#happiness likes it quiet and tim knows it but also | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clockwayswrites · 8 months ago

Text

Bitty birb in the nest is worth...? Part 19

Masterpost This is going to have many typos and spelling issues, but it currently feels like I've got an ice pick in my temple and my skin hurts so there's no rereading happening atm. Sorry!

Danny looked up as Tim Drake-Wayne strode into the lab and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“Tim?”

“Mm-hum?” Tim hummed as he sat down his thermos before he shed his messenger bag, coat, and school jacket onto an open part of desk.

Danny watched on with bemusement. The kid looked half asleep. “Not that it isn’t great to see you again, but what are you doing here, honey?”

“Bruce is on a call running Luthor in circles and then has to talk to legal about some stuff because Luthor is always an ass. We’re supposed to go run an errand and then to dinner together, so I’m stuck here until he’s ready to leave for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said honestly.

“It’s okay, at least Bruce won’t forget, not like—” Tim shut his mouth with a snap, seemingly suddenly thinking about what he was saying.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Danny said, because he did. “You need somewhere to hide out then?”

“Yeah, it’s… calm here.”

“Okay. Sit wherever you want that’s clear. If you need to move something, let me know first, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tim said, shoulders finally losing some of their tension.

“Of course, whenever you need.”

Not wanting to push Tim in any way, Danny kept a subtle eye on the boy as Tim absently wandered around Danny’s office. To Tim’s credit, he did try to touch anything or move things around, even as he obviously grew increasingly tired.

It would be a lot, Danny supposed, to be a teen ager trying to live up to the legacy of two important families in the area, learn the business, go to school, and (hopefully) also spend time with friends. Danny knew how hard it had been only having Phantom as an obligation.

While, sure, Danny wished Tim had made chosen a less neck cramping spot, he was happy to see Tim finally settle down and seemingly fall asleep… under one of Danny’s work benches. Danny couldn’t fuss too much, he’d done that plenty in grad school himself. Once Tim seemed properly asleep, Danny got up to fetch his cardigan from the hook by the door and took it to drape over the sleeping kid. Tim let a little huffed breath of air before he snuggled further into the cardigan and settled back into sleep.

It made Danny’s heart melt in a way that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

It really was no surprise when about forty-five minutes later one Bruce Wayne poked his head into Danny’s office. The door was hardly open when Danny had his finger up and over his mouth in the universal sign of ‘shush’.

Bruce titled his head curiously. Danny gave a little nod of his head towards the workbench that Tim was sleeping under. Silently, Bruce moved to the work bench and crouched down next to it. There was a soft, amused sound before Bruce reached out to brush his hand over Tim’s forehead, as if habitually checking for a fever.

When Bruce returned to where Danny was working, he asked softly, “How long has he been asleep?”

“A little over a half hour. It took him about ten minutes to settle in,” Danny answered, voice equally quiet.

“Then do you mind if I let him keep resting for another fifteen minutes or so? He’s likely to wake up on his own then.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope, let the kid rest. He seems like he needs it.”

Bruce glanced at Tim, his expression that soft sort of worried only parents seemed to get. “He does. He works too hard at… everything. He’s always trying to prove himself even when he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Danny made a little questioning noise as he got back to fiddling with the annoyingly tiny screws.

“His parents were… demanding. They had very exacting ideas of what proper high society behavior was,” Bruce explained. “I’m sadly not the best suited at dismantling those ideas either.”

“Ah… well, what do you do that encourages him to be a kid?” Danny asked.

“He skateboards, actually. And he enjoys photography, but even that became a goal what with art competitions at school.”

“Maybe take him and Damian on a mini art vacation? Somewhere pretty. Somewhere where it’s not about judges,” Danny suggested. He finally got the last screw seated so he glanced up at Bruce’s thoughtful face.

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “I’ll start looking at what might work. Thank you.”

“Sure, ideas are kinda what I do,” Danny said and motioned to the office around him with the screwdriver.

Bruce’s answering chuckle was low and warm. “I suppose it is. I hope you’re also not overworking yourself.”

“I’m doing much better,” Danny assured Bruce. “I just needed some rest.”

“Which my children made sure you got. I’m still sorry that they kept you so long on Friday.”

It was Danny’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think you really have much control over what they do.”

“No, I really don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I wouldn’t have them any other way.”

“That’s good; they’re a pretty amazing family,” Danny said with a soft smile. “And if I don’t get to be sorry about falling asleep, you don’t get to be sorry about making me rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

“I am a master business man,” Danny teased and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I’ll have to watch for corporate take overs. Keep an eye on the stocks and papers.”

“Maybe. Oh, speaking of… Well, not speaking of but sort of related? You know, I was joking about us making the papers.”

Bruce hummed curiously so Danny set aside his tools to pull up the story that several coworkers had sent him on his table. He spun it to face Bruce. The picture of them in the box was big on the screen. They were pressed almost chest to chest with Bruce’s arms around Danny. It certainly looked incriminating.

“Well shit,” Bruce said with a sigh. He picked up the tablet to scan through the article. There wasn’t anything in it, of course, just wild speculation. “I hope you haven’t been harassed about this by anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who I am to harass me,” Danny said honestly. “Some coworkers have sent me it, but apparently it’s just my luck to have both randomly run into a Wayne and be invited to an event and have one of my ‘spells’ when I’m around them.”

Bruce looked at him with one well manicured brow raised. “You have interesting luck.”

“Yep. It’s been quite a life so far. I was pretty much born into interesting luck and life has really lived up to that luck and died by it,” Danny said with a little chuckle as he took his tablet back.

“I feel concerned by that last part.”

Danny hummed in question, distracted by pulling his notes back up.

“The having died by the luck part.”

“Oh.” Danny smiled, but he knew that expression was less than a happy one. “I think I mentioned that there was an accident when I was a kid?”

Bruce nodded and lean his elbows on the work bench and crosses his arms. “You did. One that is apparently still affecting your pulse to this day.”

“Yes, well,” Danny glanced away from Bruce. Why was it still so hard to talk about. “When I was fourteen, I was electrocuted at at an… industrial level of voltage. Unsurprisingly it killed me. And hey, obviously I came back! But that sort of thing sticks around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Danny looked back at Bruce, honestly startled. In all this time, Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a ‘I’m sorry’ about his accident, not without strings attached. His lips quirked into a smile again. This one felt more pleasant. “Thanks. Trust me though, I’m grateful that life has, had been calmer.”

Whatever Bruce was going to say to that was cut off by a loud yawn, the sound of someone shifting around, and then the unmistakable bang of a limb against the metal legs of one of the workbenches.

Quiet cussing followed a moment later.

“You okay there, Tim?” Danny asked.

“Fine,” Tim hissed back.

“I’m sure I have an instant icepack in my office. We can grab one before we leave,” Bruce said.

“B?” Tim asked, voice noticeably brighter. A moment later he appeared out from under the desk.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry that I had to take that call,” Bruce said as he stepped over to Tim. He reached out to brush the teen’s hair a little straighter.

“It’s fine, it’s Lex, I get it.”

“I know you get it, but that doesn’t mean it has to be fine.”

Tim just shrugged. The action made him notice the the cardigan draped over his shoulders. A little blush rose on his cheeks as he took it off and handed it back to Danny. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for Tim, you weren’t any problem,” Danny assured him. “You’re welcome in my office whenever.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Tim said.

Danny just shrugged with a smile.

“Come on, chum, let’s go find that icepack. We’ll still get to your store before it closes,” Bruce said and started to guide Tim out by the shoulder.

Bruce glanced behind him and Danny gave a little wave to the retreating Waynes.

His luck indeed.

“What happened in Danny’s office that’s bothering you?” Tim asked. He had the icepack pressed against his elbow and was sitting almost sideways so that he could take in all of Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was doing that thing where he was feeling big, complicated emotions and wishing he wasn’t. Tim could read it in the way that Bruce’s shoulders were set, that little bit of tightening under his eyes, and the way he was very purposefully not frowning.

“B,” Tim pressed.

Bruce sighed, the sound all of his air. “I think we should leave Danny alone, both as Waynes and as Bats.”

Tim jolted and scrambled to sit up further. “Wait, what? Bruce, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Bruce assured Tim. “Nothing bad happened. Vicky got a picture of Danny and I at the ballet. We spoke some about it and Danny talked about how he had interesting luck. He said he was grateful that life has been calmer; he had to change that to had.”

“…oh.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to the others about it because you know they won’t listen to you about it.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #danny/bruce #birdritch

2K notes · View notes

devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 1 month ago

Note

Hello would it be possible to do a dick Grayson x reader at the beginning he dates her just to make his ex jealous when he get back with his ex he relise that he fell in love with her so he’s trying to win her back at the end they get back together

Could you also add a moment where dick get jealous and a pov of him. I love some angst moments

Sure is!! Sorry this took so long to get to, I'm in the galapagos islands rn and college has been kicking my ass and winning

Pft, Whatever.

