#it makes your stomach sick and i just KNOW that by the time Tim and Damian are around Dick's not letting anyone near him

[astorianyxkings]

This makes my mind go wild because I have so many ideas about it.

Like obviously when Bruce was growing up he was taught by socialites (not Alfred of course, he would've pulled up with a gun) that these kinds of comments were just compliments and he had to take them as such.

So he bites his tongue. He can handle old women calling him sweet and pretty. He can handle that 40 year old auntie eyeing him up at the ripe age of 18. He can take a deep breath, go home and vent to Alfred.

Wanna know what he can't handle? The 50-something old man staring at 14 year old Dick like he's at a strip club and a dancer just walked by. And Bruce tries. Really he does. He's dealt with this his whole life, Dick can too right? Wrong.

Dick doesn't have many tells, having been Robin for roughly four years but Bruce notices it because he's his son. He sees the way Dick's left brow twitches, how his smile falters if only for a second. His heart aches and his mind screams when he sees Dick's eyes glance around the room, finding Bruce before relaxing, forcing himself to withstand the inappropriate advances because Bruce is right there so nothing bad will happen right?

Bruce comes to the conclusion that No, Dick with not be going through this. He will not force his son, his sweet boy to withstand this sort of behavior. He's there in seconds, gently pushing Dick behind him and setting himself right in front of the man's face.

The old asshat doesn't immediately realize he's in danger so he goes on to compliment Dick. Bruce is disgusted beyond measure, not only because he's having flashbacks but because he's worried how this would psychologically influence Dick. Dick's only a kid but he's nearing the age when its socially acceptable to say looks matter. But since Robin deals with a lot of criminals, most of which are men twice and thrice his age, it's a dangerous precedent to set.

Bruce is trembling, his fists are clenched so hard his knuckles turn white. It's when the man sees how hard Bruce's jaw is clenched that he realizes what's up. He nervously meets his eyes, surprised to see that gone is the Brucie Wayne persona and in its place is a man—a father—who is furious at what's being said about his son.

Some people are realizing what's going on but no one makes a move to step in. Brucie Wayne is Gotham's sweetheart, he'd never cause a scene...right? But Bruce doesn't care. He's freshly 30 and trauma bonded to his son and God help the bastard who disrespects his boy.

Bruce is about to knock the man out when a woman—finally someone with a heart—interrupts. She rudely asks the man to leave and he wastes no time in making his escape. The woman follows behind to make sure that he's actually gone and Bruce takes a breath, trying to calm himself.

Dick witnesses everything and its what I'd like to call a negative core memory. He'll remember this moment his whole life. But instead of dwelling on that, he simply tugs Bruce's hand along, willing him to move because people are staring. Bruce doesn't care, he's just gazing ahead, he only looks down when he hears Dick say, "Come on Dad."

Dick rarely calls him that so he knows its serious. He excuses himself but before he can make it out the door where he can process what just happened, Dick's slender arms wrap around him in a hug and he mumbles out a "Thanks B." Bruce's heart warms, "I'll always protect you chum." He replies and his heart clenches because by standing up for Dick, he's doing himself Justice for when he was younger.

a random socialite at a fundraiser: you know Bruce, that boy of yours is getting to be a little too pretty. heh.

Bruce Wayne, who was also "too pretty" at fourteen and is absolutely ready to castrate anyone who even looks at Dick directly: oh?

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time chapter 4

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny should avoid him, because of his father. Danny should just brush him off and let him drown. Danny should keep his distance from anyone and everyone, but especially him.

Danny was never the best at doing what he should do, and worse, he was hungry.

—-

The cafe on campus was quaint, filled with light chatter and Jason was hating every second of it. Danny showed up just as he said he would, which meant he met Jason there, the man having already taken a back corner table for them. Danny walked up and set his books down. Jason had to wonder, did the kid not have a backpack?

“Any idea what you want?” Jason asked instead, standing. Danny looked over to the menu, eyes skimming it over.

“Uh… burger and fries okay?” Danny seemed uncomfortable. Jason would feel bad if it didn’t put him at the tactical advantage.

Jason nodded at his request. “The works?”

“Please.” Danny bit his lip and Jason waited, while he worked up the nerve for something, “and a coffee? Black?” Was that it? Jason almost rolled his eyes.

“Sure thing.” Jason went off to place the order and leave a hefty tip, because one, he wanted someone to bring it out and two he wasn’t that kind of asshole. He came back and sat on the chair he had been occupying, back to the corner, and resisted the urge to spread out.

Jason the Red Hood man-spreaded, Jason Todd-Wayne did not.

So he sat. And he rested his forearms on the table. “You do not need to look so nervous Danny.” Jason tried for the patented Wayne smile, certain he was coming up short.

“Huh…?” Danny turned to look at him, “oh, sorry. Long day.” The young man raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Jason knew it was a lie, but it seemed a familiar one. Danny tried to position himself so he could have the most visibility while drawing the least attention to himself. The position of a man hunted or used to being ambushed.

Danny refocused his attention after a moment, and looked at Jason, tilting his head slightly. “I hope it wasn’t a drain on your day to wait for me.” Jason waved his hand in response, the perfect practiced rich-bitch wave he hated.

“Nah, my friend works in the library on days when she doesn’t have class. I bothered her.” Danny seemed to relax a bit at the words.

“Oh good. I know I’m like… doing this for you, but…”

Jason cut him off there, turning the train of thought. “Speaking of, have you thought about what you want to be paid?”

“Oh… uh… not really. Most campus jobs make minimum wage right? Is that cool?” Jason wanted to throw Tim at this guy to teach him business sense in negotiation. If he really was 19, what had happened his whole life to make him feel like he needed to be invisible, while also walking away with a literal knife to the stomach and show up to class the next day?

“Most campus jobs do make minimum wage,” Jason agreed, “but nobody in my family is in the habit of paying just that. Just because I think my father is…. Well, words not fit for the polite company he insists I keep, doesn’t mean I’m going to stiff someone out of a well earned wage just to spite him. Twenty an hour is the lowest I’ll go.” He grinned now, all teeth, and something in him got a sick little thrill at watching Danny go even paler at the amount of money.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, as their food and drinks were brought to them on a brown plastic tray.

“Say yes Dan. It’s a good deal.” Jason offered his hand to shake over the food.

Danny looked like he was offering his soul to the devil as Jason heard the man’s stomach rumble. “Okay. Yes.” Danny took his hand, and while the hand was ice cold, Danny shook with a surprisingly firm grip. Maybe the kid had a spine after all.

“Good. Now dig in,” Jason said after they parted. He picked up a fry off of his own plate and bit it, watching Danny with a sort of idle curiosity, as the boy - no, young man, went about his food with a carefully controlled gusto. Jason couldn’t help but wonder when the last time Danny ate was. He made a mental note to have Oracle check where he lived so he could do some recon later.

By the time dinner was finished, Danny seemed much more alive. His skin seemed to have better color, his eyes seemed more bright, and his energy was up. The kid was definitely going hungry if those changes were so immediate. Since Danny was scrawny, he assumed it wasn’t a new problem.

“So what makes math so difficult for you?” He asked, wiping his mouth and tilting his head. The question was blunt, but there was no open malice behind those bright blue eyes. The same kind of blue as his own when he wasn’t pit mad.

Jason shrugged. “Not really sure. It’s always been my weakest subject.” Not a lie. “Beyond money, my brain doesn’t seem to care.” Half a lie, but plays into the rags to rich bitch stereotype.

“I get that. I told you about me and literature right? For me it seems like there’s poetry in the way the math just… works.” Danny paused then, skin flushing red. “Sorry, that was…. Really stupid.”

In another life, Jason would have really liked this kid he thinks.

“No, not at all. Whoever told you your insights weren’t good obviously never stopped to listen to you.” Was he flirting? Should he be flirting? He flirted to maintain a cover or gain intel all the time. That’s all this was.

He almost missed the way Danny’s skin flushed deeper, from his ears down his neck. Almost.

“Well…. You’re in the minority then.” It came out a little bitter. He watched Danny take a breath and “Anyways.” Danny waved a hand, banishing the thought and something serious took over his expression instead. “I’m not going to take it easy on you just because you’re paying me. I expect you to put in the work too.”

Jason was right, the guy did have a spine. “Sure thing.” He waved his hand and stood, grabbing his bag and the tray. Danny stood and grabbed his books too. “Library?”

“Library.” Danny agreed.

Over the next week Jason was “surprised” to find out that they had three classes together. Math, Lit and Comp and History. All three remedial, and really the only one that Danny seemed borderline to deserve was the Introduction to Literature and Composition course. What he was genuinely surprised to find was that he enjoyed spending the combined nine hours of classes a week with the kid. Although in ‘basic mathematic principles’ Danny was quiet and allowed Jason to focus so they could work on their tutoring more effectively, in their history and English classes Danny was witty and sarcastic. A second thing he had noticed was that now that the tutoring sessions were happening, an hour, sometimes more, after every class, to make sure he ‘got it’, Danny was almost always eating.

Jason had learned that Danny’s ‘big life goal’ was a roof over his head, where his friends and family could visit or stay as they liked and room to tinker. A job that let him help people.

It was that information that made Jason fully convinced that even though he hated the Justice League with a viciousness that most rogues would balk at, for reasons he had yet to disclose, Danny was not really likely to become a rogue unless something big happened.

He should stop the college charade now. It was no longer needed for recon, and the other birds were starting to get suspicious. Bruce was looking at him differently too now. Something like how he used to.

A pen tapped on his notebook and Jason brought his attention back. Danny didn’t say anything, or even look at him, he was too busy sketching what looked like a circuit board in a secondary notebook. Jason quickly wrote down the notes before the slide changed, not looking forward to a disappointed look from his tutor.

Surprisingly, he ran into Danny as Red Hood once more that week. He was doing surveillance on a rooftop, when a sound caught his attention from the fire escape. Jason dipped back into the shadows and around the concrete and brick entrance from inside the building as a familiar mass of unruly black hair appeared and Danny hauled himself up with a surprising amount of finesse for someone who didn’t look muscular in the slightest.

“Damn it. Where’d you go guy? I thought I saw you land here.” Danny grumbled to himself, hands on his hips as he looked around “stupid not a bat disappearing just like the real ones…” While Jason was certain that he wasn’t meant to hear that, he finished his route and appeared almost behind Danny.

“What do you need?” He asked, thankful for the voice modulator as he knew Danny would have recognized his voice by now even if muffled by a helmet.

As it was, Danny startled with a yelp, swinging around and aiming a punch right for his solar plexus. Jason caught his wrist with practiced ease. “Fuck! Don’t scare a guy like that!” Danny yanked his arm back in a way that was meant to break unpracticed holds. Clever.

Jason waited while the kid caught his breath. “Well?”

“What? Oh. Uh. The guy. That…” Danny mimed the stabbing. “Is he okay?”

“Checked himself into the hospital about two hours later. He’s fine.” Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear. He nodded.

“Good, good…” Danny pushed his hair out of his eyes again, looking up at Jason through his helmet. Jason was hit with the disconcerting thought that somehow Danny was seeing through the bullet resistant one way visor. “Um… do you need the knife back? Or…. Should I….keep….it….? Or dump it? What’s…. I don’t know the protocol here, but I think ‘hey officer I was stabbed with this knife and the not-a-bat down in Crime Alley beat him up and then I accidentally stole it’ is a bad one.”

Jason snorted at the rambling, while Oracle laughed in his ear. “Even static filled he seems hilarious. I know why you like him.” He was going to kill Babs next time he saw her. “Knowing what he looks like doesn’t hurt either.”

“I can take it for you.” Jason said instead.

“Great! Wait here.” Danny turned and hopped back over the edge of the fire escape with the ease of someone who had years of training or practice.

“Is he like this all the time?” Babs asked, and Jason shrugged.

“Off and on.” Jason answered, sliding back down the fire escape completely silently as opposed to the obnoxious clatter Danny had made. He had seen and heard Danny move silently, like in the library, even on those creaky metal ladders for the top of the stacks, but he just assumed this was some sort of half assed survival mechanism.

Danny appeared again a few minutes later, with the knife wrapped in a towel in a bag. “I didn’t know how you wanted it so…” like Danny was bringing him coffee or ordering a pizza. Jason opened the bag and took the knife out, examining it.

“Good job kid. Now go home. It’s late.” It was barely ten. But he knew the Alley got more dangerous the later it got.

“Yeah. Okay.” Danny turned.

“Red Hood.”

Danny turned back. “What?”

“My name. Not-a-Bat isn’t as effective at striking fear into the enemy.”

Danny scoffed some. “I don’t need to use you as a shield.”

Jason held up the knife. Danny crossed his arms. “that was under control.”

“Right.”

“It was.”

Jason shook his head and pulled out his grapnel, firing it into the distance. As he swung off he had more questions about Danny than he was sure he would ever have answers.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Broken Heart Mender

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Warnings: reader gets sick (vomiting, headache, losing weight, crying), slight miscommunication, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“You know, you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work here,” Smitty points out.

“And you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work at all,” you argue playfully.

“She’s got a point,” Tim adds, shrugging at Smitty’s offended look.

You smile at Tim as you walk out, needing to return to your own station after spending too long on paperwork (to visit Tim). He’s been your friend since you were a rookie, and now he’s so much more.

