ten guards in front of his door, and I will make sure to ruin his life myself.”

“He survived?”

“Barely,” Spencer said through his teeth but before he could say anything else, the door opened and a doctor stepped in. Even you could hear Lily’s very loud protests, Kenzie trying to shush her and you smiled slightly before turning to the doctor who was checking the file in her hand.

“Hello Y/N,” she said cheerfully “Nice to see you awake, for a moment you had me worried we wouldn’t get to meet. So, we have head trauma, a bullet wound, broken ribs and blood loss. Were you trying to fill out a bingo of dangerous injuries or…?”

“Go big or go home doc,” you nodded and she raised her brows.

“Should I put in a psychiatric evaluation in here as well then?”

“Yes please,” your mother pinched the bridge of her nose and you heaved a sigh, making a face.

“Pain?”

“A lot.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” she said and Spencer stood up.

“Can I see her chart please?” he asked and she took almost taken aback before showing him the chart.

“I’d like to change these two meds,” Spencer said and started listing off his suggestions while you watched him with a smile on your face.

“Spencer,” you said, “Please let the nice and smart lady do her job.”

The doctor grinned at you, “That’s alright. Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“Two questions. One, when can I go home?”

“We’d like to keep you under observation for a couple of days, depending on how fast your body shows progress to heal.”

“Okay. Can I smoke here?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” your mother threw her head back, Spencer just stared at you and the doctor blinked a couple of times.

“Since this job taught me never to take any question as hypothetical,” she said, “I’m just going to answer it. No, under absolutely no circumstances are you allowed to smoke here.”

You curled your lips, “It was worth a try.”

“We’ll give you some really good painkillers, don’t worry,” she winked, “I’ll let the rest of your family in and see you later.”  

She walked to the door and opened it, and soon enough Lily rushed inside but as soon as she leaped at you, Kenzie caught her mid-air like a troublesome cat.

“No, what did I say outside?”

“But mama—“

“It’s okay Kenz. Hi bug.”

Kenzie gave you a teary eyed smile and slowly set Lily down, and she hugged her teddy bear before taking a step towards you, nibbling on her lip.

“Does it hurt?” she pointed at the stitches on your forehead and you tilted your head.

“Just a little, sweetie.”

She carefully put the teddy bear beside your bed and grinned at you.

“Mr. Chocolate Chip Cookie will be your friend here,” she patted the teddy bear’s head and you let out a small laugh.

“I really appreciate it bug, thank you,” you said and held the teddy bear in your lap before you turned to Nolan. “Hey man, thanks for the helicopter.”

“Thanks for the almost heart attack,” he replied and fixed his bowtie, “You keep me young with all this panic and adrenaline. Honestly Y/N, never do that to us again, please.”

“I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped by a maniac again,” you stated, “Besides, mom already grounded me so…”

“Good! No jet for you for a while young lady.”

A nurse came in to inject the painkiller into your IV, and you smiled at the sight of your family fondly, then cleared your throat.

“Hey, not that I didn’t miss you guys,” you said, “But um…can I talk to Spencer for a moment?”

Kenzie and Mina exchanged looks and Kenzie lifted Lily up.

“We’ll be right outside,” she said and walked to the door. One by one they left the room and your jaw dropped when you saw Mina squeezing Spencer’s shoulder before she left as well.

“Well, something changed,” you commented and Spencer came to pull a chair next to the bed before he reached out to hold your hand.

“She was the first one to talk to me when we landed,” his voice still didn’t sound so strong and you frowned.

“What did she say?”

“Go there and bring my sister back.” Spencer said and ran a hand over his eyes, “Based on the profile, I thought he’d already—“ he couldn’t even finish that sentence before he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought I lost you.”

“Nah, cigarettes will kill me, not serial killers,” you reached out to push a curl out of his eyes, “I thought you knew that. All looks and no smarts, aren’t you?”

He scoffed a shaky laugh and you licked your lips.

“What happened there?” you asked, “I heard gunshots after Erica shot me, is she—“

“Dead,” Spencer nodded, “She was shot right there.”

You could feel the goosebumps on your skin, “And Lincoln?”

“I was going to kill him,” Spencer said, “If I got there first, I would’ve.”

“Spencer you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he told you, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes, “I do mean that.”

You heaved a sigh, now easier thanks to the painkillers, “Yeah well, I guess I know the feeling.”

“Um- the team is outside as well by the way,” he said, “Luke and Garcia has been here the whole night, and I’ve been instructed to tell you, word by word, no amount of pastries will excuse the worry you put them through.”

You grinned, the tired haze of sleep crashing on you, “Ouch, I’ll have to try harder I guess,” you said and yawned, making Spencer smile.

“Rest a little,” he said, “I’ll stay right here, okay?”

You nodded and leaned your head back to the pillows, then closed your eyes.

                                                 ***

You were given the permission to go home after a week because your mother insisted on keeping you there until she was convinced you wouldn’t drop dead all of a sudden. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t raise hell when you told her you would be staying at Spencer’s place for a while, and for once, Mina agreed with you.

You really needed to ask Spencer what had happened while you were gone, in detail.

It was strange, but your sleep was much less disturbed after you had returned from the hospital. When you were in hospital you had just assumed it was because of the meds they had given you, but now, sleeping with Spencer in his bed, there was still no sign of any nightmares.

With you, that was. Spencer was a completely different story.

You still had to be careful because of your ribs and the doctor had told you to be careful with how you slept, so the moment you moved a little in your sleep and felt the pain shooting through you, you made a face and reached for Spencer’s side of the bed only to meet an empty spot. You opened your eyes, and carefully sat up in bed, trying to hear whether there was any noise to signal he was coming back to bed but there was none, so you slipped out of the bed and walked to the living room.