Jealous! Dick Grayson x Reader

Not real warnings other than a bit of angst and a ton of unfaithfulness😋

It was some rainy thursday when you met him.

You were trying to balance two paper coffee cups and your phone while wrestling your umbrella into submission when someone cought it just before the wind did. A smooth voice asked, “Need a hand?” You look up—and there he was.

Dick Grayson.

Letting him help was probably the worst decision of your life.

He was clothed a Gotham University hoodie and sweats, the kind of outfit that shouldn’t look good on anyone and somehow looked sculpted on him. His entire presence was almost like that of a Greek statue. He flashed you a smile, all effortless charm and dimpled mischief, and you were momentarily stunned silent.

“Thanks,” you managed, handing him one of the coffee cups in silent thanks while you got your umbrella under control. Stupid rain. You probably wouldn't have even met if it weren't for the crappy Gotham weather.

“No problem. You looked like you were about to enter mortal combat with that thing.”

You laughed- it was instinctive, disarming. You could feel yourself flushing a little as you took the cup back. He didn't walk away, though. Instead, he stood beside you for a moment, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, glancing up at the stormy sky like it told a joke only he heard.

“Name’s Dick,” he mentioned finally, offering his hand as his eyes met yours again.

You took it. Rooky move. “I know,” you said. “I’ve seen you on the news. And—well—everywhere.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty. You?”

You told him your name, and you were honestly surprised by the way he repeater it, like he was rolling it over in his mouth to make sure it fit. You didn't expect him to remember it.

He did.

You didn't date immediately. At first, it was chance meetings. He showed up at your usual coffee spot. He passed by your bookstore window and waves. Sometimes he'd leave sticky notes on your bike seat—doodles, silly jokes, an occasional riddle. Always signed, “Grayson.”

By the time he asked you out, it felt inevitable.

Your first date was in a quiet rooftop garden above a city building you didn’t even know existed. He brought you takeout—real takeout, greasy Chinese boxes and everything—and you sat on the ledge watching the traffic below, listening to him tell stories you could barely believe were true. You didn't talk about his past or anything heavier than favorite childhood cartoons and worst first dates.

You thought, maybe, he was exactly what you needed. Maybe he saw you as someone real, not a headline or a rebound.

Maybe.

Three weeks in, you woke up to him making breakfast in your kitchen shirtless, humming something familiar. You watched him for a moment—he looks happy. You felt safe. Which, for the record, was a good sign since it was his first time staying the night. You don't think any of your past relationships started off so well, and you certaintly weren't treated breakfast in bed before Dick.

But then came the gala.

You were his date, of course. He introduced you to Bruce, to Tim, to Lucius. All you could do was try your best not to gape at the glittering crowd. Everything felt like a dream, like you were floating on clouds with Dick's arm looped aroynd yours—until she walked in.

She was wearing a red dress that made her look like she stepped off the cover of a high-fashion espionage novel. Her hair was swept to the side in effortless curls, and when her eyes meet Dick’s across the room, you could something in your chest tighten, like the strings of a sharp being tuned just a tad too much. Like the music they played was bound to be off.

You expected her to stay across the room.

You hoped.

She didn't.

“Dick,” she greeted with a voice that was both warm and pointed, her pupils dialating just that slight bit as their eyes met. Then her eyes flicked to you. “And you are?”

You told her your name, smiled, extended a hand. She shook it, but it felt more like a test than a greeting, like she was waiting for it to be wrong. Her hand lingered on Dick’s arm when she laughed at his dumb attempts to start a conversation between the three of you, and your blood simmered a degree hotter every time she touched him.

Everything just felt... Off. Like there was a bit more to their past than he was willing to tell you.

Later that night, in the car, it just felt too heavy. The air was too thick, too hot, and making it feep like your chest was being pressed in against your lungs and heart. “She gets too touchy for my liking.”

It was silent before- not comfortable, but certainly not the worst thing you've experienced with a guy.

Dick glanced at you and laughed—laughed. “Babs? That’s just how she is.”

“Yeah. With you.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes filled with a plea you'd realize later to be complete bullshit before they flickered back to the city streets. “There’s nothing going on between us. Trust me.”

You tried. God, you tried.

You started noticing patterns after that.

The way Dick texts you less when she’s in town. The way he talks about her in the past tense but lights up in the present. The times he cancels your plans with vague excuses that don’t quite add up.

Then comes the night you find the photo.

It’s not even hidden—just tagged on some socialite’s Instagram. Barbara in Dick’s lap, laughing, champagne in hand. His face close to hers. Intimate. Intertwined. Far more emotional than anything he's given you before.

"I was under the impression we were exclusive."

It's a pety text, you know, but there's not much else to do while curled up on your couch near tears over a stupid social media post. Some part of you just hoped it was old, just something that resurfaced once the public started seeing you together just to rile you both up.

But then you saw the chain you got for his birthday dangling from around his neck, pressed right against her cleavage.

He doesn't even respond until nearly 20 minutes later. "Can I come over?"

You almost didn't respond. Hell, you almost didn't see the message from "Birdy Boy💙" through the salty liquid gathering in your tear ducts.

But you did. "Make it quick."

It took him nearly an hour to make it to your apartment.

He blames it on traffic.

You know what he was doing. You know exactly what kind of game he's playing. But deep down, some shriveled part of you tries to believe him.

He doesn’t lie, not exactly. He says he didn’t mean to hurt you. That things with Barbara have always been complicated. That it wasn’t supposed to go this far.

“What wasn’t?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest as you stand in the living room of your apartment. Your throat is raw, and the room is dim. Typically, there would be a much more intimate reason for both of those situations.

He’s silent for a long time, the only sounds coming out of him being his soft breaths. Its rhythmatic, the rise and fall of his chest. It's nearly the same as all the times you've watched it while he slept. “I thought… maybe if she saw me happy, she’d move on. Or maybe—maybe she’d realize she wanted me again.”

He might as well have just taken out your hesrt right there, squeezed it, thrown it to the ground, spat on it, then stomoed it to pieces right there. Your chest is too tight to do anything, your heart pressing against your bones as your ears ring and vision gets slightly misty with tears that just won't fall.

You don’t speak. You can’t.

“So what was I?” you ask finally, voice trembling. You hate that sound. It feels weak, vulnerable... Like he can see right through the calm face you're trying so desperately to keep on. “Your bait? Your mirror?”

He doesn’t answer with anything other than just a short exhale that brings shudders through your spine.

You didn’t need him to. "Get out."

And, for a moment, you catch a glimpse of hesitation in his beautiful blue eyes, a glimpse of something real. But as soon as your eyes meet, he's turning around to leave. As his feet make silent steps toward your apartment door, he slips something out of his pocket and onto your table- the silver chain you got for his birthday.

You don't wait for the door to be fully closed to break down, the sobs racking your body before you even realize they're coming. It's subconscious, the way you still practically chase him like a kicked puppy that just can't get enough until your knees finally give out in front of the door.

You know he's still on the other side, probably mirroring your position sat on the ground leaned against it. You can hear a sharp, shuddering inhale from him just like he can hear your sobs.

You want to open the door. But you don't. Neither of you do.

You didn’t sleep that night.

After Dick left—after the weight of everything he didn’t say sinks into your skin—you sit on the couch, staring into the empty corner where he usually leaves his jacket. The silence in the room presses in like a second heartbeat. You think about every smile, every laugh, every night you thought he looked at you like you were irreplaceable.

He had looked through you the whole time.

You don’t cry again until morning.

And when you do, it’s not soft. It’s gut-deep, shaking, angry crying. It’s the kind of heartbreak you didn’t expect, not this soon, not from someone who had held your hand like it meant something.

He texts once, the next day.

“I’m sorry. You deserve better than what I gave you.”

You stare at the words. You reread them. You can hear his voice saying them in your head. But you don’t respond. Because you do deserve better. You just wish you hadn’t had to figure that out this way.

A week later, the headlines break:

Billionaire's Sonand Commissioner's Daughter Back Together Again! Gotham’s Golden Couple Reunited?

You don’t even click the article.

But the image—her arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead resting against hers—it’s enough.

He never officially ended things with you. But the message is clear. So you pack up the last sweatshirt he left at your place, the book he lent you, the coffee mug he joked was his “claim to your kitchen.” You put it all in a box. You set it outside your door. You stare at it for much longer than you'd ever like yo admit, even two yourself.

You send one message. "Come get your things. That’s the last favor I’ll do for you."

You don’t wait to see if he replies. His number is blocked as soon as the message goes through.

You didn't expect to meet anyone for a long time. You weren't even looking.

But then there was someone.

He's quieter than Dick, a little awkward, but honest in a way that feels grounding. He listens. He asks questions. He doesn't flinch when you mention past wounds, and he never makes you feel like you’re a stand-in for someone else.

With him, things are simple. Peaceful. You don’t lie awake wondering if you’re being compared to a ghost.

When he touches you, it’s tender.

