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kmuradesu · 11 months ago

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Car baby

DadHusband!SimonRiley x PregnantWife!Reader (afab)

Summary: A couple days after your due date, your water broke but you persisted to stay at home while you had the opportunity to - even though Simon hated the idea. And because of that, you are now having the baby. On the way to the hospital.

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word count: around 1.2k

cw: pregnancy, depictions of intense pain - a little blood, bad language, dangerous driving, car birth.

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sorry if they’re spelling mistakes, i didn’t go through it properly properly. kinda lost it at the end, but enjoy !

“Hold on— bloody hell, woman.”

One minute you were trying to rest on the settee with a warm tea in your grasp. And the next, you were hunched over mumbling in pain. The tea had jolted from your hand and split over the carpet.

“..fuuck!” Your voice a sharp groan as his arms quickly found way under your own.

“We should’ve gone to the hospital..” No, he wasn’t scolding you but Simon was a little irritated at the fact your persistence had come to this. In labour in your own home, which wasn’t that ideal.

A wavering whimper left your lips, your fingers curling tightly into his muscle as he gently lifted your pregnant body up.

“Lovie, s’alright just hold onto me. And breathe.”

“Isn’t breathing what I’m doing?!”

“Not exactly, more like whinin’ your guts out.”

The burly man took most of your weight, leading you quickly to the car that sat outside on the drive with duffel bags already stocked for the trip. But it shocked you to think it was all happening now.

Simon didn’t even think to put a towel down before seating you in the car, but everything was going on at a rapid pace he had forgotten.

Once you were sat he did the seatbelt for you before closing the door and rushing to the driver’s side.

“We’ll get to the hospital. All will be fine ‘oney.”

As if he wasn’t shitting his pants right there and then.

Getting in the car, it didn’t take long for you to be pushed back into your seat by an invisible force. It kinda took the breath out of you.

But so was the baby that was literally about to pop out.

“Shit— I know we’re in a rush-” Your voice strained, followed by your brows knitting together. “But slow down!”

Of course Simon didn’t listen. However he did look back and forth at your rounded stomach quite a couple of times. The last thing you would’ve wanted right now was to be caught in an accident.

A harsher surge of pain had swept through your back and lower stomach all the way to the disc of your spine, causing you to choke on a loose sob as your hand took a vice-like grip on Simon’s arm. He cursed something under your moans.

He focused on trying to get there safely, but on a condition that he could cut down on minutes.

As cars swerved out of the way of your oncoming vehicle, which was not going to stop, you held onto him for dear life. Pretty sure there’s bound to be a bruise on his bicep after this.

“Simon, I think I’m bleeding!”

Your cry of words is what snapped 3 quarters of his attention to you. The poor man’s head was on a swivel, returning between both you and the road.

He stuck his hand out and placed it on your bare thigh.

“Hell- is that normal?!”

“I don’t think so!” Your pained moans were swapped with pained cries.

It was making Simon feel sick. Not because you were bleeding, no, but because of the immense pain you were feeling and not being able to do a thing about it apart from reassure you.

A soft hand of yours snaked down below your pants.

Touch.

Take out.

Red. A lot of red.

God the sight could’ve made both you and Simon faint.

“Christ.” A mutter under his cold breath.

He rubbed his toughened hand up and down your thigh, adding pressure as he steered with the other.

“Don’t worry love, we’re pulling over..”

————

Your cries of agony were deafening over the hushed woman’s voice of an ambulance emergency operator. It was almost embarrassing, but fairs to you, a newborn was making itself known.

Simon was on your side out of the car, listening to what the woman was telling him to do.

‘Have you got towels?’

“Uh yes, in the back.”

‘Use those for the baby when it’s out.’

“..alright.”

‘Is this her first?’

“Yes—”

Another one of your screams. But it seemed to have supported her next instruction.

‘When you are pushing honey, you need to push for 6 seconds, then take a 10 second breather okay?’

“..okay.” The word wobbled from your lips.

Simon took your hand and placed another on your bent knee. Props to you, you were doing this without a damn epidural.

There was blood literally everywhere, all down your thighs and hands, even on Simon. But he really couldn’t care less.

Your grip tightened as you pushed, feeling the sharp tense radiate through your core as you felt tension building up.

“..keep pushing love.” Simon grunted uneasily, wincing a little at the deathly grip of your hand interlocked with his. “Fuck that’s hard—”

‘Breathe 10 seconds..’

‘Then push again.’

God, you were pushing and pushing. If only tough Simon could experience this, my, would it be brilliant.

As you pushed you felt the tight head of the baby force itself out, followed by a sense of relief and loose pressure.