Of course he was there. Cradling a cup with steam coming out of it in his hands, staring into the darkness as if he was lost in his own mind.

“Spencer?” you said softly and he turned his head, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, trying to smile, “Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you tilted your head before you went to sit beside him and he ran a hand through his curls.

“It’s not important.”

“Nightmares?” you asked and he nodded silently.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later,” he murmured, “How about you? Any pain? Do you need an ice bag?”

You shook your head, “Nah it’s fine,” you said, “It doesn’t hurt that terribly.”

“And your nightmares?”

You shrugged, “No nightmares. I mean—at least not like the earlier ones. Not where I’m turning into him.”

“Trauma works differently in everyone.”

“I don’t think it’s the trauma though,” you said, “I think it’s because…because I know now.”

He raised his brows, his whole attention on you, “What do you mean?”

“It’s not in me,” you said, “It’s just—it’s just not. I don’t think it ever was. My father killed people because it made him feel powerful. It wasn’t like that with me, back at the cabin. It was survival. For me and people I care about, that’s all. It doesn’t make me evil.”

That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts and he smiled.

“No it doesn’t,” he said, “You’ve never been evil. Even when he tried to turn you into that.”

Even your heart felt light, despite the pain in your ribs and your smile widened.

“I know he’s not dead but…”

“He’s locked away. Same difference from now on.”

You paused for a moment, “Speaking of,” you said, “I was thinking I could go and see him for the last time.”

He frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll help me put this whole thing behind me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I want to see the look on his face when he realizes his small project failed,” you said, “Trust me. There’s no way he can get to me, not anymore.”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand and you leaned back to the back of the couch, still keeping your gaze on his handsome face.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you said, “If it’s too much.”

“It’s not that,” he rasped out, “Officially, I might not be allowed in.”

“Why not?”

“I’m leaving the BAU.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him, then sat up straighter.

“What?”

“I can’t anymore,” he averted his glances from you to look into space, nibbling on his lip, “Y/N, I was out of the city when they called me to tell me you were missing, that you were most probably taken by the copycat. And for the whole time until I found you…” his voice cracked, “Lincoln’s profile, before we even knew that he was Lincoln, it all suggested that he…killed his victims without spending any time with them. I thought—“ he sniffled and cleared his throat, “I can’t do that anymore. Imagining you like all those victims…”

“Spencer, I’m fine.”

“But you weren’t,” he said, barely moving his lips, “Back there.”

Ah. The woods.

“That’s what your nightmare was about?” you asked and he heaved a shaky sigh.

“I couldn’t save you,” he said, “You died there, and I couldn’t do anything, I was too late—“

“Spencer,” you reached out to touch his cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

He turned his head so that his eyes would meet yours and you dragged your fingertips over the slight stubble on his cheek.

“You weren’t too late,” you told him, “And I didn’t die. Okay? I’m right here. Don’t leave the BAU because of me, do it only if you want to. I’ll be with you either way.”

He blinked back the tears and nodded. “I want to,” he whispered, “I can’t anymore, and I want- I want to be here. I’ll just…I’ll focus on teaching, and the team can consult me whenever they need to, but I need to be here.”

“And you’re sure about that? It’s not some…heat of the moment decision?”

“It’s not,” he said, “I’m positive.”

“Alright,” you smiled at him softly, “Okay then. I guess instead of talking about gruesome murders and copycats who were after me, we can be one of those boring, cliché couples who bicker about…I don’t know, dirty dishes in the sink, or how you forgot to put down the toilet seat or-“

“Your hair in the drain.”

“I’m going to pretend like you weren’t waiting for the opportunity to bring that up.”

He let out a teary laugh and wiped at his eyes before he pulled you closer and carefully wrapped his arms around you so as not to hurt your ribs, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You brushed your fingers through his curls, as if trying to prove to him that you were there, that you were alright.

“I love you so much,” the confession left his lips in a whisper and you could feel the burning behind your eyes as you raked your nails over the nape of his neck gently.

“I love you too,” you murmured, “God, you have no idea how much.”

                                                      ***

The BAU, upon your request, fixed a meeting with your father for the next week.

And throughout that week, everyone tried to convince you to change your mind. Your mother had made a whole scene during brunch, telling you that it was as if you liked torturing yourself, but you knew deep down that you had to talk to him for the last time.

Seeing your father after what felt like a life time, especially after everything that you had been through was strange at the very least. You didn’t have any goosebumps, you didn’t have that nervousness messing with your head, you didn’t feel like you were under the threat of being attacked any time, and most of all—

You didn’t feel like he was stronger than you. At all.

You lit a cigarette in the interrogation room, then flipped the cap of the lighter and turned your head when the door opened and your father walked in, chains dangling from his handcuffs wrapped around his ankles. He stared at you for a couple of seconds as if he didn’t expect to see you there and let out a breath.

“Petal…”

“You should sit down,” you said, exhaling the smoke and a guard helped him sit down across from you.

“We’re right outside, miss.”

“Thank you,” you said and watched as he straightened his back, his gaze focused on you.

“You look…” he trailed off and you raised your brows,

“Hm?”

“What did they do to you?”

“Ah I guess your outside source ending up dead gets you a bit behind on the news,” you said, “Erica is dead, Lincoln is never gonna see the sunlight again, and your whole project to turn me into your legacy with the help of them failed terribly.”

“I’d never allow them to harm you like this.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling the smoke.

“But you fought your way out, didn’t you?” he asked you, “Looks like my training helped you after all. Even if you refuse to see that.”

“Did you seriously think I’d become like you?” you asked back, “Did you think Lincoln would manage to turn me into you?”

“Honey, Lincoln was going to be your companion at best, your first kill at worst.” he said and you clicked your tongue.

“Oh, that was your plan all along?”

“Some part of it, at least. I knew they wouldn’t be able to handle you, but I thought you could decide what to do with them. Could you kill Erica at least?”