You and Tim are safe places for one another; whenever one needs it, the other becomes an unlicensed therapist, a no-strings-attached hugger or cuddler on bad days, and a good listener, no matter the time or problem. Part of why you’re so willing to do such things for Tim is because you have feelings for him, a long-harbored crush that grows each time he’s kind to you or asks for your advice.

Tim, however, will happily listen to your problems and provide a shoulder to cry on, but he prefers to show his care by being what some (Angela) might call a ‘protective menace.’ He’s had feelings for you for as long as he can remember and shows it by staying close and keeping you out of harm’s way.

Whenever you run into each other at work, you find a way to stay together, and while Tim protects you, you try your hardest to make him smile. You like doing small things for him to make him happy because he deserves it. Likewise, he stays close because you deserve more than anyone can ever give you.

The only problem is that you’re both scared to let your feelings show, so you disguise it as friendship, a special bond that no one can break. Only a few people, those willing to look, can see that there’s more to your actions and words than a time-tested and bulletproof friendship.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs when he sees Angela sitting at his desk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks.

“You have questions to answer,” she replies, moving out of his seat and blocking the door. “I want to know about you and your friend.”

Tim rolls his eyes at her tone and air quotes. She has asked him about you before, but she’s relentless.

“Why aren’t you in a real relationship? Why haven’t you asked her out?” Angela inquires.

“Not your business, Lopez,” Tim answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You slow as you near Tim’s office, his voice and Angela’s drawing your attention as your smile drops.

“Just tell me why you won’t let her in that last little bit,” Angela demands.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but we won’t work. We’re not made for each other, we’re not soulmates, and we will not be good for each other, not like that,” Tim snaps.

Swallowing, you feel like your heart physically drops into your stomach, making you nauseous as you fight tears. You leave before Tim or Angela notice you’re outside, unwilling to see Tim after learning how he feels.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What does that mean, Timothy?” Angela asks, quieter as she digs for the real reason.

Tim shakes his head, not ready to admit that he doesn’t consider himself relationship material. Regardless, you deserve someone better than him, though he has never considered it the other way around: you are too good for him and always have been.

“You’re right, it’s not my business. But it is hers,” Angela reminds him before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Distancing yourself from Tim is hard, but after his comments to Angela, it’s what you have to do. Tim doesn’t have feelings for you and thinks you aren’t good enough, which hurts. More than your feelings, you are mentally distraught. Your emotions are all over the place, swinging aimlessly from anger to denial to an overwhelming sadness that makes it impossible to do anything but cry.

After a long night of fighting with your emotions, you try to eat breakfast and realize that the hurt is physical, too. Rushing to the bathroom, you empty your stomach before moving to the floor as your tears continue. Losing Tim is the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, and this is only the beginning.

The alarm on your phone goes off, and you pull yourself off the bathroom floor and get ready, ignoring the pain building behind your eyes and the churning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It will be a long day, but if you can power through, you will take some time off next week.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is neck-deep in paperwork for a Metro case, but every spare second he has is spent calling and texting you. You don’t answer, and Tim can't do anything as his worry increases. He realizes Angela was right, and you deserve to know how he feels and why he keeps you so close, yet not close enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the day, you haven’t been able to keep a single thing down, and you’re not sure if the emotional or physical pain is worse. Collapsing onto your couch, you let the tears begin anew as your week of PTO begins and your life as you know it ends.

Each day seems worse than the last, as you get sicker and sadder with each passing moment. When you summon the courage to step on the scale on Sunday morning, just three days after hearing Tim’s comments, you’ve lost a concerning amount of weight. You know it’s dangerous, but between the constant crying and the anxiety and sadness eating at you, there isn’t much you can do. There isn’t much you want to do except find a way to make yourself good enough for Tim Bradford.

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s been days since Tim heard from you, and he’s worried. When Mid-Wilshire gets called to assist your station, he hopes to see you. Tim searches the crowd of blue until he finds your partner.

“Bradford,” your partner greets.

Tim asks where you are, curious as to why you aren’t together, and your partner explains that you’ve been off work since Saturday, sick with something.

“Do you know if she’s okay?” Tim asks.

“All I know is it has to be bad for her to take this much time off,” your partner explains with an apologetic shrug before being called away.

Tim’s protectiveness kicks into overdrive, his worry keeping him from being able to focus on anything else. He finds his captain and tells him what's going on before asking if he can go check on you.

As he drives to your apartment, Tim hopes it’s not as bad as it sounds while beating himself up for not coming to visit you sooner. The ignored calls should have been a sign that something was wrong, but he let work get in the way. Though you aren’t there to hear it, Tim promises he will never neglect you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes a minute to realize that the pounding sound is someone knocking and not an effect of your headache. Stumbling to the door, you answer it without checking who it is. When you see Tim’s face, you try to close the door, but you’re too weak, and Tim is too quick.

He rushes inside, looking at your pale face, unruly hair, and how your clothes hang off of you: an indicator you're unhealthily losing weight. It’s enough to push his protective side to action even as he fears the worst.

“You should go,” you tell him.

Tim ignores you, walking to your kitchen and setting water on the oven to boil. While he waits, Tim straightens up your apartment, moving quickly from room to room. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, and as you watch him, your emotions take over again.

With a few tears running down your face, you raise your voice and say his name. “You need to go.”

“No,” he answers simply. “You need help, you’re obviously sick and you’re not answering my calls.”

Tim's presence and how he acts like nothing has changed, and he’s still the protective friend he pretends to be, hurts you.

“Tim, get out!” you demand.

“Let me help,” he argues.

Shaking your head, you walk to your room and close the door, curling around your pillow as you cry. Each noise Tim makes in the kitchen feels like he’s laughing at you, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

He lets himself into your room after knocking, setting a mug of tea beside your bed, and rubbing your back. He notices how you stiffen but thinks it’s because you’re sick.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“I want you to go.”

Tim nods, more to himself than you, and walks out of your bedroom. 

You hear the door close behind him and roll over, unable to decide if you want to drink the tea or throw it at the wall.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, you wake, and the first thing you remember is Tim leaving yesterday. Yes, you asked him to, but it still hurts. The cold mug beside your bed is a cruel reminder of everything you’ve lost. Rolling out of bed, you reach for the water on the nightstand. After the first drink, you race for the bathroom, wondering how long it takes for a broken heart to heal.

Someone pulls your hair out of your face, a kind hand pressed to your back as you cry. When you feel able, you lean back against the tub behind you. Tim moves back, wetting a washcloth before he kneels beside you. As he wipes your face and neck with the cool rag, you wonder what he’d do if you gave him an out.

“I heard what you said,” you admit quietly. “That we wouldn’t be good together.”

Tim slows his movements as he listens to you.

“It hurt.”

Fresh tears break over your waterline, tracking down your cheeks. Tim realizes that he’s the reason you feel so bad; that one comment made to protect his feelings, to hide them, made you feel so bad that you’re now physically sick.

“Hey,” he begins, moving to sit before you when you turn away. “Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I only said that to get Angela to leave me alone, to protect myself. I don’t think that.”

“But you said it,” you point out tearily.

“I know, and I’m sorry. The truth is we wouldn’t be good together, but not because of you, never because of you. It’s me; I am not made for relationships and I’m not good enough for you.”

You choke on a sob, leaning toward Tim. He extends his arm, letting you move against his side.

“Since we met, I’ve wanted more,” he whispers against your hair. “But I was scared you’d realize I’m broken and leave… like everyone else.”

Shaking harder against his side, you cling to him as all your emotions mix. There is a chance this is a dream, but if you have to lose Tim, this seems like the best way to say goodbye.

“C’mon,” Tim urges gently, pulling you with him as he stands.

With a gentle hand on your back and one on your shoulder, Tim leads you to the couch. Covering you with a blanket, he promises to come right back. When he returns with a glass of water and a pack of crackers, you turn toward him.

“Are you going to leave?” you whisper.

Tim shakes his head. “Never.”

Nodding, you accept the crackers. After you eat a few and drink half the water Tim gave you, you sit back.

“I cleaned your apartment last night,” Tim tells you. “You want to change and clean up?”

You take a deep breath, and Tim senses your apprehension before adding, “I’ll help you.”

Taking Tim’s hand, you follow him back into your bedroom. After you change into the clothes he hands you, you sit on the bathroom vanity and let him wash your face and secure your hair.

“When’s the last time you ate? More than a few bites, I mean,” Tim asks, laying a hand on your thigh.

You shrug before admitting, “Last Wednesday.”

Tim’s jaw clenches, but he hides it with a quick nod. “I’m going to make you some more food. I know you probably don’t want to eat, and you don’t have to eat much, but you need something.”

Moving your hand onto Tim’s, you interlace your fingers with his. He leans in, releasing a chuckle when you throw your arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to the edge of the vanity.

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I missed you too,” he responds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you dry the ends of your hair while you exit the bathroom, you feel like a new person.

“We need to talk,” Tim says when he sees you. Your smile falls, and Tim takes your hand. “Not like that,” he promises.

“Like what?” you ask, curling your legs under you as you sit beside him.

“I meant what I said, but I need to make sure you know that. I have feelings for you, I have for a long time, I’m just terrified to show them because I’m not good enough for you.”

Boldly, you press your finger to his lips to stop him. He raises his brows at your movement, smiling with you.

“Yes, you are. You’re more than good enough. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim pulls your hand away from his face, kissing your finger as he does so. “Even though I broke your heart and made you sick?”

“Broken heart sickness is curable, and you’re a pretty good doctor,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“I promise to make it better, and never do it again.”

You nod, trusting him entirely. Now that you’ve had a shower and heard that Tim feels the same, your stomach growls.

“It’s working already,” Tim says.

“I’m hungry again,” you marvel, smiling at Tim.

“I’ll offer a trade,” Tim begins. “A home-cooked meal for you, and a kiss for me.”

You nod, but Tim adds, “And I promise never to lie to protect myself again. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel, as long as you do the same.”

“I feel like I love you, Tim Bradford,” you reply, pulling him in for the promised kiss.

Your kiss is better than he expected, and Tim loses himself in the feeling of you until your stomach growls again, and you laugh against his lips. Tim broke your heart, but he put it back together with a piece of his; the best-broken-heart-mender in the world was by your side all along.

[mabelstone]

Why would you be loved?

hozier x f!reader

part two of lullabies <3 | part one | masterlist

cw: teeeeeny bit of violence at very beginning ... also 18+ ok if u are unfamiliar with me... this is my thing. this character is FICTIONAL before u attack me for sexualising THE hozier

word count: 3.2k

*i've decided i'd like this to be a slow burn... but don't worry! i will add things to keep u interested (or attempt to)

The sticky slap of their skin echoed through the room, my heart thudding loud enough in my ears to deafen the noise.

I lurched forward, grabbing the leggy blonde from the bar by her hair, yanking her off of Joe and slamming her naked body into the wall. She gasped loudly, falling onto the ground where she watched on in horror. I grabbed the nearest object I could reach - his bedside lamp - smashing the ceramic over his head, screaming in his face about how he's fucked this up for good.

Except that's not what happened.

I opened the door to the same scenario, except I didn't lose my temper and tear the two of them to shreds. My heart still pounded harder than ever, but I simply backed out into the hall without a sound. My eyes must've been something of a Tim Burton character as I walked back outside, leaving the front door wide open. I didn't even grab anything as my handbag was still over my shoulder. I dug around for my phone, finding nothing but an old gum packet, some lipgloss, and some loose change.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, running my hands through my hair. I had my phone in the bar. Did I leave it in Andrew's car? Fuck, did I leave it at the bar? I began to panic, frantically walking down the street. As if I could walk all the way back! It was at least 15 kilometres from my place. I didn't care though, continuing to pace in the cold in clothing more suited to warmer weather. I kept replaying what I saw over and over in my head. I'd usually call my mum, but...

The way his hands were digging into her skin, the way she kept repeating how good he was making her feel. I felt sick to my stomach, and the alcohol wasn't helping. I'm not sure they even saw me, but once he finished (judging by the sounds he was making, wouldn't be too long) he'd see the doors open and connect the dots.

I turned my head as I heard someone whistle from across the street, inexplicably grateful to see Andy's car. "What're you doin'?"

"Do you have my phone?" My voice sounded foreign to me, robotic and desperate at the same time. I crossed the street, heading straight for the passenger side.

"Your lifeline is right here, hence why I am," he laughed, holding my phone out to me. I just stood at the door expressionless, and he probably thought my drinks had been spiked or I'd gone mad. "You... alright?"

"Joe is cheating on me," robotically sounding again. Though saying the words out loud made it suddenly real. Joe is cheating on me.

"What?" His eyebrows shot up, dipping his head to see my face better. "What? When?"

"Like, literally right now," I laughed. I began to laugh hysterically, having to rest my hands on the top of his car to steady myself. I laughed so hard, tears began to stream down my face and my stomach hurt.

The next thing I knew, that familiar warm hand was on my back, followed by a soft, "c'mere". I turned to face Andrew, immediately bursting into tears. Real tears this time. He pulled me in close to his chest, one arm easily wrapped around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head. I sobbed into his shirt, likely accidentally digging my nails into his back as I clung to him. If I did, he didn't comment on it. He held me tight, rubbing soft circles into my spine with his palm. I don't know how long we stood there for, but when I pulled away, his shirt was soaked and covered in mascara.