“The heads out!..” Simon said in quite excited tone, pulling a wonky confused face from you. But it was nice to see Simon show such enthusiasm.

‘Good. Just keep pushing mama, the baby’ll be out in no time.’

All that was coming out of your mouth was just endless cries of pain and weakened mumbles of suffering. It was making Simon feel ill again.

“..jesus— the shoulders on this thing—ah!”

..‘this thing’ was the baby.

“Just the shoulders.. and the baby will be out. Alright lovie?” He kissed you on the head.

You gave a loose nod, hair sticking to your forehead with sweat, and tears staining your peachy cheeks that were washed away with Simon’s thumb.

He then got towels, as the operator had told him to, ready to catch the baby when it slips out. You couldn’t help but feel a little violated of your space, but the man’s seen it all before sooo.

You pushed, along with the woman’s voice through the phone on the dashboard and Simon’s little but effective encouragement. Christ, the tension was too powerful, were you tearing or something?

But it wasn’t too long, before it felt like you had been emptied from the inside out. The relief.

“It’s out— the baby’s out!” Simon called, a small smile plastered along his face. That was something you almost never saw in a while. Sarcasm by the way.

‘Put it bare on the mother’s chest, pat its back until you hear a cry.’

He did as he was told and used the towel to gently place the baby on the unclothed part of your chest, his brows furrowing a little at the fact that for it to be alive, it needed to cry.

Your shaky hand was a bit late to lightly pat the newborn, Simon was already getting to it, but you felt so weak at the moment it was almost unbearable.

“Breathe baby. Breathe.”

The man whispered.

To you or the baby?

The silence was awfully mute, a high pitched ringing the only thing loud in your ears apart from Simon’s bated breath.

A cry.

The breaths everyone had been holding were blown as the baby announced itself to the three of you. Simon dryly chuckled. You swear you heard the operator chuckle too.

‘Congratulations Mum and Dad. Is it a boy or a girl?’

Simon’s eyes laid softly on you with your newborn, a hand on his child, and the other on your meaty thigh.

“A girl.” He said with a small smirk, kissing you again on the forehead as you looked dazed.

‘How’s the Mum?’ Worn out. Exhausted. Little light-headed. Icky. Nauseated.

“..I’m fine. I think.”

You thought it was better just to act.. okay. Although to Simon, it was obvious that you needed space, and possible to be checked over my doctors. Your bronzed gaze looked down at the pair of lidded eyes on your chest.

‘That’s good. The ambulance is nearly there to take you all to the hospital, for them to take a look at you and the baby.’

A tired sigh left your lips, your eyes heavy as your hand rested on the wailing newborn.

“..you did bloody brilliant.” The man reassured, his hand brushing away sticky strands of hair from your forehead.

Your look returned to him, searching for something in his eyes before he pecked your lips with a small kiss.

Damn. You just had a baby.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #pregnancy #pregnant!reader #dad!simon riley #giving birth #birthing

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revelboo · 11 days ago

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I have been throughly enjoying your writing, your work scratches an inch I didn't think I had. Absolutely love Armada Starscream, can't wait to see more of TFP Knockout and Starcream. But what got mw the most delighted was seeing Skids, he honestly doesn't get a lot of love and he is my favourite in the MTMTE comics. Thank you so much for creating all these works!

Thank you guys for reading my silly stories

Even If It Kills Me Pt 10

Armada Starscream x Reader

• “Share a meal with us.” Because if he doesn’t ask you won’t, you’ll just linger on the outskirts like you think you don’t belong. Offering you his hand, some of his tension eases when you climb into his palm so he can lower you to the floor where he’s sitting with the mini-cons. As relaxed as you are around the mini-cons, you still act uncertain around him. Hesitant. When you slide out of his hand to sit on the floor, he’s tempted to pick you up and place you on his leg, but resists. While you don’t protest being handled, he’s not sure you actually enjoy it. It must drive home how small you are compared to him. How helpless.

• “Thank you.” Reaching to accept the package of cookies, you realize you’re going to have to explain that wherever he’s thieving food from, he’s going to have to steal real food sooner or later if you’re staying a while. Because what he keeps bringing you is bottled water and junk food. He’s trying, though. Even if you’re almost positive he doesn’t really understand much about humans. “You have to patrol today?”

• Wings fidgeting as you open the package and remove one of the little brown and black speckled discs, he’s almost positive you need more than that to eat. “Of course.” Maybe the food he stole from the kids is unsatisfactory? Neither of you have talked about the nightmare or him singing to you. You joining in. Something about it had felt strangely intimate. Like it’s something that shouldn’t be discussed. There had been an aching loneliness in your voice that had echoed in his own spark, though. That makes him wonder if you’re lonely when he leaves with the mini-cons. You must be. “I could take you for a flight sometime?”