When he kisses you, it’s now.

Dick finds out in the most predictable way: he sees you at a café, holding his hand across the table, laughing.

You don’t even notice him at first. But he notices you, and his heart is practically crushed under a ton of concrete.

You see him that night, waiting by your building’s entrance. Leaning against the wall, the hood of his favorite blue jacket up, jaw tight. You stop walking when you see him.

“What are you doing here, Dick?”

His voice is quieter than you expected, like there's too much tension in the air for him to even utter the words he's thought of a thousand times over since the last time you both spoke. “I wanted to talk.”

You cross your arms, letting out a soft scoff. You're not about to fall for his bullshit again “We don’t really talk anymore, remember?”

He flinches as if he's actually been hurt by your words, but presses on without hesitation. “Is he your boyfriend?”

You blink, completely dumbfounded by the sudden question. Part of you is angry he knows so much about your private life. Another part of you almost wishes he'd do something about what he knows. “Wow. That’s what this is about? You’re keeping tabs on me now?”

“I just—” He drags a hand through his hair, the strands still smooth and black against his skin before letting out a curt sigh. “It’s weird. Seeing you with someone else.”

You step closer, enough for him to hear the edge in your voice. “You’re with Barbara.”

He hesitates, truly hesitates, for the first time since you met. “Yeah. But—”

“No.” Your voice cracks like ice, sending shivers right down Dick's spine. “You don’t get to ‘but’ me, Dick. You made your choice. I wasn’t even your first one.”

His gaze drops, blue eyes meeting the pavement faster than a cannon to the ground.

“I loved you,” your tone is caving, and you feel it down to your bones. Your knees are almost ready to give out on you like the night he left. “I gave you the best parts of me. And you used me to win someone else.”

“That’s not fair—”

“It’s exactly fair,” you snap, raising your voice far more than you ever have at Dick before. “And now that I’m finally happy—actually happy—you think you can just show up and claim a place in my life again?”

“I made a mistake,” he says, shoulders shrugging as if the admission was something so obvious to himself. “A huge one. I thought I needed her back, but what I needed was you. You grounded me. You made me feel real again.”

You stare at him for a long moment. His face is open. Honest. And for a heartbeat, you remember everything good between you.

But then you remember how quickly he gave it away. How quick he was to use your kindness and love to get Barbara back.

“You don’t get to realize that now,” you whisper, the sound nearly carried away by the ambiance of Gotham City around your apartment building. “Not when I’ve already picked up the pieces.”

He reaches for your hand, but you step back to put in the code to your apartment, which, by the way, has certainly changed since the last time you two spoke.

“Goodbye, Dick.”

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #dc #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson angst #dick grayson #richard grayson angst #richard grayson x reader #richard grayson smut #nightwing angst #nightwing and batgirl #nightwing

413 notes · View notes

omgfangirlland · 4 months ago

Text

The Shadows That Nurture 4

I may have girl bossed a bit too close to the sun and finished Chapter 5 and 6 too- I'm not quite happy with those so I'll go through them again before posting Ch5 😅

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 4 >>next

Well, we all knew they would never have time for you. They never do until it’s too late. That’s why funerals are for the living to say goodbye, to mourn, to let go of the guilt. It still hurt… It hurt so much to be brushed off by Alfred, to be ignored by Bruce, to be yelled at by Dick. You couldn’t even think of Jason without tearing up, and Tim was just straight-up mean. But at least he was honest. Cassandra and Barbara’s avoidance hurt the most since they were your only female interaction in years.

Everything you tried to do to prove yourself was, at best, ignored, at worst, compared to someone else and diminished. You had nothing in common with Richard besides knowing a few of the same bands. But that wasn’t enough to raise his interest in interacting with you. Every time he looked at you it was like he was angry and sad at the same time.

Jason and you were so similar. Finally, someone you could relate to, who knew how life on the streets was, how terrifying the big space of the Wayne residence was compared to the lives you once had. And yet he was more interested in Dick, no matter how rude the oldest boy was. You couldn’t blame him, you also wanted Richard’s attention. Your heart felt like it was rolled through needles and lemon juice when Jason got everything you wanted just for you to watch him get buried. Dick was angry when Jason first showed up, jealous, but by the time Jason grew up he was just as angry. You hoped that wouldn’t happen to you.

You were a great student, thriving in your classes and finishing middle school earlier than others, what else were you supposed to do when you had no friends? Of course, that was nothing to Tim’s brilliance. And every time you tried to bond with him on that or show him your achievements it would be a tired “I don’t have time for you.” or an uninterested “I achieved that when I was younger than you.”

Barbara is everything you wanted to be when older, smart, beautiful, had friends and the family's attention. It hurt so much to see her get along with Cassandra but not you, never you. And Cassandra… You tried. You tried to befriend her without overwhelming her, but since the first introduction, she had started ignoring you too, downright leaving the room if you entered it. Bruce went to all her recitals, but he never had time for your galleries or competitions. You stopped asking everyone to come when you found the invites and pamphlets balled up and thrown in the trash bins.

By the time Duke and Stephanie came around you had given up, what use was it? It’ll be another rejection, so you just took care of the garden and did more art, your room overflowing with it. You spent at least half of the monthly allowance Bruce gave, and yet you could still be a millionaire.

You gave up on the Waynes, only speaking to them if they spoke to you. You were done with them, with their secrets, with how they would talk between each other in whispers and then get quiet when you stepped into the room. They’d always look at you like you were a stranger, an enemy. And perhaps you were. So, fuck them. Fuck the boys, fuck the girls, and fuck Bruce and Alfred too.

Sneaking out was the best thing you have done for yourself- sure it was a long way from the Manor to the city and back, but it was all worth it. It was worth it to see the other street kids, to hear their stories, to hang out with the homeless and the girls on their smoke break, it was worth everything when you found your mom’s grave. It was nice, it felt like home.

Was it dangerous? Yes. But as long as you stuck to Red Hood’s territory you were fine, his rule of keeping kids safe seemed to also apply to you. He was nice, even if he never spoke around you beyond hums and grunts, but you enjoyed how gentle he was with the other kid, how he ruffled your hair, and how he helped you clean your mom’s grave. He was nice, and surprisingly so were most other rogues.

Ivy enjoyed helping you with tips for the garden, some of the flowers you grew there on every 13th of the month were made into bouquets for her, your mom’s grave, and Jason’s too. Two-face was surprisingly nice about your inquiry of the law and Penguin enjoyed helping you with your business classes. The Riddler made you want to smash your head against a wall most of the time, but boy was he good with philosophy.

You avoided the Joker like the plague. You couldn’t find it in you to care for him when Harley reminded you so much of your mom when she came with a black eye or busted lip asking if you could take care of Bud and Lou for a jiffy. You could never say no to her.

If Red Hood wasn’t keeping an eye on you, it was Bane or Killer Croc, both men letting you climb and swing from them like a spider. They enjoyed seeing a kid not tremble in fear at the sight of them, despite whatever they may tell you. Mr. Freeze was nice too, lonely like you. Sad you simply couldn’t take the cold for long no matter how many layers you put on.

You loved them all to a degree, but Catwoman always made you feel like her kid, not just a kid. Sometimes you felt guilty for wanting to call her mom, you had a mom. But she made you feel all soft and mushy, calling you her kit, crying with you when you first heard her call you that. She thought she had hurt you, oh, how panicked she was. But her hug was so warm, so loving once she found out that no one had called you their kid in so long. You wish she would steal you away, she does too, but she made a deal with Red Hood. Selina wishes she had just taken you and moved across the country, everyone be damned.

Unknowingly, you had created the garden to hold flowers that reminded you of all of them, even the Waynes. You couldn’t bring yourself to kill their flowers, to make bouquets of them or sell them- you just didn’t have it in you. So, you just kept on growing them, talking to them, and telling those flowers what your alleged family would never listen to. And then Bruce ruined it all.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, exhaustion or paranoia, maybe both? But all Bruce knew he was seeing is his mom’s garden flourishing after years of it being neglected, of Alfred overlooking it at Bruce’s request to focus on what rooms were being used inside the manor instead. He didn’t think twice about grabbing the pesticide designed for Poison Ivy, didn’t think about asking Alfred, about asking the kids, he just reacted.

Bruce was drinking his guilt away in his office, forehead pressed against his desk as one hand held a whiskey glass and the other gripped at his hair. He had never seen his youngest that angry, crying so much-… He wasn’t sure when the last time he saw her smile or hang around the family was.

“What have you done?!” He remembers how pained and angry you sounded as he killed the last flower, his flower. He remembers how he acted, how annoyance rose in him as he explained, and he remembers how his heart fell out of his ass when you said that you took care of the garden and that you spent years building it.

His face remained unmoving as his hands shook, as his jaw clenched, as he could feel the sky crash on his head in tempo with your tears falling down your cheeks. He tried to justify himself, come up with a lie, something that would make him feel less guilty, but- “Yeah?! Well, maybe you would have known if you actually spared a glance in my direction from time to time- You should have left me in an orphanage, no- it should have been you instead of mom!”