"I'm so sorry," I gave a half hearted laugh, gesturing to the stained cotton. "I will wash it for you, I'm good at getting stains out."

"Don't be ridiculous," he smiled that poor you smile he always did, but this time it felt like a comfort as he shook his head. "You can come back to mine and shower. Then we can figure this out."

"No, no, I don't want to put you out." I protested, wiping under my eyes, undoubtedly smudging the black into my hairline. I sniffled, wiping my snotty nose onto the sleeve of my cardigan. If Joe was right about Andy being infatuated with me, I definitely just destroyed that in one simple, snotty gesture.

"I insist," he smiled, leaning against the side of the car. I was exhausted, and a nice shower in a house that didn't reek of infidelity sounded too good to reject. I nodded and climbed into the passenger seat for the second time tonight, switching on my phone to see no new messages. Maybe he didn't see me after all.

I slipped into an oversized hoodie of Andrew’s after my shower, steam on the mirror and condensation on every surface from the amount of time I was in there. I felt guilty using his water, but time slipped away from me by the time I realised. He had real shampoo and conditioner, not that pathetic 3 in 1 bullshit Joe used. I stole a hair tie and hid my messy curls in a bun. I honestly looked like a mess, but it was definitely an improvement from before. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Most of the alcohol had fleeted my system, so now I was just exhausted and forced to bask in the reality of the situation.

I walked into his living room where he was sat, one arm slung over the back of the couch while the other flicked through Netflix. It was strange to see him in his space, so comfortable and… domestic. No, we’re not doing this. Yet.

I looked down and saw a black border collie mix strewn across his lap. “Oh my goodness!” I swooned as I headed straight for the dog. Andy mustn’t have heard me, jumping slightly and cursing under his breath. “How rude of me. Who’s this little angel?”

“The breaking of my heart,” he began, hand over his chest as he stared lovingly down at his dog. “Elwood.”

“Elwood? Really?” I quirked an eyebrow, looking up to Elwood’s owner.

“It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful boy, I don’t understand the issue?”

I rolled my eyes, going back to snuggling the dog, kissing his face all over. “He is beautiful. Yes you are!” Elwood wagged his tail excitedly, slobbering happily all over my hands.

Andrew chuckled down at us, averting his eyes back to the TV, a soft smile lingering on his lips.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower, Andy,” I smiled, sitting beside him on the lounge, feeling like the human embodiment of the calm after a storm.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all," he grinned earnestly, playing the pilot of Breaking Bad softly in the background. He lulled his head to the side, eyes glistening in the soft golden lighting of the lamp in the corner of the room. "Want a tea?"

"Please," I nodded, Elwood now snuggled into my lap. The moment he left the room, I was left with the crushing reality of what'd just happened. The horrible sound that plagued my phonic memory, as if it were played through headphones at a deafening volume. I tried to focus on the TV, Breaking Bad had always been my favourite. It was no use, the gut wrenching ache within me only multiplied by the minute, tears welling in my eyes, daring to fall.

"I wasn't sure how you take it so I bought everything with me," he placed two tea cups onto his coffee table, along with a carton of milk and a canister of sugar.

"So adorable, you remind me of my gran," I teased, desperately trying to blink away any trace of sadness before he had a chance to see. I didn't need to burden him with any more tears.

"You know, I've been called far worse," he shrugged, taking his tea black, sitting beside me on the couch. "So I'll take it."

I hummed in response, mixing in my milk and sugar.

"So... maybe a redundant question, but, how're you feeling?"

"Well," I chuckled bitterly, sipping from my tea. "Probably feeling as you'd expect. Actually, that's a lie. I don't know how I feel honestly."

His eyes studied my features, and I deliberately avoided his gaze. His dog snored away in my lap, the TV just loud enough that any amount of silence couldn't be awkward.

"Has... anything like this happened to you?" I asked, despite the voice in my head telling me not to.

"Ehm, yeah. Not too long ago, actually," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his chocolate curls flicking up at the ends, framing his face beautifully in the light. "We were together for three years. She was sleeping around with a friend of mine. She broke it off with me when she decided she'd rather be with him."

"Her loss," I mirrored that same pitiful look he always gave me, the slight drop in his expression making me feel guilty for even asking. "You make a mean cup of tea."

"If only she could appreciate the art of English Breakfast," he sighed, a sad smile lingering on his lips despite the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Andy," I sighed, tempted to reach out for him but deciding against it in fear of breaching some unspoken boundary. "I'll get out of your hair soon."

"You can stay- only if you'd like," he offered awkwardly, eyes flickering to mine as he fiddled with the handle of his cup. "There's a spare bedroom."

"No, no. You've been so kind tonight, I don't want to push it," I shook my head, misjudging the height of the coffee table, my cup hitting it with a sharp clank. Elwood startled, throwing his head back to look at me. "Sorry, buddy."

"You're not pushing anything," he laughed, shaking his head now. "It's late. The decision's all yours. But I must say, that bed might be nicer than my own."

"Quite persuasive, aren't you?" I grinned, throwing my head back against the couch, weighing up my options. Well, I can't go home. "Okay. I'll stay... if you're sure that's okay?"

"Well, because you're twisting my arm..." He joked, that bright, happy smile making its glorious return. "I'll get you a spare toothbrush and a bottle of water. You've had a big night."

"Yeah," I breathed, rubbing at my burning, no doubt bloodshot, eyes. "I am exhausted."

"Come, I'll show you to your room," he got up from the couch, extending his hand to me. I took it in mine, warm and calloused; so large, his fingers reached my wrist as he helped me from the couch. I followed behind him, the soft padding of our feet up the stairs slowly becoming the only sound audible. Elwood trailing close behind, of course.

He showed me to the guest room, nothing special, but somehow a massive comfort. A navy blue, fluffy duvet with a bedside table, a simple lamp and a copy of Inferno by Dante Alighieri atop it.

"Oh, I'll grab that toothbrush," he waved his hand as if he were finally able to dismiss the thought. I chuckled at the way he hurried out of the room, the exhaustion rippling through my body as I sat on the edge of the bed. He was right. This might be the comfiest bed I've ever had the pleasure of sitting on. I zoned out, staring at the carpet as I finally sobered up. These past few weeks had been fucked, and I knew they'd only get worse. My phone started buzzing rapidly as Andy came back into the room, a bottle of water, a toothbrush still in the packaging, and a sheet of panadol in his hands. He silently placed them onto the bedside table, both of us just watching my phone ring. It was Joe.

Against my better judgement, I picked up on the last ring, raising the phone to my ear.

"Where are you?" His voice was hoarse, unsuspecting. Idiot.

"Doesn't matter," I sighed, nauseated at the sound of his voice.

"Well, it does. I've been worried sick about you, you're meant to be home now. How would I know you hadn't been kidnapped or gone home with some creep?"

"That is ironic," I laughed, though there was no humour in my tone.

"The fuck are you on about? Get home right now." He was getting angrier by the second. Andrew could hear every word, his brows knitted together in disgust as he listened on.

"I did come home. You were a bit busy," I swallowed harshly, my voice failing me, beginning to shake.

There was silence on his end for a good thirty seconds, all air in Andrew's small guest bedroom thinning at once. "...Babe. We will get through this."

"I don't think so."

"Don't say shit like that. I love you, Y/N. We'll get through this stronger than ever. Just come home, baby. I'll make it up to you," he was speaking fast, panicked almost.

"I need some space," I replied weakly, eyes filling with tears again.

"No. I love you. Come home. Please, babe, pl-"

I hung up on him before he got the chance to manipulate me straight back into his arms, Andy watching me with a frown. Suddenly, it was all too real, and I was breaking down in front of him for the second time tonight.

He didn't say anything. I felt the bed dip beside me, his warm arm wrapping around my shoulder, pulling me in close. We stayed like that for a while - my head leaned against his shoulder as I cried, his head atop mine - until I felt like there was no water left in my body. I heaved a massive sigh, sitting up straight again.

"Oh, Andy, I'm so s-"

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he hushed me, sincerity written all over his face, kind emerald eyes revealing that he wasn't doing anything for secondary gain; he was just a beautiful soul. "Get some rest."

"Okay," I agreed, pulling back the covers with his help. I wanted him to stay, I didn't want to be alone. I wished he could've just laid with me, no meaning attached, but just to have the warmth of another to occupy the cold, empty bed. Instead I thanked him again, pulling the covers up to my chin.

"You know where my room is. I'll be there if you need anything," he smiled earnestly, flicking off the light before walking out.

Goodnight, Andy, I almost said, but sleep washed over me quicker than I could form the words.

I woke early, bathed in velvety caramel coloured sunlight, slowly beginning to register where I was. I made my way down to corridor to Andy's room, his bedroom door barely ajar. I put my ear to the door, not wanting to wake him if he were still sleeping. I heard soft pants escaping his lips, letting my curiosity get the best of me.

I gently pushed the door open, revealing the glow of his milky skin in the same light. His beautiful halo of curls sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he worked himself beneath the covers. I couldn't suppress the noise of surprise that escaped my lips as he whimpered my name.

"Fuck-" He gasped, pulling his hand from under the cover. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Keep going," I encouraged, slowly making my way to him. Confusion plastered all over his face, he obliged, slipping his hand back under the cover. I sat before him, our eyes locked on one another as he picked up the pace. "Gooood, that's it."

His brows furrowed as he continued to worked himself, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow. I slipped into bed beside him, my hand replacing his. His breathing pattern grew irregular, every vowel of my name dripping off his tongue, igniting a fire deep in my core. I began placing wet kisses along jawline, making my way down to his neck, then his chest, then-

And then I actually woke up, heart beating at a million miles an hour. What. The. Fuck. Shame immediately coursed through my veins, burying my face into my pillow as I replayed the dream over and over until it was committed to memory. Am I an awful person?

I could vaguely hear Andrew singing along to Let's Fall In Love by Ella Fitzgerald in the kitchen, cautiously making my way down the stairs. I was disgusted in myself for even thinking of him in that way, let alone loving every shame filled second of it.

"Mornin'," I made myself known, sliding onto one of the stools at his breakfast bar.

"Good morning," he chirped, sliding a cup of coffee toward me. He had his glasses on this morning, his hair pulled back into a bun. "How're you feelin'?"

"Good," I lied through my teeth, concealing it with an enthusiastic nod. "Better, yeah." I just gave you a handjob in my dream and now I want you to pin me to the couch and make love to me all day. Oh, and I'm supposed to be grieving a near 6 year relationship, but now I'm just really fucking confused. "How are you?"

"Hungry. And I hope you are too," he grinned, revealing a big stack of pancakes he'd just cooked for us, as well as a bowl of chopped strawberries.

"I am, that looks lovely," another lie. I had no appetite. But I also couldn't say no to a man so sickly sweet. He sat beside me, soft jazz serenading us from his record player.

"What've you got on today?" He queried, plopping a pancake onto each of our plates.

"Might visit my ma, update her on... everything, I guess. Then I've gotta get my car. Maybe some clothes. Fuck, I don't even know what to do," I laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of my coffee. "You performing tonight?"

"Hoping to," he nodded, taking a bite of a strawberry. "You know you're more than welcome to spend the night here again."

"I couldn't possibly burden you for another night," I deflected, mirroring his actions and popping a strawberry into my mouth.

"You actually don't have to fight me each time, you cay just say no," he chuckled, shaking his head at me.

"I love spending time with you," I confessed, resting my hand on his arm, then retracting it just as fast. "I just don't want you to think I'm using you."

"Nonsense," he waved me off, scoffing. "It's nice to have some company. Plus, Elwood has taken a strong liking to you."

"The feeling is mutual," I laughed, breaking off a piece of my pancake for the dog happily wagging his tail by my feet. "I'm sure you have lady friends come and visit."

"Only ones who ruin their tea with milk and barely touch their pancakes," he remarked with a wide grin. I felt my cheeks turn hot at his stupid comment, finally digging in to my breakfast.

Maybe things weren't going to be so bad after all.

i don't love this... but this desperately needed an update. feel free to send requests of some stuff you'd like in the next chapter xx

[sister-lucifer]

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst 

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask. 

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’ 

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again. 

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver. 

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.” 

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes. 

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat. 

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.” 

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say. 

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.” 

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious. 

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering. 

“…Group bonding.” 

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting. 

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words. 

“How would you do it, then?” 

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that? 

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?” 

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?” 

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you. 

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we’re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice. 

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick. 

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today. 

Not today. 

Not here.

Not right in front of you. 

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin. 

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods. 

A signal. 

Go. 

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing. 

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows. 

Silence. 

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face. 

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.” 

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt. 

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.” 

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager. 

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person. 

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him. 

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first  person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you. 

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case. 

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat. 

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger. 

You hear the click. 

And then silence. 

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling. 

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no. 

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe. 

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too. 

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm. 

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over. 

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this. 

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head. 

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice. 

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death. 

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body. 

They’ve sentenced you to death. 

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood? 

It doesn’t matter. 

None of that matters. 

You’re going to be the next. 

That’s all there is for you to be now. 

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are. 

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger. 

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice. 

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger. 

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks. 

Then there’s silence. 

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound. 

You’re alive. 

The game is over. 

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk. 

“Out like a light.” 

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth. 

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others. 

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over. 

“Go put it up,” Tim orders. 

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?” 

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods. 

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby. 