• Blinking at the offer, you look up at him to find Starscream pointedly looking everywhere but at you. Embarrassed? He’d been embarrassed the night before when he’d sang to you, his gruff voice pulling you out of the nightmare. Distracting you. “I’d love that,” you say, wanting to ask him what the song had meant. To translate the words for you, but unsure if it’d be asking too much. You’re already indebted to him far more than you can ever repay. Unintentionally saving you from a life you hated, but were too scared to give up on your own. A life that was going to end up killing you.

• “Good,” he murmurs, wings flicking. Why is it so hard to talk to you? So stilted? When you smile up at him, his spark warms and he loses his train of thought. Just wants to bask in that smile, find all the little things he can do to keep you smiling. Because his servos itch to touch you when you look at him like that. To touch the back of your hand or your hair and that’s not meant for him. Knows that, but still longs for it. Doesn’t want to ever see you look like you had the day he’d found you, defeated and broken.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #armada starscream

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ephemerensis · 6 days ago

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Steamroller // Tim Drake x GN! Reader

happy new year! little enemies to lovers kind of thing kind of (theyre just like on opposite ends and they don’t really know it). stalker update for all interested parties: i think he’s starting to lose interest and give up 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️! also i graduated! yippee! NOT proofread.

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Your favorite nights were ones like these, windswept and carefree as you sped down an empty street on your motorbike. With the last of your tasks wrapped up for the week, it was smooth sailing until the next rotation. Or so you thought before you heard a familiar grating voice bark at you, swinging into the view of your side mirror and chucking something at you.

Switching lanes, you narrowly avoided the batarang that came whizzing by. This guy again. Swinging your bike back around, you pushed the brakes to screech to a halt.

“Nice try bat rat, maybe aim next time!”

If it wasn’t so dark, you’d see the scowl plastered on his face as he stalked towards you. Red Robin hated you, and that was an understatement. Which was fine, you didn’t like him much either.

“Didn’t need to,” he spat. Pressing a button on his suit started up something like the sound of metal scraping pavement behind you. Before you could react, the sharp little object he threw at you came reeling back where it came, and the wheezing sound of your back tire losing air came with it. He threw a grappling hook at you.

“You’ve got to be joking.” In a way, it was your fault for taunting the guy. But this was the sixth encounter this week, if he wasn’t constantly out to get you, you’d think he were in love.

“What were you doing at the rendezvous point Penguin set up?” He stalked towards you, for what you weren’t sure. Sometimes he just wanted to provoke you, other times he’d just go for the swing. But you didn’t have time for that today.

“Intel, not that it’s your business.” You ripped a patch out from your utility belt, slapping it on the tire he just rudely tore a hole in before applying pressure to see if it’d last the way back.

“I’ll decide what my business is.”

“You stalking me everywhere says otherwise.” The tire sank more than you would’ve liked, but it would do. He stopped ten feet in front of you; looks like he didn’t want to fight tonight either. You rummaged through your pockets for good measure.

“I am not stalking you. You’re just where trouble happens to be.”

“Yeah. If that helps you sleep at night.” When your fingers brushed against the smooth plastic you were searching for, you mounted the bike again, turning on the headlights and adjusting your mirrors. It’s important to drive safe. “Anyways! Move.”

“What-“ Before he could finish his thought you pushed on the accelerator, watching him dive out of the way. It’s a shame his reflexes were so fast, if you ran him over he’d be out of commission for at least a month.

You tossed the plastic discs behind you as you sped off, leaving a flush of smoke behind you. He was good, but he wouldn’t be able to trace you with this.

Mercenary work never really was for you, let alone vigilante work. But growing up poor in Gotham and constantly grappling with loan sharks and the other unsavory groups your parents brought upon your family taught you a few things. And you found out you were pretty good at getting things done, the sneakier stuff: spying, stealing, occasionally taking out single targets, the quiet things. It felt bad but being hungry felt worse, survival of the fittest or something like that.

You were so good you paid it all off, and made a profit; enough to get yourself and your brother through college, and give the ol’ crime lords the slip. And things were good.

You liked your 9 to 5 office job, sorting through papers and typing on your laptop. You liked talking to your neighbors and inviting them over on the occasion for taco night. You liked your partner and the cozy apartment you lived in together.

Until your useless brother threw it all away, talking to the wrong people, getting into debt again, throwing around your name where it would mean anything, and it was square one.