You were hurt, you didn’t mean it, he was sure. Even after you went into the manor, crying your heart out, Bruce still sat there. He wasn’t sure what he could do, the pesticide ruined the soil, he didn’t even remember what flowers he saw. The man just went into his daytime office, grabbed his father's liquor, and drank. Bruce knew he should go and apologize and try to talk to you. He poured himself another full glass, instead. Tonight, Batman will be sleeping, and tomorrow Bruce will raise your allowance. If he remembers.

You knew to some degree Bruce didn’t like you, but for him to not even notice that you poured your blood and sweat into that garden when Alfred and even Cassandra did felt like a punch to the gut. You were a good kid, you tried your best to be, so why was this the hand you were dealt? Did he honestly think the flowers in the manor were bought by Alfred? The old man was so busy the last thing on his mind was to buy flowers for the house.

You couldn’t believe him, you could only cry for the lost plants, for one of the three things that brought you happiness. You curled into a ball under the warm duvet, crying into your knees until you could not anymore. The shadows did their best to soothe you, lulling you to sleep as the exhaustion of crying helped them.

Dreams didn’t come easy to you, sure, you had the usual nightmare, but calm dreams were a rare occasion. And this one felt so nice as you drifted in the endless dark space, two figures you couldn’t quite make out helping you stay afloat as they talked… chanted? You weren’t sure. It sounded like Latin, but it also didn’t. No matter, it was soothing, warm, it was what you needed.

You felt light as a feather. You felt free and- you hit your head… The pain not only confuses you but also wakes you up, the throbbing on the side of your head making you groan. Your tired eyes looked around trying to figure out what you hit as your hand rubbed the sore spot.

Maybe you were still dreaming. You must still be dreaming. Panic set into your veins- there was no way this was actually happening, it couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be a meta- Batman hated metas and he worked for your- he worked for Bruce- You were fucked.

It didn’t matter that as soon as it happened and you panicked your body hit the floor so hard it rattled your nightstand, making a framed picture fall and break, it didn’t matter that you didn’t register the pain, or notice that you broke the floorboard where you hid all your diaries and drawings you made for the family- all your brain knew is that you should leave before Batman throws you in Arkham or GSP.

So that’s what you did. You grabbed your sports bag that you used for art supplies, stuffed it with some clothes, your laptop, phone, the chargers, took a few sketchbooks and pens, and the card with Bruce’s money. Not like he’ll notice, he didn’t notice that you spent thousands every other week at a fast-food joint for the homeless and street kids, didn’t notice that you spent millions every other year at retail stores for the same people, he didn’t notice the donations. He was as blind as a bat.

“Leap of faith” is what Superman once said in an interview about how others with the power could learn to take off. “It’s just a leap of faith.” He was right- you almost pissed yourself, but he was right. You understood why he always was floating above the ground; it felt so freeing to fly, circling the manor to the top, feeling the air around you. It was so nice. You should move, fly away, and yet your eyes can’t leave the destroyed garden. You should make a few stops before fully leaving… just a few.

When each of the rogues found one singular flower in their favorite seat, their window sill, on the weapons and cars they owned, all withered and falling apart, they knew what it meant.

Ivy was the first, she knew the second the plants died. After all, she helped keep the plants alive, nothing could thrive on the Wayne land anymore, almost like it was cursed, as if Death herself lived on the grounds. But seeing the burned and greying orange trumpet vine told her everything she needed to know, that it wasn’t you who destroyed them. Bruce Wayne and the Bats didn’t know what was about to come their way.

You’ll miss your friends, the kids, the rogues. You’ll miss Catwoman, but she always told you to be a bit more selfish. This was the moment for that. Doubt settled in at some point, but you had nothing holding you attached to the Waynes, Catwoman couldn’t or just wouldn’t take care of you, it was time to let go and abuse Bruce’s ignorance, make a new life for you where you don’t need to hide in the night for some social interaction.

New York City should be the perfect place for it.

Tag List: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry

#dc crossover #dc x invincible #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #bruce wayne #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #platonic yandere

626 notes · View notes

waywardducks · 5 months ago

Text

Batboy’s favorite dates

All characters are 18 or older ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

Dick<3:

Honestly, where ever you're happy, he's happy. He's pretty outgoing, concerts, amusement parks ect. He likes exciting dates, by he would never say no to a night in with extra cuddles. He likes to lay out options and let you decide, because like I said, what makes you happiest is ultimately what will make him happiest.

“Your favorite band is in town next month, guess who just scored front-row seats!”

Jason<3:

Bookstore trips and quiet days out are Jason’s go to. Maybe a motorcycle ride out to the bookstore, then to a gun expo and home for some homemade dinner and some good old fashion Netflix and chill. He also seems like a 3 am local 24/7 diner date kinda guy.

“Get dressed, we’re going out.” No questions asked.

Tim<3:

Tim is a gamer and hella neurodivergent. A night in playing video games, eating take out, chugging weird monthser and sour candy concoctions, and case file solving is the perfect date. He likes to spoil you too, romantic dinners, long drives to small towns he thinks you’ll love, shopping trips and Galas.

“Hey, put this on. There's a new restaurant I've been wanting try. I think you’ll like it.”

Damian<3:

He’s a man of culture and a rich boy, you know your dates are elite. Art galleries, expensive restaurants, and museums. He loves a quiet date, something peaceful. Aquariums and animal sanctuarys are always a good go to. Maybe a pottery class, a wine and painting date. Anywhere you too can talk quietly and be together.

“The Gotham History Museum has a new ceramics exhibit. Shall we go together?”

Bruce<3:

Bruce is a classy man. Wine tasting at an expensive Italian restaurant, Galas (a new gown of your choice for each one), a day out on his yacht, he’ll fly you to the keys just so you can walk on the beach together. Money isn't an issue for him, he'll start each date with a new piece of jewelry and beautiful flowers.

“These earrings reminded me of you, they match your eyes perfectly.”

480 notes · View notes

mixingandmelting · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! If you are accepting requests right now can you please write how batboys will act around fem! reader when they are in love/crushing on her? Also getting jealous when their crush gives more attention to someone else other than them?

If you are not accepting requests right now then you don't have to write it thank you anyways ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: This was such a classic and fun to write anon! Thanks for the request ❤️

Dick

He constantly craves for your attention, wanting you to look at him as much as he looks and thinks about you. Always keeping you on your toes with affectionate teasing, intentionally pushing your buttons to get you to chase after him, or pulling pranks enjoying how he surprises you using his acrobatic skills and stealth. He even performs parlor-magic tricks including the one where all of a sudden there’s a rose in his hand after brushing the stray hair behind your ear and tucking it into your hair. He loves how adorable you look when annoyed as much as hearing you praise him from being impressed, but the fact he can get you to focus on him and only him sends him over the moons.

When he gets jealous, he tries not to get obvious. He behaves as if he’s also interested in the other person you’ve been giving your attention to, asking about mundane things to see how you feel and think of them. But when your replies are filled with positives and not the typical meh, he gets moody and might leave to brood for a bit. He doesn’t appreciate competition when he’s busting his butt to win you over, desiring to be the only person in your eyes and heart. When you’re talking to them, he casually slides into the conversation and acts normal. Body relaxed, cracking jokes and laughing. Everything seems fine except he stays close to your side, where if you move a bit, he moves too so he stays exactly where his spot is- right next to you.

Jason

The way he acts is as if he’s back being the second Robin prior to his death. The jokes he cracks and the replies he gives are more light-hearted while found more frequently, genuinely smiling and laughing when with you. He’s a bit more mindful with what or how he states things, not wanting to hurt you. This includes him getting apologetic if his words come out too rough. One could argue he’s being shy and self-conscious if only he was actually self-aware he’s acting like this. He knows how to act charming, having picked up girls a few times. Having a crush, though, is a completely new, uncharted-territory for him. The only thing that comes in his mind is to show his best sides, hoping that he won’t scare you off and he’d be able to stay with you longer while making you happy when he’s around.

He is not good at handling jealousy at all. There’s tension in his body and gets smart-mouthed whenever he attempts to break the conversation going between the other person and you. Luckily for him, his behavior comes off as him being sassy since he does restrain himself as he’s in front of you. Eventually he gets the other to scram as he continues to stand behind you, sending an intimidating glare that’s backed up by his height and muscles. He’s more quiet and stiff, getting extra sarcastic and a bit dark humored in his replies when you won’t stop talking about them, hating and irritated by the ugly emotions he has. Even more so when it’s not actually your fault, it’s his for being in love with you.

Tim

He’s very attentive towards you. Always texting you, seeing how things are, wanting to know if you’re okay while sending a message back as soon as he gets one from you, basically making himself your go-to texting buddy. He’s quick to pick out your likes and dislikes, keeping a mental note of them whenever he’s inviting you to go somewhere or getting you something. He acts a bit impulsive subconsciously, giving you a hug out of the blue when he gets excited or nerding out over something or grabbing your hand so he can get you to see one of the best scenes he knows you’ll ever see. He won’t ever admit it but he tends to be extra when skateboarding in front of you, enjoying how you get awestruck with the tricks he shows.