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.” 

[erinwantstowrite]

im so sorry you had to deal with batchest shippers so many time:( dont let it discourage you! there are still NORMAL PEOPLE that love your fic

hope they get the messagge unfortunately your fic has reached the wrong crowd🫶

for the most part i get amazing, creative, lovely readers and i love love love seeing everyone comment and make their own posts and art and writing. it's just that the minority (somehow, since the Batfam has majority ships in the Batcest category) of commenters will come onto my page or on the fic itself and tell me they ship two characters (usually Peter and Damian, and other times it's Tim and Jay, but a couple times it was Bruce and one of his sons). And it really really really makes me sick to my stomach.

What makes it worth it are all of the amazing readers I do have. There are a few of you who have reached out and told me your stories, and why you were thankful I've made my stance so clear. Just know that even if I didn't respond to the ask, I saw it and I think about you often. I hope I can continue making you feel comfortable and welcome with me.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Hii!! Just a thought, would any of the yanderes baby trap a particularly difficult reader?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘-𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆…

!!! GN reader, children (lmao), manipulation, coercion into parenting, delusions, slight threats, impregnation mention (it’s not the reader, though), obligatory Tim Drake warning, mentions of possible harm to children.

I’m assuming you just mean the comic book yanderes. Let’s see!

I kept the actual baby-acquisition vague. Could be one or both of y’all’s biological kid, could be adopted, could be kidnapped. Who knows! I also gave them ratings on how they would be as a father, cuz why not.

Bruce Wayne: Yes. Absolutely. This is Bruce we’re talking about. You know, the guy who’s never beating the empty-nester allegations? As long as you’re with him, you’re bound to end up with a kid one way or another. Whether he set out to baby trap you or ended up with a child by chance, he is for sure going to hold it over your head. This kid is going to have both of their parents in their life, biological or not. It’s like a new kid spawns in the manor every time you get even a little bit rebellious. (7/10 father; still has his issues, but he’s learned from his past mistakes.)

Bucky Barnes: Okay, I don’t think he’d initially see himself as a family man. Just never crossed his mind, given his life as the Winter Solider. If he did end up with a kid, it would definitely be by accident. But when that happens, he’ll start to give it a little more thought. The idea of a family… it sounds so domestic; so normal. Uh-oh. Instant baby fever. Now he wants even more kids, and he’ll acquire them by any means necessary. Doesn’t manipulate you with any children, but you may feel obligated to stick around; the Winter Soldier does NOT seem like the type to be good at parenting. (5/10 father; doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s at least enthusiastic.)

Clark Kent: This man wants the classic nuclear family life. While he wouldn’t set out to baby-trap you, it will inadvertently happen with his desire for children. He wants to be tackled by at least 3 kids every time he comes home! And if he’s already had Jon, I can see him making it his mission to find the perfect spouse; that’s how he finds you!! Oh, you’re not good with kids? Doesn’t matter. This man is delusional as fuck. It’s not like he sees you for who you are, anyway. Keep in mind that he’s projecting an idealized version of a spouse onto you. (10/10 father; amazing with kids and is willing to pull your weight when you’re being difficult.)

Dick Grayson: If it comes down to it, he will. Any form of manipulation is fair game, and hey… he’s always dreamed of starting a family of his own one day. Even if you’re not big on kids, he’s willing to play the long game to try and get you to change your mind. And if you never do? Welp. That’s too bad. You’re still gonna end up with a child somehow (Dick’s got plenty of ways to make sure of that). When he finally gets what he wants, he’s for sure using the “think of our kid(s)” card any chance he gets. (9/10 father; he’s a family man at heart, and everyone around him thinks it was only a matter of time.)

Hal Jordan: A bit iffy on starting a family. He doesn’t hate kids, he just isn’t sure if he’s ready. However, as soon as he realizes a child in your life could make you more compliant, he quickly starts to sing a different tune. Now he’s all for having kids!! He’d be obsessed with the power it gives, every interaction between you two having that subtle warning of, “try and escape me now.” Papa-Bear Hal is not a force to be reckoned with. You may find yourself not liking the consequences of trying to break up this happy little family. (8/10 father; there’s a bit of a learning curve for him, but he’ll eventually fall into the groove of it.)

Jaime Reyes: Nope. The thought of having kids makes him sick to his stomach. He knows there’s something wrong with him… god only knows what would happen to his kids. The what if’s would drive him insane, easily trumping the possible gains of baby-trapping you. Sure, it might be a bit tempting — and he’ll admit, a small part of him wishes he could one day be a father — but not only would he feel extremely guilty, he also knows that it’s a bad fucking idea. Hopefully, he can continue to ignore Khaji Da’s own thoughts on the matter. It doesn’t matter how important “continuing the Reyes legacy” is, he’s not taking that risk. (6/10 father; despite his fits of spiraling paranoia, he needs to give himself a little more credit).

Peter Parker: Honestly, it’s a toss up. He’s got his concerns with being a father, but thinking about it makes him all giddy inside. I think this would be another case of accidental baby-trapping. He didn’t set out to do it, but hey… if it works, it works. Any “but what about our kid(s)” that he throws at you is by no means intentional manipulation; he’s just genuinely worried what would happen if you left. Then again, I can also see him slightly doing it. As soon as he realizes it works, he’ll keep it in mind. A thing he’ll tuck away for later and only use when absolutely needed. (9/10 father; loves his kid(s) and would do anything for them).

Remy LeBeau: Yeah, probably. As long as he’s in a position where he can have a kid or two, he’ll go for it. Remy secretly longs for a family (though he’ll never admit it), and if starting one means earning your compliance? Well, shit… that’s just killing two birds with one stone! But again, this depends on if he’s in a position where kids are viable. Should he still have some unfinished business to attend to, he’s not gonna be dumb enough to have kids. Growing up in the Thieves Guild taught him a thing or two about why that’s a bad idea. Otherwise, you are not immune to a sudden baby-acquisition by yours truly. (7/10 father; he gives chill baby daddy vibes who tries his best to be there for his kids.)

Scott Summers: Oh, yeah. It’s guaranteed to happen. This man is committed to having a semi-normal life, no matter how unrealistic that may seem. He wants a family. He wants you to be obedient. He wants a sense of normalcy, goddamnit. Y’all are having a kid whether you want one or not. And he leans heavily towards having a biological kid. If you don’t have the means to get pregnant — or fight tooth and nail against the idea — he’s 100% impregnating someone else and stealing their baby. Yes, it’s a crazy idea. Yes, he’s willing to go that far. Don’t test him. He’ll yell and shout at you about how you need to be there for this fucking kid, even if it’s not yours. It’s in your best interest if you comply. (6/10 father; he’s chronically fighting against the absent father allegations and MIGHT be winning… results are still pending.)

Steve Roger: Poor guy wants to settle down so bad. Yes, he’d baby-trap you, but I can see him feeling guilty for it. He knows it’s wrong, and it would especially weigh down on him if you didn’t even want kids in the first place. But he wants a family so bad. He can’t help it!! And as big of a piece of shit he may feel afterwards, he’ll do what’s necessary to make you behave. You need to be here for your kids! If a little bit of manipulation makes you stay, then so be it. He’s surprisingly good at guilt-tripping, making a good case with the image he has to uphold as Captain America. What would people think if they learned he was a single father? What assumptions would they make about you if you left him? Society might not be all that kind to you. It’s best to just stay. (8/10 father; can get a little busy, but he’s definitely there when it matters the most.)

Tim Drake: Not a fan of kids. There might be a chance of him coming up with a baby-trapping scheme during one of his weird fits, but let’s hope he snaps out of it before it’s too late. Do NOT let bro be a father. On the off-chance that he does acquire a kid… pray. And I mean PRAY. His version of baby-trapping ranges from “but this kid needs you” to “I will fucking kill this kid if you leave.” A situation like this means you have to familiarize yourself with Tim’s mood swings. Be compliant at first, then when he starts to second-guess himself, try to gently coax him into giving this child a better home. Hopefully, that poor kid will survive everything unscathed. Tim wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something bad happened to them. (0/10 father; he’d actually do an alright job when he’s mentally stable, but I think everyone — including Tim himself — would agree that he’d do more harm than good raising a kid.)

Wally West: Yup. No hesitation. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he will get to scheming immediately. His goal would be to make it seem like a natural evolution, even if you’re not keen on the idea of kids. Wally is such a master at masking his manipulation, to the point where it’s unclear if he’s actually baby-trapping you or not, and by the time you’ve realize it… welp… too late. Arguing with him is absolutely frustrating, cuz Wally West does not argue; he smooth talks until makes you feel like an idiot. Wanna know how cruel he is? Those kids will grow up to be accomplices in his manipulation, whether they know it or not. No one can put a stop to his fuckery. (9/10 parent; turns out to be a phenomenal father, I just have to take a point off simply because raising your kids to be just as manipulative as him probably isn’t good.)

[dairy-farmer]

Ok, so mostly i thought this was funny, but if anyone could make it hot it's you.

normalized public sex au where it is actually taboo to have sex in private. Maybe it's supposedly for safety reasons, but also it's viewed at incedibly perverted. Like what kinda off the walls kinky shit are you getting up to that you wouldn't do in front of your mother in law?

Perhaps sexual polyamory is the norm as well. Being exclusively monogamous would be seen as deviant and suspicious. If theyre having sex in private and with no other partners they must be doing something wrong, or one of them is being abusive or perversely possessive and controlling.

Like there is absolutely a batfam member who would be the worst kind of pervert (a romantic) who would want intimate and private (and exclusive) sex with tim. This would result in lots of sneaking around and speculations of when the young tim drake is finally gonna start "participating" in society.

This could be fun in a love triangle as well (perhaps jaytim and dicktim where they both want tim to themselves). Also, someone wanting to be tims first and only in this kind of society, wanting no one else to see his naked body, etc.

!!!!!!! jason is absolutely the romantic that wants to privately have sex with tim, fuck him when its just the two of them and no one else watching!

tim being young and the first person to fuck him is jason who led him to a quiet corner of the library one day and slipped his panties off. tim is the first person jason has ever been able to fuck privately, all the others were done in front of crowds, near groups of people who'd be having casual conversations around or staring and making occasional commentary and it...it just ruined it for jason. he couldn't enjoy the sex. and not just that, the person he hooked up with would almost always immediatly begin fucking someone else the minute they were done, likely one of the people who were watching and offering unsolicited advice and the sight would just mess with jason.

it bugged him that he'd never have someone who was just his, who would only kiss and touch him.

tim was the closest. bruce had made a big deal of telling socialites that tim was off limits because he was far too young for "that" stuff. that being tim being fucked on the table at a gala by any number of grossly rich brats who attended.

so when tim stood on his tip toes and pressed a quick kiss to jason's mouth before darting away when bruce turned a corner...it was the first time that jason's chest had bloomed with affection at having something private.

jason knows he's not supposed to fuck someone alone, that he's not allowed to be to possessive with partners. because it looks bad, it sends an unsavory message- that's what bruce and dick say. but jason couldn't help it. some deep part of him just recoiled whenever he wanted to have sex and it had to be in front of family, friends, or complete strangers. no one ever saw anything wrong with it so jason didn't know where the feeling came from but it didn't change that he had it. that and the desire to have tim to himself, to be the only one to fuck tim ever and see him in such a way.

tim is growing older and interest in him keeps bubbling. even dick has made a mention about being excited to see tim's cute little tits and pretty cunt on his cock. and the thought makes jason sick. because if dick fucks tim then he'lll absolutely share and introduce him to all his titan friends. some of them were cool but others were utterly unbearable. and jason couldn't stomach the thought of not being the last person to touch tim, of having to share him with people who didn't deserve him, who didn't treasure him the way jason did.

and so jason needs to find a way to make sure they can stay together, to make sure he's the only one who can be with tim.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Parry but thwh fell out aftee darry and him had a fight because he laughed at some kids, KID Greasers jumping, (he laugher out of awkwardness) and darry took it as a sign he though it was ok and processed it as a threat ti the gang ESPECIALLY Ponyboy.

They fought alot. It was scary because Both Soda and Pony where homd, and classes and plates got broke, shattered, and lots if door slammimg and threats where thrown at each other. Things where said to a point

darry cried.

Hm, ok, so this isn't EXACTLY this but I saw this ask and my brain was like minific! so...minific. Hope you like it!

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

“I’m telling you man,” Paul is saying, “the giants have got it in the bag this year, have you seen their defense?”

“No way,” Darry shakes his head, “the Bears are consistent and they’ve got Wade as QB, no way they aren’t taking the superbowl.”

“Wade is fine but he’s not better than-”

He’s cut off by the door slamming open. Normally Darry would have half a mind to yell at whoever slammed it because mom always blamed him and Two for it when Steve and Pony were the biggest culprits, but any thoughts of teasing are forgotten as Steve sprints down the hall without even a hello, Soda right on his heels. Darry’s used to the gang bursting in at all hours of the day and night, it’s how their house works, but something about this feels off. His suspicions are confirmed when Steve hurtles back out again a second later holding the first aid kit. 

“Whoa!” Darry grabs Soda’s shoulder before he can follow, pulling him to a stop, “what’s going’ on?”

“Joey Dubois got jumped,” Soda gasps out, chest heaving, “it’s pretty bad.”

“Aaron’s kid brother?” Darry’s heart drops, “But…but he’s ten!”