So now you’re here. Running from some vigilante freak that has it out for you when you haven’t even done anything all that bad; it’s the people you work for he should be worried about. Instead he wants to breathe down your neck every night of the week, and he fails, every time. Maybe that was why he got so mad, as if there aren’t bigger fish to fry.

When you got back to your apartment, it was almost three in the morning. Slipping in as quietly as you could manage, you breathed a sigh of relief to find all the lights still off. Your boyfriend, Tim, always sleeps with a night light on, something about being scared of the dark. Lucky for you, he worked ungodly hours which made sneaking around a lot easier.

You’d just slipped into your pajamas when you heard the front door open and someone flicked the lights on. You could tell Tim was frustrated by the way he walked, brisk and heavy as he tugged off his coat and tossed his tie into the abyss. But he softened when he saw you, stopping in his tracks with an almost guilty look on his face, like he was sorry for feeling anything but joy in your presence.

“Oh hey, were you waiting up for me? I told you not to.” You shook your head, making your way over to press a kiss to his cheek and hold his hands. They were still cold from outside, the walk from the parking garage must’ve been treacherous.

“Are you okay?,” you asked, running your thumbs over the back of his hands. They were rough hands, surprising for a rich boy, but in your palms they were always so gentle.

He let out a breath, laughing a little before settling into a rueful smile, “I can’t get anything past you, can I? I’m okay. Just work stuff.”

“What kind of work stuff?” You tightened your grip on him, tugging him over to sit with you on the couch. He complied, leaning on your shoulder as he sunk into the cushions.

“Just something I can’t quite… resolve.” He sounded so tired. Business always went well, and Tim was a genius, it was a wonder how he ran into so many problems in the office. Sometimes you wanted to reach into that pretty skull of his and take a peek into his brain, maybe he was just overthinking things, or maybe you’d finally understand that you could never understand. Both would soothe you.

“Yet. Everything works out in time, and you’re the best I know. Can I help?” You felt him tense when you ran your hand over his shoulder, pulling away immediately to check on him. But before you could manage to ask he reached for you, shaking his head.

“No. It’s sensitive material. I’m okay,” he insisted, leaning on you again as he perched his arms neatly where they would fit around you. “Can we just stay like this for awhile?”

It was a good thing he never asked for anything malicious, because you’d say yes to just about anything he asked.

“Yeah.” You’d never known power so intimately before you held his skull to your chest. The way he surrendered himself and was whole, shedding the burdens of his responsibilities entirely to be vulnerable for a moment. But it was coupled by an intense fear, that his trust was rare and very easily abused or misguided if you weren’t careful. And if you weren’t, it felt as if he wouldn’t ever be vulnerable again.

“Thank you, and I love you,” he whispered. Your tired, hardworking boy.

“I love you more,” you answered.

It turns out the “I’m okay” business was a massive tri-colored bruise that bloomed on his left arm. He was careful to hide it, and if you didn’t wake up a little earlier than usual you would never have known. You didn’t ask, clearly he didn’t want you to, but you were concerned— and moreso curious. He did spar with his siblings, this you knew, but they’d never do something like that to him. Maybe he was sleep deprived and got stuck between the elevator doors somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him. If you had time later, you could check in while he’s in the office, drop off dinner or something to make sure he wasn’t getting picked on.

You got up an hour after him, as you always did. There was a rhythm to your morning routine that you adored, it was comfortable; reliable. Tim made the coffee, and you made breakfast. When you first moved in together he’d offered to cook, being the one to get up first and all, but he was hopeless. Anything beyond instant noodles was a fire and food safety hazard. And you made a mean scrambled egg.

You cooked so he did the dishes, a compromise you never objected to— it was your least favorite house chore. You’d loop his tie for him when he was done, and he’d kiss you on the forehead to leave first. Your job started a little later.

At least it would if you hadn’t requested a temporary leave of absence while you worked for Gotham’s worst. You had to report whatever intel you gathered yesterday night to Black Mask. He’d have another assignment for you after, you were sure. But if you were efficient with these things, it could all be over in a month or so.

That’s what you told yourself as you waved him out the door. Thursday nights Tim usually got back at a human hour, if you could wrap up business early you could be home by the time he was too.

Black Mask was waiting for you by the time you got there, unsurprisingly. It never got easier looking at him, freakish and impossible to read, behind his skeletal metal teeth.

“Penguin’s plan?” He’d asked before you had the chance to fully enter the room, eager as ever to maintain his grasp on power. Breathing isn’t worthwhile unless you’re winning he told you once.