When you’re giving someone else more attention, he slides into the conversation and will try to turn the conversation away from you. Polite business smile that doesn’t reach his eyes while standing close, right next to you, yes he is intentionally trying to imply something without you knowing . When you talk about them, he listens but snorts and does not agree with any good comment you make. May drop some questions here and there to see what you think of them. The only reason it only goes that far though is because he already did a background check on them, so he can get a good idea if the other party is within the realm of your interest or not.

Duke

He’s extremely jumpy and hyper aware. Physical touching is a no-go where he’ll flinch, jump, or stiffen up. Literally, if you accidentally brush hands against his, he’s shooting that hand up as if he’s raising his hand for class. His face is on fire if you get too close and when he talks with you, he’s needing to put in twice the effort to pay attention to what you’re saying since his mind keeps trailing off on how good you looked for today. Thankfully he’s able to still act like himself whenever you guys talk, still being sarcastic and real. Just, he comes off as being weird making him wonder why he can’t act naturally and play things down-to-earth.

If you’re paying attention to someone more than him whether it’s talking about them more than usual (in his perspective) or talking with them physically (again in his perspective), he’s the type to get uncomfortable and portray unease. Contrary to his usual sarcastic self, he gets quiet and at some point might try to change the topic to something else. He doesn’t interrupt the conversation when you’re talking with the other person since he doesn’t know how to act in situations without making you realize he has a crush on you. He does manage to stay polite when he’s suddenly mentioned or dragged into the conversation, but there’s a lot of awkwardness because he doesn't want to continue talking with them.

Damian

He’s extremely hot and cold, acting exactly how little kids tend to act around their crush. He teases you a lot, making so many remarks and snarky comments over things that aren’t even significant. He absolutely loves to show off the things he’s capable of doing in all fields, wanting to hear you and just you on how amazing he is. He is very possessive of you where if you got a new pen or eraser from someone, he’ll get rid of it and replace it with or without you noticing with something he gets you instead. It only happened once or twice though. He usually intercepts it before the gift gets to you.

It’s because of this, he gets jealous really easily. When you’re giving more attention to someone, he’ll be sending them the look that shows that the other signed a visit from death. That or one that screams for the other to leave or else. He’ll be criticizing starting from hair to shoes, nothing left behind. He’ll go low enough and start a childish fight with you over how you’re constantly talking about the other party, bringing them up in every conversation. And it’s only because he feels as though you aren’t appreciating his presence in your life, feeling threatened that you’d not want to be with him anymore because he isn’t good enough.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #duke thomas #duke thomas x reader #dc signal #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #tim dake #red robin dc #red robin x reader

589 notes · View notes

messenger-of-babel · 3 months ago

Note

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

393 notes · View notes

w0rmss · 3 months ago

Text

Jason todd nsfw alphabet

sorry for another one of these. I have no ideas and am lowkey sick rn so these are easy.

But feel free to request anything guys I got no ideas so please feed me so I can feed you or something profound like that.

I also am very into the kinda Jason that isn't sex mad but just enjoys it and enjoys his partner wanting and enjoying it.

Anyways enjoy

A: Aftercare: Great at it. Anything you need he's got for you. Anything your didn't know you want he's also got for you. Waiting on you hand and foot after pound town

B: Body part. He doesn't have a favourite body part of his he has such a love hate relationship with his body. He loves your collarbone and the crock of your neck. He loves to kiss there or bury his face and inhale you.

C: Cum. He likes to come inside. Condom or not it's just cleaner that way and less fumbling. He also finds it more intimate

D: Dirty little secret. He loves the romantic parts of your sex life. The soft sex the movie make outs the calm things. He has this big tough exterior but he really loves the soft sweet moments

E: Experience. Now controversial take. He has a bit of experience but isn't like crazy crazy experienced like a few exes here or there maybe an odd in night stand. But he ain't dick tim or bruce level experienced

F: favourite position. Missionary basic but he likes to see your face or be able to bury hid head in your neck. He also likes lotus which is where you basically sit cross legged and your partner sits on top. Same reason

G: Goofy. He's serious. Like he's focused on getting you off and making sure you have a good time he's not young around

H: Hair. Very very well groomed. Not balled but neat not a hair out of place

I: Intimacy. As I've stated he's very intimate. He loves seeing your face kissing you passionately etc

J: jacking off. No. He just doesn't need to he has you and craves the Intimacy of sex more so than sex sex

K: Kinks. Very very vanilla but enjoys overstimulating you

L: location. Bed. Or couch he's very private maybe in the shower if you ask but he prefers the softer quite spaces

M: Motivation. If you're in the mood then so is he. Sometimes it's just when a make out gets to much and he needs more too

N: Nos. Pain or exhibitionism

O: Oral. Giver. Massive giver like will come in his pants from giving you head

P: Pace. Slow and deep.

Q: Quickies. Not really. If you want one he's happy to but he diesn really like them he prefers taking his time and showing you all the love he can

R: Risks. He's not risky at all. Like he might try something small if you ask but he's not bring nothing to the table

S: Stamina. 3 plus rounds

T: Toys. Not really if you want to sure but he loves seeing you get off because of him

U: Unfair. He's not a tease at all. But he will 'accidentally' overstimulate you

V: Volume. Quiet a few grunts and moans here and there but they're not very loud

W: Wild card. As said he has gotten off to going down on you and he fucking loves it. It's his favourite way to get off

X: X ray. Big boy like thick and veiny round 7 inches give more so than take

Y: Yearning. He does really seek sex as I've said but he always wants to be touching you in some way sexual or not. Holding hands hands on yiru hips lips on your neck.

Z: zzz. He likes to watch you fall asleep before he does. Knowing your happy and safe makes him feel happy and safe.

Thank you hope you enjoyed

Feel free to request like reply repost. I love all the support I get from you guys thank you.

Stay safe

Have a wonderful day night afternoon etc

#fanfic #dc x reader #reqs open #x reader #dc smut #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd smut

195 notes · View notes

wbbpls · 2 months ago

Text

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 11

Word count: 4300 another day of them hopelessly falling in love and being dumb about it. Only 2 more days before the wedding day...will they figure it out?

After getting massages, Azzi met up with the wedding party to finish planning the party tomorrow night. Then, the girls spent the rest of the day by the pool. The wedding is in three days, so they’re enjoying the calm while they can before going back to school. Azzi was floating on an inflatable, quietly enjoying herself—almost too quietly. As soon as Azzi started considering why it was quiet and where Paige might be, she was suddenly flipped over into the water.

When she came back for air, she immediately recognized Paige’s laugh mixed with her brother's.

“What the hell?!”

“Sorry, baby, we just had to. You looked too peaceful.”

“It was Paige’s idea!” Jon and Jose say in unison.

“What?! Bro, it was deadass not my idea.”

“Really, Paige?” Azzi gave her a stern look, trying not to crack a smile.

“No, no, it was Tim’s idea! I swear on my knee.” Jose and Jon can’t stop laughing, and they can hear Tim cackling in the background.

“It doesn’t matter who’s idea it was. You still did it. Plus, you got me all wet.” Azzi crosses her arms.

As soon as Paige smirked, Azzi realized the words had left her mouth. “Oh yeah, did I?”

Azzi starts blushing profusely. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You sure bout that, mama?” Paige puts her hands on Azzi’s waist, pulling her in.

“Ew, dude, that’s my sister.” Jose splashes water at Paige, getting Azzi even more wet.

“Okay, that’s it! I’m done here.”

“Ugh, see what you did?” Paige splashes him back.

“Nah, just go be your simp self, and she’ll be fine.” Paige rolled her eyes and went to the edge of the pool, watching Azzi walk and sit down on the lounge chair.

“P, stop staring.” Paige put her head down on the palm of her hands, smiling back at Azzi.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Azzi couldn’t stop herself from smiling at the flirting and attention she’d been receiving from Paige since their massage. “Alright, Paige, c’mon. Come join me.”

“Gladly, pretty girl.” Paige pushes off the side of the pull, showing off the muscles in her arm, then the tightening of her abs. Azzi couldn't look away even if she tried. As Paige stands up, she notices Azzi looking down her body and smirks.

“Enjoying the view?”

“W-what, no! Ugh you’re so cocky.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Paige grabs a towel, half-dries off, and sits next to Azzi.

“Paige, you’re getting me all wet again. And don’t be a smart ass.” Azzi throws another towel at her while Paige bends over laughing.

When she catches her breath, she shrugs and says, “Hey, I guess I just have that effect on you.”

“Not another word, Bueckers.”

“Alright, alright.”

Azzi picked up her book to continue reading. She got through one whole page before Paige started bothering her again.