“Yeah,” Soda’s grim, “I know.”

“You need any help?”

“Nah. Pony’s sittin’ with him right now, and between Dally and Tim Shepard we got enough muscle keepin’ Aaron from doin’ something he’ll regret. ‘Sides,” Soda shoots a cold glare at Paul, “your buddy here shows his face and he’ll probably lose some teeth. Aaron’s gang is out for blood.”

He claps Darry on the shoulder and then he’s gone, jumping off the porch steps and running after Steve.

“Shit,” Darry sinks into a chair, previous conversation forgotten, and buries his head in his hands. Joey Dubois. He can see the kid in his head, a little guy with a mop of dark curls and a grin that spelled trouble. Him and Pony buddied it around sometimes, and Darry had always thought it was funny when his own kid brother would complain about having to put up with Joey always following him around. Lord knew Pony followed him and Johnny and Soda around the same way. The thought of the bright eyed kid being jumped nearly made Darry sick. He was hardly the first real little kid to ever be jumped in their neighbourhood, and wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“So anyway,” Paul says, like Soda hadn’t just interrupted and told them about a literal child being jumped, “Wade isn’t as good a kicker as Tittle–”

“--Paul” Darry grits through clenched teeth, “I don’t want to talk about football right now.”

“What?” Paul scoffs a little, “why?”

“Did you not hear what Soda just said?”

“Some kid got jumped. So what? Happens all the time."

“He’s ten.”

“Dar,” Paul laughs a little, “it’s not a big deal. Yeah he’s ten but so what? He was probably asking for it.”

Darry's jaw tightens..

Usually, his friendship with Paul is easy. They get along better than Darry gets along with just about anyone, they have the same interests, share the same sense of humour and the same desperation to get out of Tulsa Oklahoma no matter what it takes. Sometimes their friendship is so easy that Darry forgets what Paul is, forgets where he comes from. 

Paul Holden is a west side elite, as soc as it gets. And sometimes, like right now, he’s so fucking patronizing Darry could smack him. 

Say what you want about him, but Darry Curtis is not stupid, nor is he naive. He’s seen things on the east side that Paul could only dream of, for all he pretends to be normal, comes to their house and bums around the east side like an actor in a movie, looks at Darry’s world,  his friends and his family like they’re an intriguing thought experiment instead of Darry’s very real life. And people can think what they want about him but Darry Curtis is not ashamed of where he comes from. There’s a lot of shitty things about the east side, but there’s a lot of good people here too, and Paul doesn’t get to sit there in his letterman jacket with his madras shirt and act like Darry reacting to a ten year old kid getting jumped is some crazy, childish thing. 

“You do realize,” he can hear his voice rising, “that my own baby brother is only twelve, right? And that the only difference between him and Joey is luck? I know you have no skin in this game so you don’t give a flying fuck about anything, but you could at least pretend to care.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” Darry demands, “Like someone who cares about little kids getting hurt in my own fucking neighbourhood?”

“Like you’re a fucking greaser!” Pauls bursts out, and then suddenly it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Darry recovers first.

“Get out.”

“Darry-”

“I said get out.” 

“Darry I’m sorry I-”

“No,” Darry advances on him, trying so hard to control his temper he’s literally shaking, “no you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come here, to my house, in my neighbourhood, meet all my friends and my family, and then look down on me for it like I’m some sort of trash.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Paul begs, “I-”

“Yes you did,” Darry cuts him off. He can feel hot tears welling, the way they always do when he’s so furious it’s hard to think, but he forces them back, “you meant it, and I’m fucking glad you did because guess what? I am a greaser, and I wear that title like a badge of honour ‘cause at least it means I ain’t nothin’ like you!”

“You didn’t seem to want that title when I gave you that shirt did you?” Paul spits back, moved to anger himself. Good. Darry can face Paul's anger a lot easier than his repentance. “Or when you started hanging out with me and the rest of the guys from the football team, or when Tammy Crenshaw asked you to Sadie Hawkins!”

“Whatever,” Darry sneers, “I thought you were better than this but once an asshole always an asshole, huh? I can’t believe I thought you changed. You’re the same shallow, entitled, socy asshole you were back in ninth grade.”

“Fuck you!”

“Get outta my house,” Darry shoves him, hard, “and don’t ever fucking come back. I never wanna see you again.”

“Go to hell!” Paul storms down the steps, “and hey, tell that kid brother of yours to watch his back. Since you apparently think I’m such a piece of shit, I might as well prove it.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a second, Darry almost can’t understand them strung together like that, the threat almost ludicrous coming from someone he’d considered one of his best friends, the only guy from his circle of west side football buddies he’s ever allowed into his house, ever introduced his family to. For all they’re arguing in this second, for all Darry doesn’t know if he could ever forgive him for his words and his cavalier attitude, he’d never believe Paul capable of doing something like that, of hurting his brother.

But Paul just said it. And Paul Holden never says anything he doesn’t completely mean.

Darry sees red.

The next thing he knows the skin of his knuckles is splitting against Paul’s nose and he’s screaming louder than he can remember screaming in a long time.

“You touch either one of them and I’ll kill you! You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you!”

He doesn’t realize he’s got Paul by the collar of his shirt until he feels multiple pairs of hands yanking him back, someone else tearing Paul away from him.

“That’s enough,” Soda’s back. He shoves Paul, lighter than Darry had but enough that it’s clear he means it, “you better get outta here Holden. Looks like you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Paul spits at his feet. 

“You better watch your back Curtis.”

Soda’s eyes flash. He’s only fourteen but he’s grown half a foot this summer alone, and right now he looks nothing but tough, cold and fierce.

“Unlike you I’ve got six buddies to watch it for me, so I think you’d better watch your back pal.”

The hands holding Darry release him, Steve moving to flank Soda, Dally and Ponyboy on either side of him, all of them- even twelve year old Pony- just a little in front of Darry.

“Beat it Holden,” Steve tells Paul in that low, deadly voice he only uses when he’s real mad, the one that’s ten times scarier than any of his hollering, “if we have to ask again we won’t be so polite.”

Paul's last glare is cutting but he leaves, eyes like quicksilver as he turns away, and Darry finds himself hoping he’ll run into Aaron Dubois or his gang on his way back to the west side. 

When he's out of sight Dally spits on the ground and lights a cigarette, eyes cold and dangerous.

“C’mon, Dar,” Soda claps him on the shoulder, his smile only a little dimmer than usual, “Johnny and Two went to go see if they could russell up a car for the drag race tonight, and you know mom won’t let Pony watch unless you come with us.”

Darry follows his friends- his real friends- down the street, ruffles his brothers’ hair, and quietly mourns a person he thought he knew.

None of the gang ask what happened, not even Ponyboy. Darry doesn’t tell them, and if he sniffles a bit on the walk to the old rodeo grounds where the race is taking place, well, at least he's quiet enough that no one could possibly notice.

[cursedkeyboard]

Funnily enough, I've never been too big of a Jason Todd fan. Not because I don't like him, he's a great character, but because DC fails over and over again to give him justice and treat him right.

The number of times alone this boy has been beaten by his adoptive father, betrayed, and forgotten are far too many, far too much.

And the constant portrayal of Jason as this volatile, violent, mindless man is tiresome, lazy in all senses of the word and overdone. I understand that Jason was unstable after he left the pit, I mean, who wouldn't? The trauma of his death alone could've sent anyone crazy, but then to experience everything else afterwards, including having to come to terms that Bruce not only did not kill his murder but also replaced him, leaving Jason to grieve what was once his and what he should've gotten, of course he'd be less than okay.

Again, I'm not the biggest Jason Todd fan but I do wish more people would see just how much good Jason has in his heart, how kind and gentle he can be once his walls are down, when he's no longer constantly analyzing your actions and wondering why would you bother talking to him, getting closer to him.

In my opinion, a man who is so gentle with children, who constantly gives second, third, and fourth chances to people who don't deserve it, who despite it all still wants to make a change and protect the city that failed him, couldn't possibly be anything but the most caring partner. Not just partner, no, also brother and friend.

We all know what he did to Tim and Damian, there are reasons, such as his mental instability at the time and rage, and though those are not excuses, I believe Jason would still drop everything to go save his family. He might complain, he might brood, but family is something important to him even when just looking at them hurts him. He lost his loving mother, stepmother, far too early and it's not hard to imagine that even with all the pain and grief inside his torn heart, the little boy inside Jason still craves the warmth of a family.

Just look at the way he treats his friends, at the way he helps them through situations no one else would, how caring and attentive he is. Jason is gentle, sure, he is rough and mean and he's got blood on his hands, but Jason is made of love.

Jason was made to be loved.

So I think, whether platonic or romantically, Jason would treat you so well. He'd scold you for not wearing warm clothes during winter, "We're in Gotham, you fucking moron, you wanna freeze to death?", all while wrapping you with his jacket or scarf. He'd make sure you're eating at least something every day, and if not, he would immediately put you under his arm, maybe over his shoulder, and take you to the nearest food chain he could find, "I don't want to hear you complaining about headaches when all you had today was a cup of coffee and gum.".

Lord, he'd be torn between freaking out and being extremely annoyed that you got hurt, be it at work, a fight, or just out of clumsiness. But no matter what, his hands would always be so, so gentle when touching you. The tip of his fingers brushing under the injury, as light as a breeze, his other hand holding the back of your neck, or your bicep, perhaps even your hand just to make sure you're there, with him.

Jason would both hush you gently, "I know, sweetheart, we're almost done.", and also tease because he's a little shit at heart, "If you had a little more awareness than a ten year old this wouldn't have happened, idiot."

And physical touches? Oh, love, Jason is a sucker for intimacy.

I know for a fact he wouldn't be comfortable for a long time with anyone in his personal space due to the torture he went through. The trauma would make his skin crawl any time someone got too close or brushed past him, he'd hate it so much because it makes him weak but also because he can't let anyone try to hug him without feeling sick to his stomach.

And with you it's no different. It would take a long time, a lot of trust being built up, conflict and confessions, maybe he'd even open up to you with his head on your lap as you brushed his hair softly, a big, big step for him after years of not letting anyone close. He'd tell you about the Joker, about having hope in Bruce, about his biological mother. And he'd feel vulnerable like a child when you wipe his tears gently without a word.

Once he starts craving your touch, though, regardless if you two have a platonic or romantic relationship, Jason is putty in your hands. Forehead kisses when you part ways, cuddling on the couch while he reads and you're on your phone, thighs touching when sitting close, even a little bit of hand holding when he's stressed and needs to play with your fingers.

He's like a big cat that's constantly making his way onto your chest, stealing your breath and making biscuits on your skin, making sure you're giving him sufficient pats every day.

It's a little part of him that he's barely able to properly allow space for. There's still so much hurt in Jason, so much confusion and desperation, hatred and upset, that he'd probably still close off sometimes, try acting tough so you'd see how fucked up he is, how he's not truly worth of your love.

And yet.

And yet all it'd take for him to go soft and pliant in your hands would be a single touch, cupping his cheeks, brushing his skin softly with your thumbs, right under his pretty emerald eyes, making sure his gaze is on you and only you. Just like that, he'd slump his shoulders and bring you into his arms, breathing a sigh of relief and squeezing you close, your heartbeats synching.

He wouldn't remember when he started feeling safest in your arms but it'd feel like it was since forever. Like there was no one else but you.

Jason was made to be loved, though he is a little broken and a little tainted, lost like a child and hateful like a sinner, your love might just be his salvation, something he's greedy for, selfish for, even when he's so hesitant of somehow hurting you.

[kieran-granola]

Sweet Sorries

(This is a little JayTim Chanukah gift for @silver-snow-77! Thank you for being a lot of fun 💕)

“We missed you at the Manor.”

Jason doesn't flinch but he tenses, his shoulders drawing up as he sets his helmet down on the table. Slowly, he turns around to find Tim sitting at his kitchen table all bundled up in a cozy sweater and scarf. The plate of sufganiyot that Jason cooked and abandoned earlier that day is waiting in front of him, the shape of it somehow accusing in the semi-darkness.

“Who’s we exactly?” Jason asks as he unholsters his guns. 

In the kitchen, Tim shrugs. “Alfred. Bruce. Damian. Me. Take your pick.”

Following his well-practiced routine, Jason unloads his weapons and puts them away in his safe. He'll need to clean them later — to make sure everything will be in working order tomorrow when he heads out into the streets again — but he's got more pressing concerns for now.

“You see me practically everyday, birdie.”

“We don't celebrate Hanukkah everyday, though.”

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and sprawls on his couch to work on removing his boots. “Technically, for a week, we do.”

Tim's tongue clicks. “Jason.”

“Timothy,” Jason deadpans.

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim sighs. His shoulders droop, hurt clear on his face. When he speaks, his voice is thin.  “Why didn't you show up? I wanted to spend the night with you. I thought—I was hoping that you wanted to celebrate with me too.”

Shame and guilt bloom in Jason's stomach. Fuck. He's an asshole. He was so caught up in his insecurities, so worried about Bruce's judgment and Alfred's disapproval, that he didn't stop to consider whether Tim would be hurt by his absence. Stomach turning into a mess of knots, he kicks his boots off and stands up. 

“I'm sorry. I was planning to go. I mean—” he gestures to the plate of pastries, “—I even baked. But then I just… I don't know. I couldn't do it.”