“Didn’t get the chance.”

“You should have,” he said, “You would see, Petal.”

You twirled the cigarette between your fingers, staring at him for a couple of seconds.

“I keep thinking,” you mused, “You know what I said to Mina and Kenzie when they first told me they wanted to have a baby?”

He tilted his head, “Hm? What?”

“I asked them if they lost their minds.”

Your father pulled back slightly and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Because I mean… Kenzie’s parents are assholes, and there’s you,” you motioned at him, “Not that anyone else could take the cake on being a messed up parent when you’re in the picture.”

“I take offense to that.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “But then it hit me, back at the hospital. I was looking at this whole mess from the wrong perspective.”

“Which is?”

“They had a point,” you said, “Back then- before all this I mean, I thought when someone decided to have kids, their first priority was to be the perfect parent. That’s stupid, it’s impossible to be the perfect parent, our own parents mess us up in one way or another. But I get it now.”

“You get what?”

“The first step is being better than your own parents, not starting out perfect,” you said, “That’s why every generation is different, we’re all trying to be better than our parents, and some of us actually succeed.”

“And you think you’d be a better parent than me, is that it?”

“Shouldn’t take that much of an effort to be honest.”

“Are you…?” he motioned at you and you scoffed.

“No,” you said, “No, but what happened back there made me think. I’ve been living my whole life so convinced that you messed me up beyond my own control, beyond saving, but that’s not completely true, is it? I mean, just because you’re in my past, doesn’t mean I’ll have to include you in my present.”

“But I am in your present Petal.”

You pursed your lips together, then gestured around you. “Debatable. Nolan is buying this whole place, did you know that?” you asked, “All your guards are on our paychecks, so it should be harder to…use them to contact outside. We control everything that’s happening here, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

He blinked a couple of times, trying to catch up with your train of thought.

“And you think that will be enough to put me behind you?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t think it’s that easy,” you confessed, “But it’s a start.”

He moved his hands on the table, the chain rattling.

“I raised you.” he said, “I’m inside your head, whether you like it or not. You’re my legacy—“

“I’m my own legacy, you fucking idiot,” you said with a small chuckle, “That’s who I am. Just because your expectations of me will not leave me, doesn’t mean I’ll let them haunt me.”

“And you think that will be enough.”

“I will never see you again,” you tilted your head, “Should make things easier, to be honest.”

He smiled, “But you already hurt people,” he said “You know how it feels now, don’t you? That fire? Now you know what you’re capable of.”

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah I do. Now I know that if it ever comes to that point, I’m capable of protecting myself and my family. It doesn’t make me a monster, it makes me a survivor. Me and mom have that in common, after the shit you’ve pulled.”

He stared at you and you took a last drag of your cigarette, then checked your wristwatch.

“Well I should go. You may have all the time in the world, but I actually have a life, so…”

You stubbed your cigarette and walked to the door but as soon as you opened it, he said your name, making you stop.

“You can’t escape from this,” he said, “Even if you never see me again, you still won’t escape, you know that, right? Why do you think I chose you and not your sister? Even when you were a child, you had…something in you. Something dark, something dangerous.”

The idea was very familiar to you. You had been saying the same thing to yourself for many years and hearing it from him for what felt like a hundredth time was supposed to make you feel bad, you knew that. If it were any other time before your kidnapping, before saving yourself in that cabin, before surviving everything your father and his followers had put you through, it would probably have more effect on you.

The last time he had done that, you had ended up in the stairs, shaking until Spencer had found you.

But it wasn’t that time.

It was as if something had clicked inside your head after everything, and your father’s words held no strength in them.

“Come on honey,” he told you, “Some people are just born twisted.”

A small smile pulled at your lips and you raised your brows, looking at him for a couple of seconds, etching the sight of him in chains into your memory.

“Maybe,” you said and took a step towards him, opening your cigarette case to pull out the small jasmine flower out of it, then put it on the table, eyes locked to his before you leaned in slightly.

“But I wasn’t.”

With that, you turned around and walked out of the interrogation room for the last time, ignoring the way he was yelling your name. Your smile widened as you made your way out of the building, your heels echoing in the halls before you stepped out, the fresh air filling your lungs.

“Hey,” Spencer greeted you, leaning back to your car and reached out so that you could step into his embrace as he pushed your hair out of your face, “How did it go?”

“As expected,” you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips and he heaved a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said “Yeah I feel like…he’s gone. He’s gone, I’m here and I’m free and I know myself now. I finally woke up from that nightmare, for good.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against yours, “That’s a good start,” he commented, “What do you want to do now?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” you said and he tilted his head before he held up your keys.

“What do you say we drive away and never return here?”

You let out a small giggle and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I like that idea,” you said, “Let’s drive away and never return.”

Chapter 29 

[roll-da-credits]

Overprotective - Hawks x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Request: hi ! if you don’t mind could i request something for hawks?? you can do it as a oneshot or hcs (which ever works for you). basically my idea was that the reader and him work together but reader gets injured. its not even that bad maybe just like a deep cut on their or something but people come to load them into the ambulance and hawks is just in protective birb mode. mans has his wings around them and is glaring at anyone near and reader is just like “pls i just need to get stitches then i’ll be fine dummy”. protective hawks just makes my heart go hnnnggghhh,,

A/n: fun fact of the day, protective Hawks also make my heart go S;DFJLASDFLJA;SDJFA, I love him sm, like he's such a bastard but he's an amazing bastard yk? I mean just look at how absolutely dumb and adorable he looks in the banner❤️ Anyways, thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy it!!!

🖤❤️🖤

“Hawks, the situation has gotten a little bit out of hand, they can use an extra hero out there.” One of Keigo’s assistants informed him over the phone.