“He wants to spread some influenza with his birds. It’s not serious, but the cure he’s selling is. It’s highly addictive and one of a kind. I got photos on this drive.” You placed it on the man’s desk, pushing it towards him as far as you’d dared. “He’s colluding with the woman who runs the second biggest pharm-tech company in the city. It has a six week timeline, some of it was in motion last week so five from here out.”

“Okay.” Without missing a beat he’d already decided your next assignment, “get me the cure.”

“Four people have access. A team or a raid would be better suited.” You took a breath to answer him. This wasn’t possible, at least not easily. It wasn’t a job you wanted to take, and it wasn’t practical. Money wasn’t Black Mask’s pursuit, it should’ve been enough just to thwart his enemies, not profit from them.

“I don’t pay you to argue.”

You had to swallow the fear that crept up your throat. Fear of death was always within reach, that much was obvious when you took on mercenary work, but the fear Black Mask brought on was a little more primal. Something instinctual you had to ignore.

You couldn’t take this job. The both of you knew it would go over the hours you were signed for, anything that could arouse suspicion from your normal life was carved into stone as off limits. Tim couldn’t know, that was the rule. And this assignment could take you weeks, “…it breaches our contract.”

“I pay overtime. And let me remind you, you’re in no position to say otherwise.”Disagreeing twice was a hefty endeavor and the man was right, you had your brother to consider. It’s always funny, the way you think you have any say in things. “Get me the cure.”

You didn’t have time to pack up, leave a note, or meal prep dinner. It was burdensome to disappear, at least a little. But Tim would be okay; hurt, but okay. It’s not like he’d miss you terribly, he was working over-overtime as it was, and you hoped he would forgive you when you got back.

So you vanished. It was quiet work, mostly tailing people to get a lead, working to worm your way in to the right social circles, sorting through files while people slept.

Red Robin was looking for you, or at least investigating your activity. He’d have caught you a few times now if you weren’t more focused on working during the day. Not that he knew what was going on, that much was evident. Not that he would be able to do anything if he did run into you again anyway, that boy just kept losing. Or maybe he didn’t want to win.

It was hard to know what his objective was. Just that he thought you were bad news and made things harder than they needed to be. But he did intrigue you. Righteous Red Robin never fought dirty and it was a little flattering how he was insistently so hot on your trail. Maybe you’d tease him about it after this whole ordeal and he could throw another grappling hook at you.

It only took two weeks to gather enough standing in Penguin’s sphere to have access to his office. With all the snooping you’d done, you knew every possible password and key you’d need to access the files for Black Mask. If you broke in tonight, you’d be by daylight. Theoretically.

So you took to it. It wasn’t hard to break in once you knew where everything was. Nothing was terribly discreet, just about as hidden as valuables would be in someone’s home. Getting into the main computer was a breeze, you’d talked up enough patrons and underlings for them to spill every access code they knew. As you slipped in a USB to transfer the remaining files you needed, a familiar set of footsteps sounded behind you.

Brisk, decided, and determined to be quiet, you knew he was lurching forward with a right hook before you had the chance to turn around. You jerked your body out of the way before he could make contact, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could manage. Thankfully the file transfer already started before he rudely interrupted your heist, you just needed to buy time.

“Can we not do this today?” You couldn’t help the annoyance creeping under your skin; Red Robin’s timing couldn’t have been worse. If he’d shown up ten minutes later you would’ve been gone. Of all the times to barge in, he chose to when you were just about done.

But he was faster than he usually was, before your thoughts could finish flowing through your skull he was throwing something at you again; muttering a sharp, “shut up,” in tandem. A gasp left you as it grazed your cheek, he’d never drawn blood before, even so minutely.

Before you had a chance to react he was on you, swinging his staff with enough force to kill a man. It was all you could do to avoid it before the next swing came, overbearing and deadly, unlike you’d ever seen from him. Any ounce of annoyance left in you evaporated in favor of fear and adrenaline, he was angry.

“What is your problem? If this is about running you over, I knew you’d dodge it!” The knives you had tucked away in your boot straps were useless, you didn’t have time to reach for them and even if you had them there were no openings to intervene. With a stroke of luck, he hit the wall hard enough for his staff to get stuck, giving you enough time to make a run for the window. The files would have to wait.

Just as you were reaching to pull up on the windowsill, a batarang caught the fabric of your shoulder, pinning you to the wall. Another grazed your outreached hand, distancing you further from your escape route.

If you were scared of Black Mask, you were terrified of Red Robin. Or at least, this state of him. You’d never noticed before how the whites of his mask looked like headlights, barreling towards a sundered deer. With whatever cognition you had left, your uninjured hand reached for the dagger in your boot, but you were slow and he wasn’t feeling gracious. He grabbed your wrist with one hand, pinning it next to your shoulder, and with the other he jerked you forward by your collar.