Tim bites his lip. “You got scared.”

“I guess.”

“You could have told me. I would have spent the evening with you, we could have—”

“No!” Jason blurts out. “No. It's—You shouldn't have to skip family celebrations just because you decided to fuck the local pariah.”

Tim goes stock-still, his expression smoothing out into an impenetrable mask. “Is that what we're doing? Fucking?”

Dozens of memories flit through Jason’s mind — Tim's smile over shared fries, his strong fingers digging bruises into Jason's hips, heated debates in front of the TV, and days spent curled up together in bed — and his heart stutters. Dammit. He didn’t mean to imply that what they have isn’t serious. 

“No, it's not,” he says slowly. “You know it's not. You're as much of a detective as I am. You’ve got to know how I feel about you.”

“By that logic, you have to know how I feel about you too. But you still left me hanging at the Manor tonight.” 

Jason looks away. Maybe he does know. Maybe he remembers the way Tim took care of him when he was sick despite his own weakened immune system. Maybe he can picture the smile that blooms on his face whenever he wakes up next to Jason. Maybe he knows the shape of Tim's feelings intimately. Maybe he's let him write them across his bones with every kiss and touch.

Maybe it's not enough to compensate for his fear of Bruce anyway.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I should have warned you. I was too caught up in my issues with B to think about you and that was unfair of me. I'll do better next time.”

Tim gives him a long, inscrutable look. Then he sighs. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my own hang-ups when it comes to Bruce, so… Apology accepted. On one condition.”

“Anything you want. Just say the word.”

“I want a sufganiyah,” Tim replies lightly. “And a kiss.”

Gratitude fills Jason’s chest with sunshine. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Tim’s playful answer. To be forgiven so easily and reminded that Tim cares for him all in one fell swoop… It’s a gift he never thought he’d be given.

Eyes stinging, he moves closer and pushes the plate towards Tim. “Take as many as you want. Hell, eat them all. I can always make more.”

Tim grabs a beignet. He takes a bite, and powdered sugar sticks to his mouth, bright and enticing. 

Jason leans in reflexively at the sight. Every inch of him longs for a taste of Tim’s sweetness. As clumsy with his words as he can be, he knows exactly how to touch Tim by now. How to handle him with the care and reverence he doesn’t know how to express when he’s not borrowing a poet’s words. 

(Art commissioned from the lovely @coffeexrage)

Tim notices him staring. He lifts his chin and gives Jason an expectant look, his blue eyes impossibly bright. “Well? That’s only half of what I asked for. Where’s my kiss?”

Laughing quietly, Jason crosses the distance between them and kisses the tip of Tim’s freckled nose. “There.”

Tim scrunches up his nose. “I meant a proper kiss.”

“Finish eating, you gremlin. I’ll kiss you as many times as you want after.”

“You sure about that?” Tim grins slyly. “Because I might need a kiss every day until I die.”

Jason rolls his eyes even as his heart misses a beat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, I can drive it harder.” Tim gives him an exaggerated wink.

Flushing, Jason takes a sufganiyah and pushes it against Tim’s lips to shut him up. “Eat or you won’t get any kisses at all.”

“Yessir.” Half-laughing, Tim takes a bite and the two of them share a smile. 

Jason doesn’t know what tomorrow will be like — whether Tim will insist on going to the Manor to light the candles again, and whether he’ll have the strength to accompany him if he does. What he does know, though, is that Tim’s gentle warmth is enough to make him want to keep making an effort. He might never be able to mend things with Bruce, he still damn well intends to nurture his relationship with Tim.

One kiss at a time.

[froggibus]

Resurrection - Wally West

Pairing: Wally West x gn! Reader, platonic! Dick Grayson x reader

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: it’s been almost a year since Wally died, and life has not been kind to you. it doesn’t help that when you get the flu and your fever spikes, you start seeing the speedster everywhere you turn

CW: loss of a loved one, grief, sickness, hallucinations, reader is worried they’re going crazy, overactive imagination, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, panic attacks, ghosts, reader was a part of Young Justice, mutual pining, friends to lovers, resurrection

This alludes heavily to the Young Justice tv show, especially Wally’s death. I apologize in advance because I have poor knowledge of the Flash Family and speedforce!!

day 1 of me pushing my Wally West agenda!! i absolutely adore Wally, and im so happy to be writing about him. this is literally the longest thing ive ever posted on this site but I got so into the story that I couldn’t stop. hopefully this makes sense and isn’t just a jumble of words 😭also i think from now on im gonna include wally in any of my dick/jason/tim hcs

also im very tempted to do a pt2/make a series of wally adapting to life afterwards

————

You groan in your bed, your fever spiking to an almost unbearable temperature. You spend a lot of time in bed nowadays—ever since your best friend died almost a year ago, you haven’t had the drive to do much. But being sick the past week has only confined you to your bed even more. 

You roll over, hoping the other half of your pillow is somehow cooler than the side you’re on now. It’s not, and your body feels like it’s going to overheat. If it was possible to put less clothing on, you would, but the chances of your roommate coming in and seeing you naked are too high. 

Speaking of your roommate, you know that when Dick comes home and sees how bad your temperature has gotten, he’ll rush you to the hospital. Paranoid, big brother Dick who insists he can’t lose another friend. Dick, who moved in with you a few months after Wally died because he was afraid you might hurt yourself. Dick, who forced you to put socks on and keep most of your clothes on because even though you feel hot, he knows you’re still vulnerable to the cold. 

The socks scratch at your ankles now and you long to pull them off, lazily dragging your feet together. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your burning nerve ends. 

As much pain as you’re in, this is the most you’ve felt since Wally died. From the day you watched him get vaporised, everything around you has just gotten duller by the day. You can hardly stomach to put on your costume, let alone look at Barry or Bart. Even seeing The Flash on the news is enough to make you sick. 

“Y/n,” a soft voice echoes from the bed next to you. 

You force your eyes open, your dark room greeting you. “Hello?”

There’s no answer, and you’re able to close your eyes again. You relax into your bedsheets, kicking the blankets off of your legs in a desperate attempt to get some relief. Clearly your fever has spiked to the point where you’re losing it. 

“Y/n!” The voice is stronger now, and it sounds more desperate than before. More than that—there’s something familiar to it. 

You open your eyes again and gasp, all of the breath leaving your body. There, sitting on the bed next to you, is Wally. His green eyes are full of concern, his mouth pulled into a tight line. 

“Oh god,” you whine, “I really am losing it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the hallucination of your dead best friend to go away. How could any god be so cruel to inflict this on you? Knowing how you felt about Wally—and what he’d said to you during your last moments together?

When you open your eyes again, he’s still sitting there. His unruly red hair is falling into his face and all you want is to reach out and brush it away. 

“You’re not losing it,” he says. 

“I’m so sick that I’m hallucinating my dead best friend. How is that not losing it?”

He shrugs. “I mean it does sound pretty crazy, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re dead,” you say simply, voice void of emotions. “You died and you left and you’re never coming back.”

“I got better.”

Everything about him screams Wally. His voice, his mannerisms, even the stupid jokes he makes. But you know it’s just your brain playing a stupid trick on you. Your braincells have overheated and you’re left staring at a ghost. 

“No, you didn’t. And you never will, Wally. And I know that so I don’t get why my stupid brain can’t leave this alone.”

He lays down on his side next to you, looking up at you with those doe eyes. “There wasn’t a body, you know.”

His words make you angry, they make you choke on the lump in your throat. But he’s right. Something about his death always seemed wrong to you, and even after this long, you still can’t accept it. He’s saying all of the right things, and it almost makes you believe he’s really here. 

“So say you are here…why now? Why here? Why am I the only one who’s seen you?”

He strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I don’t really know, y/n. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve watched everything. I know how hard things have been for you guys…” 

You don’t say anything, just staring at him expectantly, forcing him to keep talking. 

“I’m sorry you’re sick, but I’m glad Dick is taking care of you.”

“Answer the question, Wally. Why now?”

He sighs. “I think it’s because you’re sick. I think once your fever got past a certain point you were able to hear me, and once you could hear me, you could see me.”

“How would that even work?” You squint at him, “how did you even know I could hear you?”

“I didn’t it’s just—it’s a habit to talk to you, you know? But anyway, I think it has something to do with the speed force being attracted to the release of energy, and whenever you have a fever, you release massive amounts of it. But since yours is so high…” he gestures at himself for emphasis. 

“So as long as I stay sick, I can see you?”

“I think so.”

“Then I never want to get better,” you murmur. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, and the tone he uses makes you freeze. You’ve only ever heard him use it once before—with you on the day he died. 

The thought brings a tear to your eye, his words echoing in your ears. I love you, y/n, I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?

When Dick gets home from work, he’s surprised to hear you talking. His first instinct is that you’re feeling better and you’re arranging to go back to work, but as he gets closer to your bedroom door, he realizes it’s not the case. 

He listens in for a bit, hearing a one sided conversation. As soon as he hears you say ‘Wally’, he’s barging through your door only to find you talking to the air. 

“Dick!” You cry out, gesturing to the empty bed next to you, “look! He’s back, he’s here. Wally’s here!”

Dick’s heart aches for you. You’re clearly unwell and in your feverish state, your mind is playing tricks on you. 

“Y/n,” Dick sighs, “I think it’s time we go to a doctor.”

He approaches your bedside slowly, trying not to startle or upset you. He knows you’re hallucinating, and he really doesn’t want to trigger anything worse to happen. 

He kneels at your bedside, just behind Wally. “Come on, we need to get you to the hospital.”

“N-no! I can’t leave Wally!”

Wally’s face crinkles up the way it always has when he feels guilty. “Y/n, I think you should go with Rob.”

“No!” You cry out, “you can’t leave me again!”

Dick gives you no warning before he’s pulling you into his arms, your feverish skin scorching his. He holds you securely, even as you cry and beg him to take you back to Wally. 

“Wally, please! Do something! Let him see you! Don’t—don’t leave me again!”

“Y/n,” Dick rubs your sweaty hair out of your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re really sick, and you’re hallucinating, but we’ll make you all better. I just need you to trust me.”

You take a deep breath, and then another, looking over Dick’s shoulder at the redhead sitting on your bed, giving you a sad look. He gives you a wave, “it’s okay, y/n. Everything will be okay.”

You just hope he’s right. 

—

The hospital takes an eternity to admit you, leaving you lying on Dick’s lap in the waiting room. You keep your eyes closed, hoping that if you open them Wally will be there, but you know he won’t. 

Dick strokes your hair, rubs your back, does anything he can to keep you comfortable. When a nurse finally calls your name, he helps you to your feet and half carries you down the hall. 

They leave the two of you in a small, isolated room with a bed covered in scratchy sheets. Dick helps you climb up while the nurse insists a doctor will be by shortly. 

Dick holds your hand the whole time, the skin on his palm turning sweaty from where your hand touches his. Your fever has only gone up since you left the house and you feel like you’re going to burn alive. 

Finally, a doctor comes in and she starts to run all kinds of tests on you. After a while, they insert an IV into your arm and push fluids to keep you hydrated. They give you medicine to help you drift off to sleep, your eyes fluttering shut before you realize what’s happening. 

You wake up a few hours later, Dick no longer asleep at your bedside. Your temperature has gone down, and while you still feel feverish, you’re coherent enough to know what’s going on around you. 

“—hallucinating our best friend who died almost a year ago.” Dick tried to keep his voice down but you can hear it from the hallway. 

“It’s common in extremely high fever’s to experience visual, auditory and sometimes even tactile hallucinations,” the doctor explains. “Y/n’s fever was beyond high enough to cause any number of these complications.” 

Your shoulders slump. You knew deep down that Wally wasn’t really there, that he was a hallucination, but a part of you just hoped…

“But it’s going to be alright? There’s not any permanent side effects?”

The doctor sounds tired of Dick’s questions. “No, we’re keeping y/n overnight for observation but there shouldn’t be any long term side effects.”

Dick thanks the woman and slips back into your room, stopping in his tracks past the door when he realises you’re awake. “How are you feeling?” He whispers. 

“Somewhat better,” you admit. “Not hallucinating anymore.”

He sits in the chair next to your bed and squeezes your hand. “That’s good to hear.”

“I-I’m sorry if I upset you earlier…talking about Wally and everything. I just—it seemed so real, you know? He was right there, Dick.”

“I know. You don’t need to apologize. Your mind was playing tricks on you, n/n. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

You can’t help the tears that trickle down your cheeks. “I just—I miss him so much!” 

“It’s okay,” Dick leans over your bed, pulling you tightly to his chest. “I miss him too. I miss him so, so much. And if there was any chance…you know I would take it too.”

“Did I ever tell you what he said to me that day? Just before he passed?”

Dick shakes his head. 

“He said—,” your voice shakes so severely it’s hard to get the words out. “He said ‘I love you, y/n. I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?’” 

The gears in Dick’s brain click together, and suddenly everything makes sense. It was no secret that you and Wally had been pining after each other for years. Always cuddling and fighting and loving and hating each other. Dick was close to both of you, and he of all people knew how your feelings were bubbling over. He knew how badly you wanted to be with Wally—and how badly Wally wanted to be with you.

It’s a cruel joke, he thinks. That in one day you got everything you wanted, and an hour later had it ripped away. No wonder you’d been like a zombie this year.

“Y/n…” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. 