Before he even replied, he flew quickly over to the site, “I’m already here. Who’s on duty right now?” Keigo released some of his feathers to rescue some civilians, and listen in on whatever ruckus was happening.

“Kamui Woods and H/n, but their quirks aren’t the best fo-” Keigo didn’t even let the woman behind the phone finished before quickly turning off his phone and sending even more of his feathers to scan the area for you.

If he was called in for backup, that meant you and Kamui Woods weren’t able to contain the villain very well. Or it could mean both of you were injured far beyond being able to defeat it. His mind raced trying to listen in on every corner of the danger zone.

The villain wasn’t exactly incredibly destructive or murderous, he was just a criminal with a rather pesky quirk. Being able to create spikes wherever his skin touched and on his hands, led to a lot of bystanders in the busy area getting injured, both Kamui Woods and you, were rather overwhelmed.

“Woods, rescue the civilians, I’ll try to ambush him.” From one of his feathers, he could hear your voice and pinpointed your location before swiftly flying over there.

His eyes landed on yours, and for a brief second, you faltered in your position, rather shocked at seeing Keigo there. This small shock led your ambush to completely failing, the man had enough time to react to your attack.

The spikes on his hands were directed to slash your chest, if it wasn’t for a red feather quickly pushing you back, your chest would’ve been a giant gash by now. Keigo flew down and quickly apprehended the man with his feathers quite easily. Making you slightly scoff behind him.

“Always got to show off huh?” he looked back at you with a small smirk, only for it to immediately falter when he saw your right hand on your shoulder. Blood dripping from your fingers.

“Birdie, I thought you completely dodged it?!” Keigo walked over to you eyes glued on the wound, wings rather puffed up from worry.

“He can extend his spikes you know?” Since Keigo was still looking pretty alarmed, you tried calming his nerves down, “Love, it's literally nothing. I get worse injuries all the time, it’ll probably take 2 stitches and that’s it. I am a bit tired from all the fucking running though.”

You said the last words in a more joking manner and started to head over to an ambulance to get your wounds treated and transported to a hospital to check for any further damage.

That was your plan, before Keigo suddenly picked you up from the ground, his wings taking flight immediately.

“Oi Keigo what the FUCK are you doing?!?!??!?” You yelled, being completely shocked at the fact that a second ago your feet touched the ground, now there was no ground to be seen.

“Who knows if the people in the ambulance were actually working with the thief.”

At this point you were flabbergasted, this man picked you off your feet just because of a deep cut in your SHOULDER, not even your legs, and didn’t want you to deal with paramedics because he was scared of them being the thief’s accomplices.

“You are literally making zero sense.” You let out an exasperated sigh knowing full well Keigo isn’t letting you go any time soon.

Finally arriving at the hospital, Keigo was literally on your tail the entire time. Even when going up to the desk to explain what happened to when you had to explain the circumstances you were in (those circumstances being you didn’t get to the paramedics on sight because of a certain hero).

When one of the nurses came to bring you to another room, Keigo followed once again.

“Excuse me, sir, we need to bring you to a different room to do a check-up on you.” There were a few scratches here and there from the previous fights before your skirmish with the villain. But he completely ignored the nurse. Only fluffing up his wings even more.

“Sir?” “Oh, I’m incredibly sorry, I’d like to say with my little birdie over there.” Keigo gestured towards you who’s being led to sit on a bed before getting stitches.

He came over to stand next to you and hold your hand in his.

“Babe, I’m literally a pro hero, I’ve gotten stitches more times than I can count. It's ok.” You tried reassuring him. Codeword: tried.

When the doctor came in with her tools, Keigo literally glared daggers at her. The room felt like it dropped a couple of degrees and you can feel the doctor getting slightly nervous from the dangerous glare of the rather intimidating hero.

Who wouldn’t be intimidated when an extremely popular hero’s lover was being treated by you?

“Ok no I’m not doing this, babe wait outside.” Keigo immediately looked at you with an offended expression. As if you just insulted him and all of his ancestors before him, “You’re literally intimidating the poor doctor, this will take about 15 minutes and then you can come back in.”

You kept a stern tone to him and he dejectedly, like a child after getting scolded by his mother, walked out the room. Leaving the ‘suspicious’ (at least to him) doctor and you alone.

15 minutes had passed and when the doctor left the room, she was immediately met with the menacing glares of the fastest hero, “They’re ok right?” The doctor stammered trying to answer him, “Uhhh yeah, yeah she’s fine. Its, it's not that deep.”

After answering she immediately paced away from Keigo who was already entering your room.

He took a seat beside your bed laid his head on the crook of your uninjured shoulder, wings lightly fluttering from the joy he was feeling. He had the biggest dopey smile you had ever seen.

“Your wings look really fluffy right now.” You remarked reaching out to caress some of his feathers. They were incredibly soft despite how dangerous of weapons they can be when he wanted them to.

“I was worried, am I not allowed to worry for my incredible birdie?” He cooed to you before wrapping his hands around your waist, peppering kisses all over your face. Causing you to giggle and lightly push him away.

“I’m a pro hero you know, I know when to ask for help.” You held up the feather necklace Keigo gave you, showing you technically could signal him to come to your aid any time if you needed to, “You don’t need to worry about me, pretty boy.”

The dopey smile somehow grew much more into a heartwarming one. He climbed onto the hospital bed, snuggling with you on it, was it slightly uncomfortable? Sure. But you wouldn’t have to stay here for that long anyway, so why not just have a little calming cuddle session.

Keigo, feeling your head on his chest, his hand tangling itself on your hair, and his other hand holding firmly on your waist, reminded himself. You will be okay. He doesn’t always need to baby you. You’re perfectly capable of doing things.

“Hey, birdie?” You hummed in reply, “Sorry for how weird I acted.” You snorted, weird was an understatement.