“Hey, Azzzzziiiiiii.”

“Yes, Paige?”

“Wanna do somethin’ fun tonight?”

“Hm, like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s an arcade or somethin’ nearby. I have felt lost without competition these past few days. I could really use beating you at something.”

“Okay first, rude. But also, that sounds fun, so fine.”

“Aye, that’s wassup.” Paige excitedly stands to gather their stuff and, sadly for Azzi, puts her clothes back on.

“Yo, Jose and Jon! We goin’ to an arcade tonight. Wanna come so I can beat your asses?”

Azzi mutters under her breath, “Oh god, what did I just sign up for?”

“Nah, baby, it’s gonna be fun. Wanna invite some of the wedding party and make it a thing?”

“Sure, Paigey, I’ll text Jake, and he’ll probably get everything together,” Azzi replies softly, enjoying the term of endearment.

“Bet.”

====================================

The girls, Azzi’s brothers, Jake and his girlfriend, and a few other people from the wedding party joined them at a local arcade. This isn’t typically Azzi’s scene, but Paige turns into a happy little kid at arcades, and who is she to deprive her of that?

“Oh, shit they got laser tag!”

“I call dibs on shooting Paige and Azzi!”

“Damn Jon, you were a lil too ready to go there,” Paige says as she fills out her waiver.

They all start to put on the vests as they listen to the instructions. Paige leaned over to whisper in Azzi’s ear, “Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll protect you.”

It’s like Paige has been determined to get Azzi to blush this entire day, and each time Azzi gets flustered, it gives her more and more confidence. Might be time to humble her a little bit.

“Oh yeah? You gonna be my night in shining armour?”

“As long as you’re my princess.” Okay, yeah, Paige won that one.

The teams split up, starting on the respective sides of the room. Once the buzzer sounds, telling them to go, Paige screams at the top of her lungs “LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOO!”

It's moments like these that Azzi finds herself falling for Paige. Moments like this tell her that Paige isn’t just a best friend. Paige is sprinting, jumping, and rolling as she dodges and shoots everyone. Azzi will never tell her, but she’s surprisingly good at this. Azzi got both of her brothers out twice, so now they were on the hunt for her. They started to sneak up on Azzi, and then suddenly Paige dove in front of her, shooting both of her brothers and getting shot herself. Azzi runs to kneel down next to Paige.

“Paige! Are you okay? I can’t believe you just dove like that to stop them from shooting me. You could have gotten hurt!”

“Anything for my princess.”

Their eyes are locked in as everything around them fades away. Paige’s eyes dropped down to Azzi’s lips. “Do I get that true love’s kiss for saving you?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Azzi closes the gap, softly kissing her. Paige moves her hand to go behind Azzi’s neck. Before either girl could deepen the kiss, their vests light up red, and they hear a loud beep. When they break apart, Jon and Jose are standing over them with evil smiles.

“That’s what you get for bein’ a simp!”

“That’s it. Y’all better run.” Paige books it towards them, and Azzi adds this moment to her list of reasons why it's so easy to be in love with Paige. Azzi froze, realizing the thought she had. She just admitted to herself that she’s in love with her best friend. And for the first time, that didn’t scare her.

The lights turn back on, signaling the end of their game. Their team won by a landslide, thanks to Paige, giving her an ego boost no one needed. They all split up, playing games until Jose comes up to them.

“Guys, there’s basketball! Bet I can beat you both.”

Azzi laughs, “That’s actually comical. Let’s go beat these idiots.” The girls high-five and make their way over.

Jose pushed Jon out of the way, “I call takin' down Paige. You can deal with Azzi.”

“Bro, you know that’s not even equal.”

“I’m literally right here.”

Azzi couldn't help but laugh at their banter and rub Paige’s back. Azzi grabs Paige’s chin, turning her head to kiss her. “You got this, baby.”

Now flustered, Paige scans her player card to start the game with a dopey smile on her face. She’s still smiling at Azzi and doesn’t even notice the timer started.

“Distracted over there, Bueckers?” Jon laughs at her.

“Oh shit.” Paige focuses in and starts draining shots, catching up to Jose. In the last second, Paige lost by one point.

“I BEAT PAIGE BUECKERS AT BASKETBALL!”

“What, no?! You cheated.”

“How did I cheat?”

“I was distracted when we started.”

“It’s not my fault you’re whipped for my sister.”

“Nah, rematch. Right now.”

“Whatever, fine. Azzi, maybe you should leave so she can actually shoot.”

“My girl ain’t no problem,” Paige winks as she wraps her arm around Azzi’s waist. “How about another kiss for good luck?”

Although caught off guard momentarily, Azzi got excited by the idea. “I don’t know...that last one wasn’t too helpful.”

“And?”

Fair point. Azzi leans in to close the gap. As Paige went to move, thinking it would just be a peck, she grabbed her face and pulled her in for a longer kiss.

“Now that’s lucky.”

“Can you guys stop making out so we can play, jeez.” Paige kisses Azzi’s temple and moves to scan her player card again. They both zone in, and without any distractions, Paige beats Jose by a landslide. When the buzzer goes off, Paige jumps up and down and then runs over to Azzi, picking her up and spinning her around. Giggles take over as Paige trash-talks Jose and leans against the table behind them after she puts Azzi down.

“Okay, okay, Azzi, you’re up. Get ready to lose.” Jon says as he trades places with Jose. Paige leans against the table behind them after she puts Azzi down.

“Real confident for someone who misses every other shot.” Azzi starts to walk over but then feels hands wrap around her wrist, pulling her in. She spun into Paige, settling between her legs.

“Kiss for good luck, mama?”

Azzi beams and kisses Paige again. If you could even call it that, considering she can’t stop smiling. She pulls back and kisses Paige on the tip of her nose. “Thanks, cutie.”

Paige couldn't take her eyes off Azzi, mesmerized by her smile and confidence. She didn’t miss a single shot, and each one was all net.

Standing next to Paige, Jose is smiling in disbelief. “Damn, that was—”

“Hot.” Something about hearing Paige so openly call her hot made her mouth go dry.

“Dude, that’s still my sister.”

Without taking her eyes off of Azzi, Paige responds, “The truth is the truth, Jose.”

“Okay, we can’t do this anymore. You guys are gross.”

After a few more games, the group makes their way back to the property. Most of Azzi’s family is chatting in the lobby and drinking wine. The girls each pour a glass and join in. Azzi sits next to Katie, and Paige joins Tim on the other side of the room.

“Hey, sweetie. How was the arcade?”

“Really good. We beat the hell out of Jon and Jose.”

“Real shocker there.”

“Hey, Mom, can I, uh, talk to you about something?”

“Sure, wanna go for a walk?”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

Kaite and Azzi stood with wine glasses while walking around the large lobby. On their way out, Paige caught Azzi’s eye, offering her a smile as if to say, “I’m here.”

“I really need to tell you something, and I don’t know how to, so now I’m just so confused.”

“Just say what you need to say, Azzi.”

“I’m in love with Paige.”

“Okay...? I’m sorry, but what’s the problem here?”

“Paige and I aren’t actually together.” Katie looked at Azzi as if she had two heads. Azzi started babbling off an explanation as fast as she could, “I know, I know, I can explain. I just was so tired of the whole family constantly hounding me about my dating life and everything thought we were dating anyway so I went along with it, and now we’ve been pretending to be together all week, and nothing about it feels fake, and I don’t know what to do.” Azzi lets out a deep breath once she finishes explaining everything.

“Wow, alright. That’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m really sorry for lying to you, Mom.”

“It’s okay, Az. Our family, especially your aunt, can be annoying, so I can’t even blame you. Look, I get all of this can be confusing, but honestly, I’ve been waiting years for you guys to finally get your act together and admit to being in love with each other.”

“Wait, really?”

Katie laughs at Azzi’s shock. “You guys have always just clicked. There’s something special there, so of course, once you guys cross that line, it opens up even more feelings.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way and I ruin everything?”

“Azzi, I love you, but if you really think that girl isn’t head over heels for you, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.”

“You never noticed that any girl Paige started to date got jealous of the two of you, and the second they weren’t nice to you, she dumped them?”

“Okay, well, they objectively sucked.”

“Fine, what about how many flowers and little gifts she buys you?”

“She’s a giver. She gives to everyone.”

“Where are my flowers then?”

“Ugh, if she really wanted this, she would have said so. She’s so much more experienced with this stuff than I am and always so confident. She would have made a move by now.”

“Azzi, you and I both know that’s not true. You’re just using it to validate insecurities.”

“Well, you don’t hold back, do you?”

“You’re everything to her, Azzi. What if she’s scared of ruining everything, too? You’re her constant. You’re what keeps her safe. You’re one of the only people she lets see her, really see her. Sure, Paige is all confidence, but how much of that is protection?”

“I guess I never thought of it that way. I know I’ve always seen her differently and Caroline has been on my ass about it since forever, but like, everyone saw this but us?”