You squeeze his hand back, and between the fever and the medicine and Dick’s skin on yours, everything in the world feels right for a minute. 

—

It takes two weeks for you to fully recover from being sick. If it weren’t for your roommate being the ultra rich adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, you probably would have had to go back to work sooner. Dick insisted that you stay home until you were fully recovered, though, offering to cover your bills for the month. 

It’s also been two weeks since you saw Wally. It’s been easy to brush it off as a fever dream, but something deep within you wants it to be something more than that. Still, you try to continue on with your day to day life, putting thoughts of the speedster as far away from you as possible. 

You pull into the Bludhaven News parking lot with ten minutes to spare. You grab your bag from the passenger seat and clip your badge to your shirt before grabbing the coffee you’d stopped for on the way. You’re determined to make today a good day. 

You settle in at your desk, smiling at the picture of you and the original Young Justice team was kids. It makes you happy, but in the most bittersweet meaning of the word. You run your fingers across the glass, stopping them at the lightning symbol on Wally’s chest. 

You’re interrupted by your boss stopping at your desk. 

“Hey, l/n, good to have you back,” she smiles, and you feel as though she really means it. “We’re having a meeting in five minutes.”

You nod, thanking her. She leaves you at your desk, letting you get organized before you have to meet them in the conference room. 

You bring your laptop and coffee and settle in at the big round table in the spinning desk chair. Other journalists, reporters and higher ups slowly file into the room, filling it up until it’s so full it feels almost hard to breathe. 

Your boss enters the room last, standing at the front in front of the tv. She welcomes you back before explaining what’s going on in current events, and what she expects everyone to report on. 

You sip your coffee, zoning out for the majority of her presentation. Every once and a while, she clicks a remote and the screen changes to a new slide. You don’t pay much attention to the tv, only glancing at it every so often. 

When the screen changes to three familiar figures, you freeze. It feels like someone dumped cold water on you, and you’re painfully aware of everything going on around you. 

The screen shows Wally, Bart and Barry on the day he died. Wally has a big grin on his face, clad in his Kid Flash suit, giving a salute to a security camera. You’re not sure how they got this picture, but a part of you wishes they didn’t. 

“—the one year anniversary since the Flash Family saved the world, and since Kid Flash bravely sacrificed himself to achieve this goal. We want to honour them for their ultimate sacrifice, and that’s why this month, we’ll be doing daily pieces on the great exploits of the family. Also—,”

Her words echo in your ears, everything feels far away from you. The only thing you can focus on is the way your heart is pounding and the way all the air is sucked out of your lungs. Wally’s face stares at you from the tv screen, and the walls close in. 

You’re on your feet in an instant. “Pardon me,” you rasp out, before almost running out of the room. 

You’re not sure where you’re going. Your head is spinning, your heart is racing, everything is fading away. You stumble your way into the bathroom, locking the door behind you before your knees buckle and you hit the floor. 

You claw at your throat, desperate for air. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your fists, desperate for pressure. When you open your eyes, you swear Wally is there. 

“You’re not here,” you gasp. “You’re not real.”

Wally’s green eyes are wide, staring at you with concern. “Y/n—,”

“You’re not real! You’re just some ghost—fucking haunting me for no reason at all!”

It breaks his heart to see you like this. So sad, so hurt, barely able to breathe. 

“Stop,” you choke out, “stop haunting me! Stop, stop, stop it!”

Wally hasn’t seen you have a panic attack this bad since you were kids. Curled up in a ball, gasping for air and repeating the same word over and over again. He’s desperate to help you—help you like he did back then. 

He doesn’t even register what he’s doing until he pulls you into his lap, arms tight around your waist. He keeps a hand over your heart, tracing circles over it. 

“Y/n, y/n…” He murmurs softly, “y/n, listen to me. Deep breath in, okay? Follow my example, feel my heart beating.”

You’re not sure how you can feel his arms on you, feel his heart beating against your back. You’re half convinced you’ve already fainted, and you’re laying on the bathroom floor having another fever dream. 

Still, you follow his example. You breathe in when you feel his chest rise, and breathe out when you feel his chest fall. You stay silent for a few minutes, leaning completely against Wally until you can breathe again. 

Wally rubs your hair, his other hand tracing circles on your hip bone. “How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“Better,” you admit. 

It takes a few minutes longer for either of you to register that he’s touching you. His hands are on your body and you can feel them. 

“Wally, you’re touching me.”

“I’m touching you?”

The shock is almost enough to send you back into a panic attack. Ghosts can’t touch people, neither can fever dreams. But somehow, someway, Wally West is holding you in his arms. 

—

You leave the bathroom ten minutes later, after you and Wally went back and forth on if he was really there with you or not. You insist you’re losing it, but Wally insists he’s there, and somehow when you were sick, you connected to the speed force and now you can see him. 

You head back to your desk with no intention of working, set on researching the speed force and if it’s possible to connect to it without being a speedster. Of course, Google doesn’t yield the results you hope, so you decide to go a different route. 

You pull out your phone and text Dick. 

You: do you think you could get me Barry’s number? need it for work 

Robin 1.0: I think I can manage 

You: you’re the best 

Robin 1.0: don’t you know it

It only takes a few minutes before he texts you his contact for Barry Allen. You waste no time in opening the contact and sending him a quick text. 

Of course, you don’t get to see what he responds because suddenly your boss is over your shoulder. 

“Y/n, you know what our policy is on personal devices at work. There’s too much sensitive information here.”

“I know, I know. But if I play my cards right,” your ability to think on your feet coming in handy, “I could get us an exclusive interview with the Flash.”

She lights up at that. “Okay, but remember, no pictures or recordings.”

“Sure thing,” you nod and wait for her to leave before opening up your phone and seeing that you have a new text. 

You: can I ask you a few questions on the speed force?

Barry Allen: sure thing

You: i know the speedforce is like it’s own separate thing that speedsters connect to, but is it possible for non speedsters to connect to it? 

Barry Allen: only under extenuating circumstances. not every ordinary person can just connect to it, but if you’ve been in contact with the speedforce unwittingly or if a speedster has accidentally shared particles with you it’s possible. why?

You: just…a theory im working on for work. we’re doing a piece on Flash Family to honour you guys for saving the world and I wanted to look into it more 

You: thank you

Barry Allen: do you think you’ve been in contact with a speedster recently?

You: i don’t know, if I’m being honest. 

Barry Allen: okay…keep me updated, okay? if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask 

You: thanks

You frown, your conversation with Barry only making you feel more confused. How would you have had contact with a speedster or the speedforce? It’s been almost a year since you last touched Wally, and there’s no way the symptoms are only coming out now. And the speedforce—there’s no way for you to have connected with it either. 

You look up from your phone only to see Wally sitting on your desk, looking at you with amusement. “Get what you wanted?”

“Why are you still here?”

“What?” He holds his hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

You go to speak but realize your coworkers are giving you strange looks. You quickly put your phone up to your ear, pretending to be on a phone call. 

“Of course I want you here. I lo—miss you, okay? But it’s not possible. You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am, y/n. And did Barry not just confirm that to you?”

You sigh. “I will admit, what Barry said does confirm my theory, and what you said while I was sick but…”

“But?”

“It shouldn’t be possible. You were vaporized, Wally. You’re dead. So even if you are here, you’re just a ghost.” 

“Ghost, schmost,” he rolls his eyes, leaning in to flick your arm. “Does that not feel real to you?”

“I don’t know, okay? Just—I need time to think. About everything.”

You don’t say it, but it lingers in the air: I need time to think about you. 

You put your phone down, indicating to the boy that you’re done talking, before returning to your job. The day goes by fast when you’re contemplating if you’re actually being haunted by the ghost of your best friend or not. 

Before you know it, you’re heading home. When you get through the door of the apartment, Dick is nowhere to be found. He must still be at work, you think. 

You kick off your shoes and set your bag on the counter before throwing yourself on your bed. You lay down for only a minute before a familiar cologne fills your scent. One you haven’t smelled in a long time. 

You don’t need to open your eyes to know that Wally is back. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could catch you changing,” you can hear the grin in his voice. 

You sit up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wait—if you’ve been here this whole time then…?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I didn’t! I mean, I thought about it but…it feels wrong.” 

“More wrong than confessing your love to me and then dying?”

Both of you freeze after that, and your hand flies up to your mouth as if you can force the words back in there. 

“I—y/n…you know that if I had a choice, I would have come back to you. Right?”

You nod, “I know. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he places a hand over yours. “I wanted to come back to you. Even though you didn’t say it back, I just thought—”

“You didn’t give me a chance to say it back! You dumped all that on me and then you ran away and left, Wally! You didn’t give me the chance!”

Your outburst surprises both of you. Wally isn’t sure what to do—if he should apologize or be angry or both or neither. So he says nothing. 

“I-I think you should go, Wally. You’re only doing harm by being here. You’re dead and I need to move on and I never will if you’re just here haunting me.”

You expect him to argue or to make a joke, but the boy doesn’t do any of that. He gives you a lazy, one handed salute, like the kind he would give before speeding away as kids. 

And then he disappears. 

You feel sad and angry all at the same time. You know it’s not fair to Wally to lash out at him like that, but how is it fair for him to open up old wounds? For him to haunt you? 

When Dick gets home, he’s surprised to see you dressed in your old costume. It’s been so long since you put it on, you look almost strange to him. 

“Uh, y/n?” He asks, “not that I’m against this but, what’s up with the costume?”

“I was thinking I could go out on patrol with you tonight,” you explain. “It’s been a while. I need to blow off steam.” 

“Okay, let me get changed.”

That’s good enough for you, so you settle in at the counter and wait for Nightwing to suit up. He comes out a few minutes later, clad in the black and blue Nightwing suit. 

He looks at you seriously through his domino mask. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“If I don’t get out, I’ll go stir crazy.”

“Okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender. “But don’t push yourself, okay? And I’ll be there the whole time.”

“Alright, dad,” you roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”

—

Patrol goes fine. It’s just the usual robberies and gang violence, nothing that you and Nightwing can’t handle. Of course, that’s until you hear there’s a bank robbery over the scanner. 

The two of you are about to take off and head towards the bank when you hear the radio go off again. This time, it’s a jewellery store being robbed. 

“Go!” You say to Nightwing, “you get the bank, I can handle the store.”

He seems content with that answer, grappling to the nearest rooftop and heading off towards the bank. You turn and head towards the jewellery store, hoping it’s enough to take your mind off of Wally. 

You get to the store just in time to stop the robbers from shooting the owner.  You knock the gun out of one of their hands, turning to fight the other one. There’s five total, maybe six, but your vision is tunnelling and all you can focus on is the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your need for a distraction. 

You make your way through three of them, and just as you turn to fight the fourth, you hear someone yell from behind you. 

“Y/n, look out!”

You knock out the fourth and turn around, just in time to see Wally West pass through you and punch the man in the face. He hits him hard enough to send him falling to the floor.

You stare at Wally in shock. “You—you hit him!”

“Are you okay?” He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You saved me…” You mutter. “How did you do that?”

“I-I don’t know,” he admits, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt and then I passed through you and—”

“Dick!” You exclaim, realising you haven’t heard anything from him in a while, and that he still hasn’t returned to you. “Somethings wrong, Wal. We—I gotta go!”

Wally goes to protest, but you’re already running away. Not only are you running away, you’re running at the speed of light, yellow lightning crackling from your ankles. You don’t realize it, too focused on getting to Dick. 

You arrive at the bank to see a bunch of lackeys passed out on the floor. Nightwing is leaning on a counter, holding his hands over a bullet hole in his side. 

“Hey!” You cry out, skidding to a stop next to him. The bank smells gross, like gunpowder and..burning rubber? “Are you okay? Did you get them all?”

He clenched his jaw. “All but one. He headed North, there’s no way we’ll catch him. He’s probably out of town by now.”

“No, he’s not going to get away with this. We’re going to find him.”

And before Dick can ask, you’re tearing away from the bank, lightning in your wake. His jaw falls open at the sight. In the dark, with the speed you’re going and the lightning coming out, you almost look like Wally…

You run as fast as you can, keeping your eyes peeled for the man driving the truck of jewels. You catch up to him in no time, throwing your body weight against the truck fast enough to tip it over. 

Your veins are electrified, pure lightning in your system, better than adrenaline ever could be. You rip the man out of the truck and toss him onto the street. It only takes one hit for you to knock him out, and only a few more seconds to tie him up. 

It’s then that you realize what just happened, how fast you were going. You look down to see the soles of your shoes on fire, the thighs of your costume torn open from the fabric chafing so fast.

Something about the ruined shoes and the torn fabric makes you think of Wally, and the thought of the ghost in the bank saving your life only makes you want to run even more. Is this how he felt everytime he ran? It’s exhilarating, it only makes you want more.

You keep running, running straight up the side of a building before stopping in your tracks on the roof. How did this even happen? You look around, half expecting to see Wally there, but he’s not. 

Your legs quiver, threatening to collapse beneath you. Your feet ache from all of the running and your shoes have practically disintegrated into nothing. You know you’re done for the night, your body at its absolute limit. 

Your knees buckle, but before you can hit the ground, there’s a streak of yellow and suddenly Wally is holding you up against his chest. 

“I—what’s going on?” You ask. 

Wally holds you up with one arm, staring at his other hand. He shakes it, going fast enough to make it seem as though his hand is vibrating. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I—something’s changed. I can feel it.”