“It was cute seeing you overprotective though.” With that Keigo’s laughter filled your ears. Like a soft calming tune.

It was weirdly serene, bandages all over your left shoulder, the sun lightly setting, and an amazing man (bird? Man-bird?) in your arms.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spite in Misery - ao3

(rather silly AU of Delight in Misery, only even more petty and passive aggressive, and also slightly more JC/LWJ)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Sanctuary,” Lan Wangji said, prim and proper as he always was, the perfect untouchable iceberg as always, except maybe for the small child he was holding. “For me and my son.”

“Wait, you fuck?”

Wait, that wasn’t the right question.

“Why do you need sanctuary here?” Jiang Cheng asked, utterly bemused. “There isn’t a single place in the cultivation world you wouldn’t be welcomed –”

Except here.

“– and anyway, your brother, his sworn brothers, and your sect would demolish anyone who even thought about hurting you. Who in the world could you need sanctuary from?”

“My brother,” Lan Wangji said. “His sworn brothers, and my sect.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

Lan Wangji stared right back at him.

And then he collapsed.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said to the unconscious or possibly dead body currently lying across the threshold of the Lotus Pier and the small feverish-looking child in barely better state splayed out beside it. “I refuse to take responsibility for this!”

-

“You will not say anything about the room I have chosen to house you in,” Jiang Cheng said. “You will not complain about the food, the amenities, or make any requests whatsoever. Do you hear me?”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng ought to have expected as much.

“And don’t think this means I’m going to like you or anything,” Jiang Cheng added self-righteously.

“I despise you with every drop of blood in my body,” Lan Wangji said.

“…so noted,” Jiang Cheng said.

After a moment, he added, “I don’t care!” and stormed out.

After yet another moment, he came right back into the room where he’d put Lan Wangji – it was just a convenient room, not specifically Wei Wuxian’s room, and if putting Lan Wangji in there meant he could delay having to clean out all the personal possessions left in there and actually repurpose it, that was his business and no one else’s – and said, “Why do you hate me, exactly?”

“Do you care?” Lan Wangji asked. He was examining the small cot Jiang Cheng had set up to put the still-unconscious and therefore nameless child on.

“Obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng waited a few moments, moments that grew longer and longer, and finally he realized – “You’re not planning on telling me?”

“I despise you,” Lan Wangji reminded him.

“Oh, you – you…!” Jiang Cheng ground his teeth together. “I’m the one giving you sanctuary, remember?”

“I came to you because you were the only one powerful enough to accomplish the task and spiteful enough to do it. I did not come here to owe you any favors.”

“Well, you’re going to owe me one anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling at him. “You – you – ugh. Forget it!”

He stormed back out.

And then he realized he hadn’t actually brought the medicine that he’d intended to bring to Lan Wangji, so he had to go in and drop it off, but then he was finally able to storm away properly.

-

“I was under the belief we had agreed it would be best for us to see each other as little as possible,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even icier than usual – which was saying something.

“That’s right,” Jiang Cheng agreed, eying him warily. “I’m only here personally to drop off your medicine because it means fewer people know that you’re here.”

He’d thought that he would need to bring in a doctor for Lan Wangji’s injuries, but it turned out to be whip marks from a discipline whip and Jiang Cheng – well. Jiang Cheng knew everything there was to know about injuries like that.

Sure, he’d had to take A-Yuan to a doctor, he didn’t know shit about pediatric illnesses, but that was fine, it didn’t give the whole game away. Jiang Cheng was able to pass him off as some random sad orphan he’d taken pity on, which wasn’t far from what he suspected to be the truth.

“In that case,” and Lan Wangji’s voice was even colder, which how, “why do you live next door?”

“This was the only room available,” Jiang Cheng lied.

Lan Wangji glared death at him.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m giving you sanctuary, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Anyway, I told you that you weren’t allowed to complain about the room.”

Lan Wangji did not appear impressed.

“How’d you know I was next door, anyway?”

“You have nightmares.”

…right.

“I’ll invest in better soundproofing, then,” Jiang Cheng said haughtily. He wasn’t ashamed of having nightmares. After the life he’d lived, it was only to be expected.

“I don’t want to be around you at all,” Lan Wangji clarified.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t want you spending time with A-Yuan.”

Oh, so that was the real issue here. Well, in that case, the answer was still – “Too bad.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s in my house,” Jiang Cheng said. “In my sect, in my lands, in my part of the cultivation world, which is the only reason you came here rather than literally anywhere else, remember? Because I’m a territorial bastard with a paranoid streak that won’t let anyone come look for you in here without hovering over their backs like a shadow, making it impossible for them to actually find you – sound familiar?”

Lan Wangji’s face twitched. “I did not say that.”

“You thought it,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji’s silence proved he was right. “Anyway, I don’t care if you don’t like me spending time with A-Yuan. He’s one of the only people who can make Jin Ling laugh.”

“He wants to be his big brother,” Lan Wangji said. He sounded like he had swallowed glass.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said, not understanding. “Good for him?”

Brothers didn’t have to be biological, he thought, and that old pain tore through his heart the way it always did when he thought about Wei Wuxian.

“Worthless,” Lan Wangji said, glaring at him, and Jiang Cheng almost agreed with that assessment of himself – thoughts of Wei Wuxian usually had that effect – except of course it was Lan Wangji saying it, so naturally he had to disagree.

It was oddly reaffirming, actually. He might beat himself up as being worthless, useless and pathetic, a broken shell of a man who couldn’t keep a single member of his family alive, who had nothing and lived for nothing and existed purely for the sake of his sect and Jin Ling –

But the second Lan Wangji said that he was worthless, Lan Wangji who was wrong about everything, Jiang Cheng was immediately convinced that he was the best thing that had ever been invented.

Wait, was this how Wei Wuxian used to feel all the time?