A glimpse of metal hanging on your neck made his scowl deepen and you winced for whatever he would throw at you next. But instead of a punch or getting hit with a blunt object, you felt the release of pressure when he snapped the dainty silver chain from you.

“Where did you get this?” he barked. There was something off about the way he said it, untethered. The necklace in question wasn’t something controversial; a chain with a pendant Tim had inscribed with his initials next to yours.

It wasn’t particularly valuable, nothing anyone would steal, but it meant something untouchable to you. Exactly eight months into dating he told you he loved you for the first time and presented you with it. The letters were rough around the edges from mistakes in sanding and carving when he etched the metal for you himself. And now it was being dangled in front of you, a reminder of all you could stand to lose if things went wrong. So easily snatched from you, as if they never belonged in the first place.

“Give it back.” You moved to sweep your leg under his feet, kick him, whatever you could to get it back and get out. It wasn’t fair in the slightest, he should know it wasn’t something to steal. But he just tightened his grip on your wrist and kneed your ribs once hard enough for you to keel over and stop moving.

“Where did you get this?” His anger was building, you could hear, but you didn’t care much anymore. He didn’t have the right.

“It’s mine,” you spat through gritted teeth.

“Liar.” A pang of confusion hit you, as if this were something to lie about. He was in your face now, and you glared back behind your own mask. If he didn’t back off soon you had half a resolve to bite his nose off. “What did you do to the owner? This is your last chance.”

Like Red Robin could do anything to you. You felt like a dog backed into a corner, sure enough. But upper hand or not, no one wins in a fight against a rabid dog, even if you manage to put it down.

“And I’m telling you for the last time, it’s mine.” But if you get put down, you can’t crawl back. The courage behind your words was starting to sound like desperation. “My boyfriend gave it to me and you need to give it back.”

And then your resolve was gone altogether, a plea more than a demand, for absolution. Your voice quivered on the last few words, maybe it was for the better, it seemed like that was the only part he heard anyway.

The blood in your wrist started flowing again as he let go of it, looking at you with something akin to terror. Swallowing lead, you considered taking the chance to run; rip the sleeve that was caught and book it. But something held you there, vulnerability? Or some deviant of the terror he was feeling. Your legs wouldn’t move now.

He was slow in reaching for your mask. You must’ve been slower, because you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t do anything at all, not with the way your heart was pounding in your ears. Everything in you was screaming all at once, but you couldn’t understand a thing they were saying and it was getting hard to breathe.

You squinted to adjust your vision once the mask was off, and something wet slid down your cheek. Dust must’ve gotten under the thing, you weren’t one to cry.

“Y/N?” He’d caught you and you let it happen. You heard the chain clink on the floor, and you were so sorry to Tim that you let it happen. Soiled something he put time into. Maybe it was fitting, you always took that boy for granted.

You flinched when he reached for you, pressing your eyes shut. But Red Robin didn’t cuff you like you expected. Knock you out, threaten you, chain you to a street lamp outside for the police to collect. Instead you felt arms wrap around you, hefty and secure, a welcoming warmth in juxtaposition to the cold, stagnant office air. And you knew these arms, and you knew this feeling, and you knew this scent.

“Tim?” It came out like a squeak, you didn’t intend that.

And then his head was buried in your shoulder again, his spot as it’d always been. “I thought someone took you.”

He took the liberty of freeing you from the wall first, and you dropped to the floor. Your knees felt like jello. It made sense, some of it. The late nights and the injuries.

“Without a ransom note?” you murmured. You didn’t know what else to say. It’d been Tim the whole time.

“Don’t joke.” He knelt beside you, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. After the shock, the guilt came barreling in. You caused his injuries. You got in his way. You ran away without saying anything. You’d been hurting him the whole time.

“I’m sorry.” You squeaked for the second time. After the guilt was the confliction. You didn’t know to do. Half reaching for him, half shying away.

So Tim grabbed your hands, stilling you completely with just that. He pulled a strip of cloth out of his belt to wrap around the palm he cut moments before. It was shallow, nothing that would scar.

He was probably as confused as you were, quiet to sort out the events as they’d unfolded— and the before. There was a lot to ask and a lot to explain, you wouldn’t know where to start. And if you did start, you didn’t know if you could stop. It was too much. You were tired. There were time constraints. The first bit of reality slipped itself into your mind, the two of you weren’t the only two in the world and you were here on a job. “Please don’t ask, I’ll tell you when I have the heart but please don’t ask. I might cry. I’m sorry.”