“Dumb and in love, I guess.” Katie smiled at her daughter and pulled her in for a hug.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, kiddo. Let’s get back to that crazy blonde. She’s probably hit her limit on time away from you.”

When they returned to the main area, Tim and Paige sang loudly as they poured another glass.

“How long were we gone, and how many drinks have they had?”

“AZZIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Azzi giggles and walks up to Paige. “Hi, drunkie.”

“Hey, babygrl, I missed you.” Paige kissed the side of her head and pulled her onto her lap.

“We’ve been together all day, P.”

“Okay, and? You didn’t miss me?” She says with a pout. Azzi’s heart melts, and she brushes her hair out of Paige’s face.

“Yeah, I missed you.”

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“Me too, P.” Azzi traces her fingers down Paige’s arm and plays with the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. The feeling of Azzi all over her sends Paige deep into the clouds. Maybe it wouldn’t be like this next week, but she would take advantage of it while she could.

“Mm, that feels good, Az.” Seeing Paige’s eyes flutter closed as she relaxed into her made Azzi think about what her mom had said. They’ve always been each other’s safe space. Why should this be any different? Azzi leans in to kiss Paige. She very quickly kisses Azzi back. They’re still aware that Azzi’s whole family is around them, so they break apart and lean their foreheads on each other.

“You’re really good at that.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, P.”

“Yeah, but I think I’m gonna need some more practice.”

“Oh, yeah? That could be arranged.”

“It’s a date.”

“A date, huh?”

“How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“The dinner provided by my cousin?”

“Hey, it’s food.” Azzi rolled her eyes and went to stand up, teasing Paige, but she was quick to pull her back down.

“Wait, I promise to buy you a legit dinner, just us, after the wedding, okay?”

“After the wedding?”

“Yeah, Az, after.”

“I’d like that.” The girls smile at each other and then return to the conversations around them. Once Paige finished her fourth glass of wine, Azzi stood up, grabbed Paige’s wine glass, and pulled her by her hand. “Alright, I think that’s enough for you. Goodnight, everyone!”

“Hey, I was drinking that!”

Azzi ignored her and kept pulling her towards the elevator. Once she pressed the button, Paige wrapped around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “You coulda just said you wanted alone time, mama.”

The elevator doors opened, and Paige wouldn’t detach herself from the younger girl. Once the door closed, Paige started to give Azzi open-mouth kisses on her neck, causing Azzi's breath to hitch.

“You’re so fuckin pretty, Az”

“Mm, P.”

Azzi turned around, connecting their lips, taking her time kissing Paige. Paige pushed her forward, letting Azzi’s back hit the wall. Their kiss becomes deeper as their breaths become heavier. Paige bit Azzi’s bottom lip and sucked, causing a loud moan to come out. Azzi grabbed Paige’s hips and quickly changed their positions, pushing Paige up against the wall. She immediately attached her lips to Paige’s neck.

“Fuck, that feels so good.”

Azzi kisses under her ear and whispers, “You like that?”

“So fuckin’ much.” Paige moans out breathlessly.

“Mm, good to know,” Azzi says smugly. She goes back to kiss her neck, but then the elevator dings. The girls start laughing, and Paige grabs her hand. “Let’s go, beautiful.”

There’s a thick tension between them as they walk down the hallway. While Azzi unlocks the door, Paige’s phone starts going off. Suddenly, Paige’s entire demeanor changed.

Paige’s whole body tensed, seeing all the headlines about her. Will she be able to bring home a national championship? Does she really deserve to hold the #1 draft slot? The past month, the pressures of everything have been crashing down on her, crushing her underneath endless expectations. She’s been so good at pushing it all aside, but those glasses of wine certainly didn’t help. This past week, being with Azzi, she forgot about it all. She finally felt like a normal person again.

“You okay, Paigey?”

Paige snapped out of her thoughts, remembering how much she enjoyed Azzi.

“Y-yeah, for sure.”

Azzi looks at her phone, reading the same headlines Paige read.

“Paige, you know all that stuff is just outside noise, right?”

“I mean, is it? They have a point. How can I be #1 pick with no natty? Like, even saying that out loud sounds crazy.”

“Because you’re amazing, Paige. You’ve earned that spot, with or without the championship.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No, not whatever, P. C’mon, talk to me.”

Paige knew she should just talk to Azzi about it all. But telling her how she’s felt makes it all too real. Azzi has been nothing but supportive to her; she doesn’t deserve to hear all of Paige’s ungrateful complaints. Paige starts to feel heavy in the silence between them, so she does the one thing that’s worked all week. She kisses Azzi.

Azzi was caught off guard, but then kissed her back. She could not resist Paige, but she could feel the frustration, anger, and sadness in Paige’s kiss. She pulls back, “Paigey, talk to me.”

Paige shakes her head no while focusing on Azzi’s lips with dilated dark blue eyes. She’s so tired of feeling like this, like she has no control over her life. She just wants to not feel like this for one minute. She pulled Azzi back in for a rough kiss, pouring any emotion she had left into the kiss.

“Pai—”

“Azzi, it’s fine. I’m fine.” Paige pushed back, grabbing at the back of Azzi’s neck to kiss her again. Azzi has no idea what to do. She’d never seen this side of Paige before. If she doesn’t want to talk, she takes it out on exercise and finds her way back to Azzi by the end of the day. Azzi kisses her back because it’s evident that’s what Paige needs right now. But the voice in the back of her head knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Azzi pulls back harder this time, sternly saying her name, “Paige.”

“Please, Azzi baby, I need you right now.” Something about the vulnerability takes over the logical voices in Azzi’s head, and she kisses Paige back. Paige smiled under Azzi’s initiative and pushed her against the wall, kissing down her neck. She stops right under Azzi’s ear, biting and soothing the sting over with her tongue.

“P-paige, fuck.” This just spurs Paige on, and she shoves her leg in between Azzi’s and starts grinding into her.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, mama.” Paige displayed her strength by picking Azzi up and walking her over to the bed. Azzi grips at her shoulders, taking in the feeling of Paige all over her. Their kisses turn sloppy as their tongues fight for dominance. This is all Azzi has wanted, but something feels wrong. When her back hits the bed, the voices warning her to stop this come front and center.

Azzi moves her lips off of Paige, which Paige takes as an opportunity to kiss her neck again. Paige is lost in her head, desperately trying to push back all her negative feelings. But any insecurity and doubt she’s ever had is fighting back full force. Azzi is the only thing she’s ever had that is good and pure. She needs all of Azzi. Paige starts to move her hand down to the top of Azzi’s jeans when Azzi’s brain finally catches up with her.

“Paige, stop.”

Paige freezes, her dark blue eyes now looking so lost. “You don’t want this, do you?”

“W-what no, Paige, hold on.”

“Fuck, I’m so stupid,” Paige says with tears ready to fall at any moment and removes herself from Azzi, to sit at the edge of the bed. Of course the one thing Paige thought would always be good in her life, she fucked up too.

“Paige, stop, that’s not it I jus—”

“Azzi, it’s fine. I messed up; no need for you to fix this, too. Just drop it.” Paige feels guilt more than anything now for putting Azzi in this position. She was so desperate to run from her feelings that now she was just hurting herself and her best friend in the process.

“P...”

Azzi isn’t even sure what the right thing to say right now is. She wants to admit her feelings for Paige. Let her know that she’s all she wants, but there’s obviously something going on that she can’t understand.

“I’m sorry for fucking this all up, Azzi,” Paige whispers and drops her head into her hands, resting on her knees.

“Paige, you didn’t fuck anyhting up. Please, just listen to me, baby.”

Paige’s tense shoulders relaxed at the term of endearment as Azzi rubbed her back. Maybe she didn’t totally push her away.

“Look at me, P.” Paige hesitates but finally turns to look at Azzi, feeling some sense of relief and fear at the look in Azzi’s eyes. She’s not sure she can handle any more rejection.

“Paige, please, just talk to me. You’ve been on and off reacting like this all month, overdoing workouts and spending all night in the gym. I want to be here for you, Paigey, but I can’t if you don’t let me in.

Paige lets that sit, really sit. She knows Azzi is right and feels like she's ripping at the seams and trying to hold it all in.

Azzi almost didn’t hear Paige respond with her tear-filled whisper, “I’m not good enough.”

“Oh, Paige, come here.” Azzi opened her arms, and her best friend fell into her, sobbing. “I wish you could see yourself like I do. You’re more than enough, P; you’re everything. People will always have something to say, and half the time, they’re not even right. You constantly have so much pressure on you, so please let me take it off you.”

Azzi lets the older girl sob in her arms. “Let it all out, baby, I’ve got you.”

“I-I’m s-so scared to f-fail.” Paige grips onto Azzi’s shirt like it's her lifeline, desperately trying to catch her breath between her tears.

“It’s okay to fail sometimes, Paige. It’s what makes you stronger. It’s what makes you the Paige we all fell in love with.” The Paige I fell in love with is on the tip of Azzi’s tongue.