No wonder he was always tormenting Lan Wangji.

-

“I brought you some books on physical rehabilitation,” Jiang Cheng announced. “No, don’t thank me - the sooner you’re better, the sooner you can leave.”

“It will not be too soon,” Lan Wangji said.

Personally, Jiang Cheng didn’t think Lan Wangji was going to be leaving for at least another year, maybe a few more years, not with that many strikes of the discipline whip to heal and his disordered qi to straighten out, but it was nice for both of them to see a destination at the end of the road in which they didn’t have to see each other all the time. Either way, he agreed, so he wasn’t going to ruin the rare moment of complete harmony by being persnickety.

“You should knock before entering,” Lan Wangji added, prissy as always.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He probably should have, yes, but he always had the ‘it’s my house’ thing to fall back on. This was the Lotus Pier where the rules of the Lan sect didn’t apply, and as far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to ignore etiquette. Anyway, Lan Wangji was here alone and healing just the way he’d been doing the past few months, what exactly was he going to be doing that Jiang Cheng might walk in on –

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said when Lan Wangji attempted, with dignity, to extract his hands from inside his clothing, which was unfortunately not something he could do subtly. “Were you trying to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji looked mutinous.

“…were you failing to jerk off?”

Lan Wangji now looked like he wanted to rip Jiang Cheng limb from limb, even though it ought to have been clear enough that Jiang Cheng would only think to ask the question because he’d had a similar issue for a while there. The time after his family had died had been brutal, and he couldn’t even use getting off as a shortcut to fall asleep because every time he tried he couldn’t keep it up; it’d been awful. He’d been terrified that he’d broken his own dick somehow, which led to worries that he wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future and thereby fail his parents and ancestors in a brand new and yet unexplored way, which led to even more panic and even less sleeping. It hadn’t been until someone (he suspected Nie Mingjue, bizarrely enough) shoved a medical treatise about trauma reactions under his door that he’d realized it was a fairly normal aftereffect and managed to calm down a little.

Nie Mingjue had also given him so much work to do that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had time to even think about that sort of thing until nearly half a year later, at which point everything was working again and he’d completely forgotten it was even an issue until halfway into the afterglow.

Good man, that Nie Mingjue.

“If it’s a symptom, you need to tell me these things,” Jiang Cheng said, taking far too much wretched enjoyment out of the whole thing. He’d give Lan Wangji the trauma book, of course – he still had it – but he had to get his wins in where he could against the perfect iceberg, cheap shots or no. “As your current attending doctor, I’m responsible for your care –”

“It is unwanted but necessary. It is simply something that I must endure,” Lan Wangji said grimly, and Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows.

The book had covered that, too, although that hadn’t been his problem, personally.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You keep getting hard, is that it? And then retraumatizing yourself when you try to jerk off, which means you can’t satisfy the need, which means you can’t solve the getting hard all the time problem, which in turn affects your cultivation and so your healing…yeah, I see the issue. You should probably get someone else to do it for you if you get really desperate.”

“I see no one but you,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth.

A problem, Jiang Cheng admitted.

Still mostly Lan Wangji’s problem, though.

“Well,” he said with the smarmiest smirk he could manage, “as your attending doctor –”

Lan Wanjgji threw a book at his head.

-

“What are you planning on doing once you’re better?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“Why are you talking to me?” Lan Wangji replied.

“Oh come on,” Jiang Cheng said. “How can you say such a thing after taking advantage of me? I let you into my home –”

“You will not be able to rely upon that fact forever.”

“I will be able to rely on that fact for eternity,” Jiang Cheng disagreed. “I let you into my home, I hid you away from the world – which isn’t actually as easy as I make it look, just so you know! Your brother is practically scouring the earth –”

Lan Wangji looked like he’d bitten into something extremely sour.

“I’m sorry, did you think he was not going to do that? And recruit his sworn brothers to help him?” Jiang Cheng asked. “I thought the whole point of this was – well –”

“It was.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I do not enjoy hearing of it.”

“Listen, if you’re going to decide to torture someone by turning your back on them and disappearing without a word, you should at least have the guts to own it.”

“You speak from experience, I take it.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Did you somehow forget everything that happened back then with Wei Wuxian?”

“…you were the one who turned your back on Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng laughed disbelievingly. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he jeered. “Because I was so well-known for my backbone when it came to Wei Wuxian. I definitely was the one to come up with the idea to throw him out of my sect and cut ties, yeah, definitely, that’s completely what happened. I mean, obviously, I always got my way when dealing with him, every time, that’s how it always was between us. He had nothing to do with it.”

Lan Wangji was glaring at him. “Not then,” he said, each word cutting like a sword. “The Nightless City.”

“You mean the time he arrogantly and completely without warning started a fight that got my sister killed and then murdered three thousand people, including some of the very few family members and friends I had left?”

Lan Wangji was silent.

“You do mean that time,” Jiang Cheng said, marveling. “Are you insane? Even if I wanted to, if I took his side then, I’d have had no claim later on to grab him as a prisoner before anyone else did. The Jin would have executed him for sure! And slowly!”

“The Burial Mounds –”

“He imploded in front of my face!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “I had to see – when he – he died! He was – he did – you don’t even know – no, you know what, I’m not talking about this. Not with you of all people; you hated him.”

Lan Wangji’s hands were fists. “I did not.”

“No? You did a good job of acting like you did,” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Always talking about how you wanted to drag him back to Gusu just because it would make you feel better –”

“Better than leaving him.”

“I did what he wanted! And yes, fine, maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should’ve ignored what he wanted, maybe I should’ve dragged him back to the Lotus Pier and locked him in a little room for the rest of his life the way everyone knows your dad did to your mom – ”

Lan Wangji flinched.