“You’re already crying.” His thumbs brushed your tears away as if just to prove it. But they stayed after, running the pad of his fingers over your cheeks for as long as you’d let him. A soothing pattern.

“Am I? I’m sorry.” Your eyes were locked onto him, and you knew he was looking back even if his eyes weren’t visible. The longer you stared, the more the tears seemed to flow. And you couldn’t fathom why you were crying.

“For what?” He said it as if nothing were wrong, and that’s all it took for the dam to burst. Flinging your arms around him to cry your worth into his shoulders. You didn’t deserve this boy.

“I love you,” you sobbed.

“I love you more,” he answered.

#tim drake fanfic #tim drake #tim drake x reader #batman #dc #red robin x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake x gender neutral reader #tim drake angst #tim drake fluff #red robin x y/n #red robin

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ghostboneswrites2 · 10 months ago

Text

Sick of You pt.2

Second part to this request.

Summary: Reader saves Daryl's ass again and finally gets the respect she deserves.

18+ MDNI || Warnings: TWD Typical violence, profanity, over the counter drugs

Things have gotten better since your heated exchange with Daryl in the woods. You two haven't grown any closer, but you don't feel the need to avoid him anymore. The most you get is a curt nod when he passes you by. You're fine with that, though.

Today is your rest day, so aside from morning and afternoon inventory, you don't have any chores on your itinerary, which you are grateful for. Most people get rest days once a week, but you tend to be forgotten in that regard, so yours aren't nearly as frequent. Your only plans for the day are to sleep, eat, drink, and repeat. That is, of course, until;

"Hey, (Y/N)? I hate to ask, but everyone else is swamped with work today. Daryl was supposed to be back hours ago. I'm worried something might've happened." Rick asks, leaning on the bars of your cell. You reluctantly uncrust your sleepy eyes and stare down at him. "It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out at the pharmacy just a few miles down the road due south. It's a small town, barely any walkers last I was there. Think you could go and see what you see?"

You sigh and sit up. "Sure." You croak.

"I really wouldn't ask if--"

"It's okay. Really. I don't mind." You wave him off. You do mind, actually, quite a bit. However, it's only fair if you're the only one not working.

"I'll load a car for you. Just get yourself ready. I'll have all the supplies you need in the car." He says. You nod and he walks away. With a groan, you yawn and stretch before quickly throwing on your cleanest jeans and least stained shirt.

"All loaded up." Rick informs you as you approach the vehicle. "Water, snacks, weapons, some tools if ya need 'em."

"Cool." You nod. "Thanks. I'll be back."

"Be safe."

----

The town was not clear of walkers. Not at all. There was a swarm of them around the little drug store where Daryl was supposed to be, and judging by how desperately the walkers clawed at the building, you could only assume he was trapped in there. God damn it.

"Shit." You mumble as you slowly drive by the building. A few walkers turn their attention to you, but not enough. Then, you remember the Bon Jovi CD Rick had tucked away in the glove compartment. "Hell yeah." You smirk to yourself as you stop the car and slide the disc into the player. You crank the radio as loud as it'll go. The first song that plays feels ironic, as it's called Wanted Dead or Alive. You shrug it off and honk the horn, revving the engine, trying to gain as much undead attention as you can.

"Come on you dead fucks!" You call out of your cracked window that you inched down for airflow. "Come and get me!"

The dead begin to peel away from the building, inching toward your car in a swarm. Before you can get buried too deep in corpses, you press the gas, driving just fast enough that they couldn't catch up, but not so fast they'd lose interest.

For the sake of spirit, you belt out the lyrics you know. Any extra noise to draw them after you.

"I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride.. I'm wanted dead or alive.. Wanted dead or alive"

You can't help but laugh at the stupidity of the situation. The song, the walkers, the way you're singing. It was like going on a road trip with a divorced dad or something. As you peek in the rearview mirror you realize just how many of them were after you now. At least twenty, maybe more. There was no way you'd be able to fight them all off, not even with Daryl's help. You resort to taking a turn down a random street, hoping it would circle back to the main road and you'd be able to lose them that way.

Luck is not on your side today, though. The road turns out to be a dead end. What are your options here? This puttering little car wouldn't survive a rogue assault if you tried to mow through the herd. No, you'd have to get clever, and fast, because your car is stopped and they're getting close.

In a fit of quick thinking, you throw the bag Rick packed for you over your shoulder and make a run for it into the trees surrounding the street. You leave the car running with the music blaring. Hopefully that will keep the bulk of them focused on the car while you make a break for it.

The plan works for the most part. Any of them that followed you into the trees are too far back to be an immediate concern, and the few stragglers in the woods that are being drawn to the sound of the radio are easy enough to take down if they get too close for comfort.