“I’m so scared of letting everyone down.” Paige finally looks up at her, with her beautiful bright blue eyes filled with tears streaming down her face.

“I know, love, it’s a lot to hold onto by yourself. Let me hold onto it with you. If you let fear take over your life, you’ll find yourself at the bottom of a hole you dug yourself. We need to find your drive and passion again, and I promise you that the rest will come naturally. You’re never alone as long as I’m here.”

Paige lets her words settle, really taking them in before whispering, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Azzi says softly, cradling Paige’s face. Something about it felt like a promise.

“C’mon, P, let’s get you to bed.”

The girls get in their PJs and slip under the covers.

“Az?” Paige turned to face her best friend.

“Yeah?”

“Can you, uh, c-can you hold me?” This isn’t the confident Paige everyone is used to seeing. This is the Paige only Azzi has the privilege to see.

“Of course, P.” Azzi opened her arms, and Paige immediately shuffled her way into Azzi, grabbing her shirt again for comfort.

“I’m sorry, Az.”

“Don’t be. You’re always my best friend before anything. I’ll always be here for you.” Azzi squeezed her tighter, emphasizing her words.

“Yeah, best friends.” Paige shoved her head further into Azzi’s neck, holding back more tears. Azzi runs her fingers through Paige’s hair and kisses her temple.

“It’s gonna be okay, P.”

Azzi isn’t sure who she's trying to reassure more, Paige or herself.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

228 notes · View notes

niwaart · 3 months ago

Note

Niwa when you'll update the See what I can do? I miss reader being menace! 😭

See what I can do

It had been a month since Bruce had taken Y/N to Leslie, and Leslie had been sending him reports about Y/N's condition every other day. According to Leslie's reports, Y/N's behavior was getting better day by day, which was good, but there was a new problem in Gotham, and that was Red Hood. Bruce was trying to figure out who Red Hood was, because it was clear that this was not the first time he had met him, he was always one step ahead of Batman, Richard tried to help, Tim was with the Titans now and Batman always needed help.

The problem is how does Red Hood know all of Batman's plans? He didn't understand, he tried to catch him over and over again, but failed, he tried to figure out why Red Hood was targeting certain people and killing them, but there was no common link in this matter, he was dealing with drug dealers, so why did he kill the head of a charity organization? Was it a random target? At one point all his crimes were linked to whether they were criminals or drug dealers, and suddenly he kills someone outside the world of crime, the matter gave Bruce a headache.

"Come on Bruce, you need to get some rest" Richard said as he wheeled the chair around the cave. "I’ll get some rest when I put that criminal in jail" Bruce said in a hoarse, tired voice, he hadn’t slept in over three days trying to catch Red Hood. "You’ll tire yourself out like this, and you won’t be able to catch Red Hood" Richard said as he moved towards Bruce.

Bruce ignored Richard's words and kept watching the security cameras hoping to find out something or notice something, but the night ended in failure and no evidence was found. The next day a shocking message arrived that sent Bruce into another headache, it was from Leslie saying that Y/N was ready to go home. It had been a month or so since Y/N had been out of the house, and the house had been beautifully quiet for Bruce, so her return would mean trouble... but he had no choice. Bruce told Alfred and Richard the news so they could be prepared for any trouble to come.

And indeed Y/N arrived home and everyone was shocked by Y/N's complete change. Upon arriving she hugged Bruce and said "Dad", then hugged Alfred who was so happy that his eyes teared up, then she apologized to Richard who was shocked and moved as well. Can a person change in a month? Bruce couldn't remember seeing Y/N smile so sweetly before. He would have to thank Leslie later.

But just because one problem is gone doesn't mean all is solved. Red Hood is still on the loose, and he has to catch him as soon as possible. So after talking to Y/N who was asking him how he was, which was unexpected for Bruce who was still in shock, he went to the Batcave to gather more evidence.

"Here let me help you carry the bag." Richard said looking at Y/N’s bag. "Oh, thank you, but there’s no need for that and also you and dad look tired, so I don’t want to burden you." Y/N smiled gently at Richard who felt a little embarrassed and said, "Actually I want to apologize to you." Y/N was surprised by Richard’s words and continued, "I still regret what I did to you in the past, it wasn’t nice of me to break your hearing aid, I’m really sorry." Richard lowered his head in embarrassment. "It’s okay Richard I also threw your favorite doll into the fire, so I made a mistake too, I’m sorry too… I think we’re even, right?" Y/N said laughing which made Richard laugh too. "You’re right… By the way, you can call me Dick, since we’re not enemies anymore."

Richard chatted with Y/N as they walked up the stairs to Y/N's room, after Y/N reached her room and said goodbye to Richard then entered her room as soon as she entered and closed the door she sighed in exhaustion. "Damn that bastard, he made me apologize to him twice in a row! Bastards to the fullest." She put her bag in the corner of the room then lay on her bed to rest the she woke up on a knock on her door, Alfred was outside wondering if she wanted to have dinner with them, Y/N sat on the bed and looked at her face in the mirror in front of her then smiled gently and opened the door for Alfred, "Oh, Alfred you didn't have to bother yourself, but I would gladly." Alfred smiled then went downstairs to the dining room and Y/N followed him silently. She sat on the chair she usually sits in, in front of Bruce's seat. Bruce and Richard were already there and had started eating. Y/N greeted them with a smile then thanked Alfred for the food and started eating silently.

After finishing dinner and wishing everyone a good night, Y/N went to her room, opened the window, and sat on her bed with her computer, searching the internet for the latest news in Gotham. Time passed until she heard someone climb the window and whisper her name. Y/N immediately got up from her bed and went to the window excitedly, then she immediately pulled the person into her room... "The security of this place is weaker than I expected." The person said in a muffled voice because of the helmet on his head, then looked at Y/N who said, "Yeah, nice to see you again, Jason."

@crazycaoticsimp @randomlyappearingartist @ninihrtss @lovebug-apple @artistwithcreativeburnout @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @hopingtoclearmedschool @eyeless-kun @s4raahi @roseytheteacup @jsprien213 @uu-uuu @devilslittlehelper @trouble-sistar @redkarmakai

383 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Text

With You, Even When I'm Not

Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.

Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 5.5k+ words

A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.

- 8 Hours Ago -

Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.

“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” you counter.

“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”

“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”

“Sure.”

Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.

“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.

“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”

You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.

“Have a good one,” you tell him.

“Be careful,” he replies.

You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.

“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.

“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”

Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.

“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”

“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.

“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.

“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”

“Oh. Uh, should we-“

“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”

“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”

“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”

“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”

Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.

“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”

“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.

“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”

You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.

“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.

You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.

“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.

He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”

“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”

“What’s going on?”

Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.

“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”

“Why?”

“Ferguson was released.”

“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.

“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”

“Yes, sir.”

You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.

As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.

You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.

There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.

It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.

“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”

“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.

“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.

“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”

“We should find him,” Lucy says.

“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”

“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”

“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs.

“What now?” Lucy asks.

“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.

“Get out,” Ferguson demands.

He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.

“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.

He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe.

“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”

“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”

Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.

“You will never beat him,” you say.

“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.

He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.

Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.

“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.

He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.

“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.

“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”

“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.

Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.

“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”

“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”

“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.

“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”

Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.

“Tim,” you call out when you wake.

“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.

He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.

“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.

“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”

“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”

Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.

“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.

You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.

“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.

“You stopped him last time,” he answers.

He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.

“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”

You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”

He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.

“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.

He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”

“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.

Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.

“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”

“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.

He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.

“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”

The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.

“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.

“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.

You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.

“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”

“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.

He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.

“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”

Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.

“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”

He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.

“34831,” Tim says.

“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”

“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”

“What’s the number?”

“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”

“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”

“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”

Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.

“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.

“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”

“Don’t question it.”

“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”

“Then we’re back where we started?”

“Exactly.”

“Tim, what does that even mean?”

“She’s still here. They both are.”

Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.

“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.

“Thank you,” Tim whispers.

Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.

“Tim!” you yell.

Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.

“Tim, please,” you whisper.

“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear.

He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.

“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.

“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.

Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.

“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.

“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”

Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.

“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.

As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.

"Bradford!” Janssen calls.

He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.

What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.

“Tim,” you whisper.

Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.

“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.

Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.

“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.

Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.

“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”

When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.

Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.

“I need to go get backup,” he says.

“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.

You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.

“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”

“Tim, please.”

“Can I yell?”

You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.

“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.

Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.

“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.

He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.

“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”

You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.

“Thank you,” you say.

Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.

“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.

Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”

“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”

“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”

Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.

“It hurts,” you say softly.

“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.

“There’s a ladder?”

Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.

“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.

“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.

“Hold on,” he instructs you.

“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”

Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.

“Please just get me out of here.”

Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.

With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.

“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”

Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.

“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”

Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.

“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.

“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.

He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.

You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.

“It’s I love you backward, right?”

Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.

“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”

“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”

Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.

You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.

“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”

Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #requests #fem!reader #the rookie abc

459 notes · View notes