In fairness, Jiang Cheng was exaggerating about everyone knowing. He only knew about it because he’d heard his mother spit it out at his father during one of their nastier fights, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to have known about it, either.

“– but stupid me, I thought he’d be happier being free and alone than stuck with someone he clearly didn’t want to be around him anymore! But what do I know? Maybe I should ask you, you selfish bastard. You’re the one in his position this time, you’re the one who’s doing the turning away – I bet you don’t even know what it’s like to be the one that’s not wanted.”

Lan Wangji stared down at his hands as Jiang Cheng jumped up to his feet, Zidian crackling to life in his hand despite himself, persisting even though he tried to suppress it.

“I’m going to go hunt down some demonic cultivators,” he said, trying in vain to keep his temper even a little bit and knowing it was a lost cause. “And then I’m going to bring them back here and make them scream somewhere you can hear it. You can chew on that with some glass for all I care!”

-

“You handled that last one well,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded like someone was pulling teeth from his head.

“You’re sick,” Jiang Cheng announced. “I will go get some fever medicine at once. Are you experiencing any other symptoms in addition to hallucinations? Or should I be checking for signs of possession instead?”

Lan Wangji was back to glaring at him.

“I don’t know what drove that sudden spurt of niceness and I don’t care to know,” Jiang Cheng informed him. “I don’t need your approval.”

Lan Wangji ignored him. That was more customary.

Also unfortunate, because Jiang Cheng managed to get less than half a shichen of work done before coming back into Lan Wangji’s room (not Wei Wuxian’s room) and saying, “Okay, what exactly did I do?”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong.

“Seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What did I do that was so impressive that even you approved of it?”

“The demonic cultivator. The last one.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, thinking about it. “The – stupid one, you mean?”

Lan Wangji stared at him, and then looked at the ceiling, long-suffering. “The one from Yunping.”

“The stupid one,” Jiang Cheng confirmed, and then he was ranting again because he couldn’t seem to stop ranting about it. “I can’t believe the idiot got into demonic cultivation as a way to make money! That’s just – it’s just – if I ever figure out who paid him, I’m going to rearrange their guts with my sword. Lousy rotten opportunistic…!” He coughed, realizing he’d gotten started again when he’d promised Jiang Meimei that he’d stop. It apparently got old after the sixth repetition. “Anyway, what’s so notable about that?”

“You accepted him as an outer disciple of your own sect.”

“Well, yeah. What else was I going to do with him? He’s clearly got some talent for cultivation if he figured out demonic cultivation without dying. It’d be a waste to send him back to be a fisherman or a dockworker or something.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill someone who got into demonic cultivation as a way to raise funds to get medicine for his sick mother,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “The idiot’s on tomb-sweeping duty for the next year to make up for having manipulated corpses the way he did, that’s punishment enough. It’s not at all comparable to the usual sort of amateur demonic cultivator, the ones that summon corpses to torment former lovers or murder business partners or that sort of thing – those are the ones I use as an example to warn everyone else. What’s the big deal?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Can you watch Jin Ling today? I have a – uh – important meeting.”

“Another woman that you have no intention of actually marrying?”

“Shut up and mind your own business.”

-

“No, but seriously,” Jiang Cheng said. “What are you going to do once you’re better?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lan Wangji said, his voice muffled on account of his face being firmly in his hands. “Go away.”

“Listen, we’re still neighbors, we still need to talk. There’s no point in being suddenly shy about it just because you’re still in the acceptance phase of grief in connection with the whole me helping you with getting off business –”

“Never speak of it.”

Jiang Cheng sniggered. He wouldn’t have pegged the Lan sect as having uncontrolled libidos, much less Lan Wangji, but apparently the situation had gotten truly dire. Anyway, really, getting mockery rights was totally worth an arm work-out and having to put up with Lan Wangji, the latter of which he had to do anyway.

“You really are taking advantage of me now, though! My poor virtue –”

Lan Wangji looked at him through his fingers. “You don’t have any virtue.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asked, suddenly curious. “I strike you as someone with a lot of experience –”

“I meant morally.”

“Oh. Hey!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as someone who won’t answer a straight question,” Jiang Cheng said. “What’s your plan for after you’re healed? Are you going back to the Lan sect? Or start traveling as a rogue cultivator?”

“Why do you care?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I can care!”

“But you don’t. Not about my affairs.”

Jiang Cheng had to admit this was correct. “Fine,” he said. “I need a name.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him.

“For A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s been a year. The kid’s as healthy as he’s ever going to be, and he’s old enough for me to shove him in with the rest of the younger generation now that we’re starting lessons back up – cultivation, swordsmanship, shooting, etiquette, all the usual. But I can’t register him in the class without a surname, and I need to know if that surname’s going to be Lan or if you plan on changing it to something else.”

Lan Wangji was frowning at him.

“I know, I know, you’re in hiding,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s fine, it won’t give you away even if you do pick ‘Lan’. I can register him as a Yunmeng Lan instead of a Gusu Lan, the surname’s common enough that no one will suspect anything unless you make him start wearing a forehead ribbon, which I don’t think you lot do at this age yet anyway. But if you’re planning on continuing to hide from your family after you get better, you’re going to need to do something about all of that.”

Lan Wangji looked sour.

“Anyway, long story short, that’s it. Your plans, I need to know them.”

Lan Wangji looked even more sour.

“Well? What is it?”

“We will return to the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji said.

“Not that hard, was it,” Jiang Cheng said. “I knew you were just throwing a temper tantrum.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he said, “What do we do about Jin Ling?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do about Jin Ling’?” Jiang Cheng asked suspiciously. “I had to fight half of Lanling Jin for the right to raise him here, we’re not doing anything about Jin Ling – anyway, who’s ‘we’? He’s my nephew!”

“A-Yuan sees him as a little brother.”

This was true.

“They will not want to part.”