You dodge branches and fallen logs as you bolt through the trees back toward the main road. When it's in sight, you're relieved to see only a small amount of walkers remained. You don't worry about them. Instead you backtrack to the pharmacy as fast as you can, hoping Daryl will still be there waiting for you so you don't have to try to get back to the prison on your own without wheels.

Your chest is starting to feel tight and hot as the cardio catches up to you. As you slow to a slow jog, you peer over your shoulder. Five or so walkers are behind you, but you have enough distance on them to ignore them for the time being. You decide to keep your slow jogging pace. The pharmacy is in view now. All you have to do is keep going forward, so you do.

When you make it, you're completely out of breath. The vehicle Daryl took that morning is still there, so you know he hasn't left, and if he did he's on foot, which wouldn't be smart. You tug at the doors but they don't budge. You look back down the road. The walkers are a bit closer now.

"Daryl!" You call at the glass, hoping he hears you. "Daryl let me in!"

You slap at the glass but there's no movement from inside.

"Shit!" You exclaim. The walkers seem to be moving faster now that you're beginning to panic. You run around the building to see if there's a back door you can slide in through. There is, but it's locked. "Damnit!" You shout, kicking at the metal door. You know it won't open, but you figure maybe the banging of your boot against the metal will inspire Daryl to let you in. Speaking of, why isn't he letting you in? "Daryl! You okay in there?" You call for him. You don't have time to wait for a response.

Snarling bodies are creeping around the corner of the building. You pull your knife from your belt and ready it as you back away slowly. You can't decide if you should take them on or not. There are only a few, but there's still only one of you. "Fuck it." You mutter, lunging to stab one in the skull before backing away again.

You continue this maneuver as you circle the building. You keep your distance, lunge at one, then back away again. When you make it around the front again, you see movement from inside. "Daryl!" You call out. There are only two walkers left. You can take them, but you can't take the rest that are sure to find their way back to you.

The door swings open, and a bolt flies into one of the walkers. With haste you take down the last one and retrieve the arrow before you run inside. Daryl slams the door behind you and locks it.

"The hell you doin' out here, girl?" He hisses.

"Saving your ass, Dixon." You cross your arms triumphantly. "Which, I did a pretty damn good job at."

He ignores your gloating and drags you away from the glass, crouching with you behind the sales counter.

"The herd. That was you?" He asks.

"Yup. Bon Jovi came in clutch, if I do say so myself." You grin.

"Huh." He nods. "Well, we still got another problem."

"What is it?"

"The car. Someone siphoned the gas out while I was in here grabbin' the meds.Didn't even hear 'em. Tried to start it up and it wouldn't crank, so I got out and saw the gas tank open."

"Shit." You throw your head back. "I had to ditch the other car to evade the damn freaks."

"Alright." He sighs. "We just need a plan, and fast. Before that herd circles back."

"Okay." You take a breath. "So, no vehicle, herd incoming, need a plan... Why don't we just book it? Run as fast as we can through the trees before the walkers come back. The prison is only a few miles away. We can be back bye tonight."

"Nah. No idea how many of 'em are out there, or who else is out there. Walkers don't get tired, we do." He shakes his head.

"Well, do we really have another option?"

"Guess not." He nods. "Here." He holds out a packet of pills. You examine the label.

"Caffeine pills?" You press your brows together.

"Worth a shot. Might keep us goin' longer." He shrugs. You nod.

"Good idea." You say as you pop two pills out of the packet and swallow them. You pull a water bottle from your bag and chug it, offering it to him when you're done. He takes two pills for himself and takes a few swigs of water before you pack the bottle away and stand up.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Yeah, but first I gotta ask. Why didn't you let me in the first time I tried?" You wonder.

"Passed out. Walker was in here, caught me off guard. I hit my head. Stayed up long enough to lock the doors. Woke up to you bangin' in the back."

"Oh." You nod. "I'll forgive you this time."

With that. the two of you run out of the back and into the trees behind the parking lot. You follow him, assuming he knows where he's going, and don't stop until you can't run anymore.

By that point its nightfall.

"Daryl." You pant. "I can't anymore."

He slows down and leans on a tree, propping his hands on his knees while he catches his breath.

"Okay. We walk from here." He agrees.

"Here." You offer him some water, which he gladly takes. You drink some too before tucking it away again. You stumble behind him as the two of you walk, exhausted from sprinting and coming down from the caffeine rush.

"So." You begin.

"So?"

"So... I showed you what I can do." You gloat.

"Yeah." He sighs. "Ya did good, (Y/N)."

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tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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