…also true.

“Moreover,” and here Lan Wangji looked especially sour, “I believe A-Yuan has taken you as something of a – second parent.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s a cute kid. Anyway, don’t take it so personally. Kids just do that, they adopt any adult in the vicinity as their own. I mean, certainly Jin Ling thinks of you as…wait. Wait. Are we co-parenting?!”

“Mm. Took you long enough to notice.”

-

It had been a bad day, a bad week, and a bad month, and Jiang Cheng’s temper, never good, was on the verge of imploding, so naturally that was when he completely lost all self-control he might have had and marched over to Lan Wangji’s room to blurt out, “Why do you hate me?”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled over his guqin.

“I know why I hate you, even putting aside the fact that you’re a jackass with the emotional capacity of a brick,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I really have no idea what I did to you to make you hate me.”

There were so many options, after all. He was a cruel, vicious, and bitter man – he was a terrible parent, unlikable as a friend, barely sufficient as a sect leader, and such a failure at connecting socially with anyone that he’d been blacklisted as a marriage prospect despite being handsome, young, rich, and powerful. There were so many reasons to hate him.

But he didn’t know which one was the one that made Lan Wangji look at him with disdain, even if he thought that perhaps there was slightly less of that these days than there had been before.

“I hate you because you abandoned Wei Ying when he needed you,” Lan Wangji said. “He was your brother, and you left him behind – more than that, you led the charge against him, resulting in his death.”

…that was a good reason.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t mind being hated for that reason, actually. It was a nice change from all those people who congratulated him for having done the right thing: all those smug sect leaders that comforted him for having raised a white-eyed wolf in the family, the ones that said his actions showed that he had a good backbone and a righteous bearing, the ones that had the gall to send him gifts of congratulation on the anniversary of Wei Wuxian’s death to thank him for his contribution to the cultivation world when all he wanted was to be left alone to mourn…

“That’s fine,” he croaked. “Okay. Yes. That’s – fine.”

“Why do you hate me?” Lan Wangji asked in turn. “You said you knew.”

“Oh, that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Same reason.”

Lan Wangji stared.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “I mean, I know you were always harsh on him when we were together at your uncle’s lectures, which was completely fair given how much he was always bothering you. But he really did try sincerely to help you when we were all the Wen sect’s camp, and in the cave with the Xuanwu – but after, in the war, when he showed up with his demonic cultivation, you suddenly turned on him even though he was just doing it to help. You kept telling him he had to stop, even though you knew he was doing so much for the war effort, and you wanted to take him back to Gusu to do who-knows-what to him…you even snatched him away during the battle of the Nightless City! I saw you. I was so afraid you were going to kill him, I completely lost my head. I looked for you everywhere – I really don’t know how he was lucky enough to get away from you that time.”

Lan Wangji stared at him.

“And then you didn’t even bother to show up to the siege of the Burial Mounds in person,” Jiang Cheng added, feeling bitter. “After I heard from the Lan sect that he escaped from you, I briefly thought that you’d changed your mind and let him go. I was counting on you to be at the Burial Mounds to support me in claiming him as a Jiang sect prisoner – I had Chifeng-zun signed on, if reluctantly, and with you leading the Lan I could’ve made a decent argument. But then you didn’t show, either you or your brother; instead you sent your uncle, and of course there wasn’t even any point in asking him, was there?”

“…I didn’t know,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. “I wasn’t informed. It was shortly after…”

He nodded at his own shoulder, meaning the disaster on his back. Jiang Cheng hadn’t asked how it happened – he really wanted to know, as in really, really, really wanted to know, but even he was aware that actually asking would be unbearably rude. Still, he was surprised by the timing of it. How had Lan Wangji managed to end up in the hands of his enemies then? Who had even been left to do it to him?

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking his head to try to kick away his curiosity the way he would something clinging to his foot. “You were still a bastard to him when he needed you, so I hate you.”

He frowned.

“Also, you hate me,” he said. “So I hated you back just for that. Though I guess, since your reason for hating me is valid, maybe I should stop hating you back for that?”

He considered it.

“No,” he decided. “You’re too annoying not to hate.”

“The same for you,” Lan Wangji said after an unusual hesitation.

Jiang Cheng nodded and, feeling oddly relieved at not having found a new basis for self-hatred, departs.

-

“So once you’ve reestablished yourself at the Cloud Recesses, we’ll exchange extended visits on a regular basis so the kids can see each other,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji nodded. “A minimum of three weeks per season, whether in the Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses, and preferably double that.”

“Agreed.”

“In the meantime, you’ll work on getting the trade agreement we hammered out through your brother and sect elders as recompense for the time you spent here.”

“Mm.”

“An agreement whose source you will be disclosing very carefully because the Venerated Triad will not hesitate to murder me if they figure out without adequate warning it was me that was housing you for all this time.”

Lan Wangji said nothing and promised nothing.

Bastard.

Still, after nearly three years, Jiang Cheng was pretty used to it.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng said. “Is there anything I’ve left out?”

“Joint night-hunts.”

“Right, right, we’ll make a point of regularly going on joint night-hunts – wait, why are we doing that? You don’t need me to watch your back now that you’re fully healed.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze wandered.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said. “So we can keep having hate-sex on the regular?”

“…mm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s not like I’m doing anything else – or anyone else. Blacklisted, remember?”

“Unsurprising,” Lan Wangji said, like the bastard he was.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, whatever. The set-up works, doesn’t it? I’m blacklisted, you’re apparently eternally pining for Wei Wuxian of all people – your taste is the worst – so who’s going to call us out on it? Go on, get out of here already. I’ll see you next month.”

-

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, looking between the newly resurrected Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, abruptly made of an issue he had hitherto not considered based on Lan Wangji’s screaming body language. “This is. Uh. Awkward?”