You hear the unmistakable sound of a grappling hook before Nightwing is landing on the roof. “Holy shit, y/n. How were you going so fast? For a second there, I thought it was—Wally?”

His face pales at the sight of the redhead, clad in his Kid Flash suit, holding you up against his body. There’s no way he’s here now, alive and well, right in front of his eyes. 

“You…you can see him?”

Dick is running across the roof in an instant, feet pushing him closer to his best friend. He jumps on both of you, arms wrapping around you both. “Wally,” he sobs into his shoulder. “How—how are you here?”

There’s another flash of lightning—red lightning—and suddenly The Flash is standing next to you guys. “I can answer that.”

Wally grins insanely wide, making sure you’re steady against Dick before jumping to hug his former mentor. 

“How did you know I was here?” He asks. 

Barry smiles, “I could feel it. In the speedforce. There was a huge amount of energy released and then for the first time in a year, I could feel you.”

“But how did that happen?” Dick interjects, before adding, “not that we’re not happy to see you.” 

Wally goes back to hugging you, wiping off the tears that have slipped from your eyes and kissing the top of your forehead. “I think y/n here somehow borrowed my speed and-and opened a portal into the speedforce.”

“I brought you back?” Your voice is so quiet it’s barely a whisper. 

“You brought me back!” He’s beaming at you. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, spinning you in a circle. He sets you down on the ground, only to tip your head back and plant a kiss to your lips. It’s intense, passionate, full of the longing he’s felt for you since you were kids. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him to keep yourself up. His body is so warm and hard under your touch, so familiar to you. You draw him closer, not even caring if Dick and Barry are standing there staring at you. 

When he finally pulls away, he flashes you the biggest smile in the world. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

“So,” Dick awkwardly says, “why don’t we take this back to our place?”

Wally grabs your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I think that’s a really good idea.”

[thatawesomenerdygirl]

I like you too if you hadn’t noticed | Tim Drake

**

oh my god I’m posting again 😆 then proceeds to disappear for years.

Friends to lovers. Batmom mentioned.

**

The first time you realised that you were falling for your best friend it felt like being hit with a brick, like one of  Two-face's thugs punched you right in the gut, you did not expect that. You and Tim had always been so close ever since you met him at school, now the two of you are in the University together, despite taking different majors you still made time for each other.

Innocent touches that meant nothing more than friendly gestures were starting to get you all flustered. He started to appear in your dreams, he'd kiss you in those dreams, looked at you right in the eyes and told you how much he adored you, cradled you against his chest.

"You are spacing out," Tim's voice cut through your racing thoughts, your eyes flick towards him, wide and then you blush. He was so close.

The two of you were currently sitting on the picnic blanket in the Wayne manor's garden, doing your own respective homework. Mrs. Wayne had kindly prepared some snacks and drinks for the two of you, she was such a kind woman.

His brows furrow, worry clear in eyes and he leaned closer.

Gosh, he is handsome.

"Are you sick?"

"No," you shook your head, you cannot look away because he'd notice a shift in your attitude and because you cannot stop looking into those pretty blue eyes.

"You are red," he pressed a palm against your forehead to try and get a feel of your temperature, "warm as well, are you sure you're ok?"

Because of you, you thought. "I'm fine, Tim," you gently pulled his hand of your forehead.

You didn't notice but Tim took a quick glance at your lips when you spoke, fixated at the way your tongue flick out to wet them.

He leaned back, observing you, "whatever is in your mind right now, you can tell me, you know that, right?"

"I know," you sighed, closing your book. There was no way you could concentrate now, your feelings for him had ran too deep. "But not this one."

Tim didn't push, that was one of the traits that drew you to him, he was an absolute nerd and he could ramble about anything that peaked his interest for hours, you always listened to him even though you didn't understand what he was saying most of the time, pleading him to translate it in English which always made him apologize shyly and rephrase what he had told you using words you could understand.

You laid down on the blanket, staring up at the blue sky. Everything reminded you of him now, you'd done so many things together after all.

He laid down on his side beside you, propped up on his elbow so he could look at you. "Is it about me?" He asked, his fingers were rough compared to yours but they were gentle as he brushed some strands of hair off your face.

"Huh? What makes you think that?"

"I noticed, you know," he had this really cute, really attractive, amused smile that made your stupid heart beat faster, the butterflies in your stomach flutter and your lips part to let out a shaky breath.

You didn't speak so he continued, "the way your gaze linger at me, the way you take a deep, deep breath when I'm around, the way your eyes brighten whenever you see me," he hooked a finger under your chin to tilt your head up so you'd look at him again. "You are not very subtle."

"Nerd," was all you could manage. You were going to have a mini heart attack with the way he looked right through you. You often forgot that he was pretty much a detective. Yes, you knew about his late night activities—if you could call it that.

"Very creative, I'll take it," he laughed.

You loved the sound of his laughter—you were so infatuated with him. "Don't laugh like that," you were just so flustered.

Your little protests only made him laugh a little more. "I like you too, if you hadn't noticed," he finally said. "I have liked you since you spilled your coffee all over me."

"I-it was an accident!" You stuttered, giving his arm a whack. It was so embarrassing that you ruined his expensive shirt but he wasn't mad.

"Sure, it was," he grinned.

A pause between the two of you, neither of you said a thing, just stared at each other, your gazes locked, his thumb brushed over your lips, then he spoke again.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," you bit your lower lip, "please."

He leaned down then, his hand moved to cup your face. It was a feather light touch, a hesitant kiss despite his teasing earlier, just a soft press of his lips against yours but it ignited your entire body, almost toe curling. Then his kiss shifted, his lips moved to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek and lastly your forehead.

When he pulled back, he had a shy smile on his face as he looked at you again. His pupils were dilated, yours were probably the same too.

"Do that again, please?" You tugged him down by the collar of his shirt.

He breathed out a chuckle but he leaned down once more, "you're going to be the death of me." He kissed you.

[bambiimutt]

I HAVE ANOTHER! Ur hcs are so good bro omg they are so well written 😭❤️ could I have father figure Tim to the edgy teens, but angst?

like for examples: the teen finds Tim having a panic attack and tries to comfort him even though they are bad at comforting, Tim finds out the teen is struggling with a lot, or maybe they have an argument or maybe the teen goes missing for a long time and finally the police finds them, etc👀

SORRY I love angst

Father figure Masky/Tim and teen troubles.

Helping Dad!Tim with understanding you, some angst, he lashes out,just a poor tired man trying to help his kid.

TW!! None I don’t think!

also this songs I feel goes with this.. just the vibes of it.. it really helped to write!

Tim huffed out as his hands used the spatula to stir the food in the pot for the dinner he’d plan to have. You promised him you’d have some father/kid time but as long as you got to go out with your friends. But that was five hours ago and you still have yet to be back.. you haven’t even messaged him. His head is hung low as he ate his food, your plate on the opposite end of the table yet your presence wasn’t there. He shouldn’t be so upset.. though he kinda bailed on for two weeks to do shit that he shouldn’t be doing.. so he can’t be mad at you but still he felt like shit. You promised him; but he still gives you your space and lets you come home whenever.

The trailer is quiet, the lights are dim within the living room as you step in, melting snow falling off of your boots as you slide them off. Your fingers rub through your coloured hair as you peek your head to look around where you could see. “Dad?” You called out maybe a bit too loudly for the quiet home that absorbed you. Your eyes still peered around as you fidget with the cold piercing on your lip, the further you walked into the trailer the more your nose picked up the smell of food. Kraft dinner. Your favourite. He usually makes this when.. ah shit. You completely forgot. You were meant to spend the day with him but you wanted to see your friends.

You quietly ate, figuring Tim had probably gone somewhere. It was cold yet you still ate it, it was the least you could do. Your head rest back in the old kitchen chair, your arms hugging your body around your flannel, damp jeans clinging to your legs due to the snow. It was. A little too quiet.

“Where were you.” You jump softly at the sudden voice, causing you to look up and see Tim walking towards the kitchen, pj pants and a white shirt. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked frantic but angry all at the same time. His hands reached for the cupboards, slamming them as he poured himself coffee, cringing at the gross taste. You look around, fingernails picking at the seems of your ripped jeans. “Out.” Was all you got out. You knew where this was going. Another lecture. “And where exactly is out.” He spoke back, keeping that same angered tone. He hadn’t said it like a question but more of a statement for you to answer. You swallow. “With friends.” He breathed in before looking at you “yknow we were supposed to have our day today right? I planned everything out and you bail on me. I was okay with it for the first 4 hours but it’s now..” he looks to the clock on the stove. “Four in the morning. Do you know how worried I’ve been?!” He slams down his cup causing you to jolt again. The snow almost seems to fall more aggressively now. Something you picked up on as you stared out of the kitchen window to avoid eye contact. Funny how beautiful it could be but such angered moments could make things so sicking. The house suddenly seemed foul to you, the fairy lights you helped him put up suddenly became too bright, the food in your stomach suddenly twisted, the anger bubbled.. and bubbled. “Yeah well maybe if you never bailed on me, leave me for weeks on end without knowing where you go, I wouldn’t do this shit. Maybe I’d actually spend more time with you! I don’t even know who you are anymore!.” You finally stand, the strong legs that pushed you up feel shaky all of a sudden. That hurt. That.. tugged his chest in ways he didn’t like. Damn you. Damn you for making him feel what a father feels when they know they’ve failed. “That’s completely different-“

It’s not long before you’re grabbing your patched up coat and trying to rush out of the trailer door. But before you do, you look back. “Don’t say it. ‘I’m your father, it’s different’ news fucking flash Tim. You aren’t my dad. For a while I thought you were.. but you are exactly like him!” Oh dear.. he watches wide eyed as you walk out for house, door slammed behind you and your body running through the deep snow. He should be running after you, what is he doing just standing there?

The bench was. Not comfortable. The snow you wiped off of it had slowly started to cover the bench once more with new snow. Watching your breath turn into to fog put you into a trance, your body shivering as you watched it swirl within the wind. It wasn’t long before there was sirens and a man running towards you with two cops behind him. Arms immediately wrap around you, a blanket placed on your shoulders as the man helps you up. When your eyes flicker up, you see him. It’s Tim. Frantically helping you back to the car, thanking the cops behind him. Once he was in the car that silence itched back again. You stared out of the frosted window. “I shouldn’t have said what I said..” you state.

“It’s okay.” You both stare out of the window, Tim cranking the heat when he notices you shiver. “Do you hate me.” You question, your cracked lips softly frowning as you continue to stare, unblinking. It was quiet as he looks down, eyes closed. “No. No I don’t hate you kiddo.” You swallow before looking at him. “You’re still my dad.” He lets out a soft chuckle “still your dad.” You smile gently, your body finally warming up. “And you’re nothing like him.” His smile softly fades before looking back towards the window and starting up the car. “I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around” he covers it up with a laugh once more. There was an awkward silence for a moment. “Don’t do that again.” Tim speaks up. There’s a hint of a shaky tone, almost like he was tearing up but you wouldn’t pry. You understood why he was upset. “I won’t..”

“Or I’ll kick your ass” he laughs through his shaky voice and looks at you for a moment “love ya kid” he ruffles your hair before placing his hand back to the steering wheel and driving you both back home.

[crimsonwolf715]

I Wanted To Do It Because They Took Me Away From You

(Part 1 of Adventures of the Batfamily)

Bruce Wayne POV

“Damian’s gonna stay here since he’s still feeling under the weather,” Dick says as Bruce comes out of his office for patrol. 

“Sounds like a good decision,” Bruce replies. 

“Also, come say hi to Tim.” 

Bruce walks over to Dick, who holds his phone out. “Hello, Tim.” 

“Hi, Bruce. I heard that the Demon Spawn can actually get sick.” 

“He’s had a cold pretty much since you left,” Bruce says. “And be nice.” 

“Eh…” 

Dick laughs. “They mean it lovingly when they call each other mean names.” 

Bruce sighs. 

“I’ll try to talk them into being more civil,” Dick whispers. 

Bruce nods. “Thank you. Tim, how is the mission going?” 

“Fine. We’re almost done. Just another day or two and I should be back home with everyone else,” Tim answers. “I’ve missed you guys, even Damian.” 

“That’s what happens when you live with a bunch of people and then go somewhere else for over a week,” Dick replies. “I’ve had it happen a lot of times.” 

“I’m gonna head out on patrol. You two behave and make sure you check on Damian while I’m gone, Dick.” 

“I will. He’s mostly over it so he should be fine in the morning.” 

“I know, just make sure that he gets some rest and doesn’t spend all night talking to his many animals.” 

“I will.”  

Bruce wakes up with a sick feeling in his stomach. He opens his eyes and everything around him is blurry. 

“Wakey wakey, Batsy.” 

The Joker appears in front of Bruce and he tries to back up, only to find himself stuck where he is. Another Joker appears next to the first one. 

“Wow, that really did a number on you, Bats. I can’t even tell if you know what’s going on.” 

Bruce tastes metallic, then spits blood onto the floor. He doesn’t feel injured, but the taste is still in his mouth and he can see the blood clearly. 

“Oooo, so high, Batsy.” 

Bruce’s eyes force themselves closed, like there’s some kind of weight on his eyelids. 

Twelve year old Jason jumps out from behind the Batcomputer. “Boo!” 

“Nice try, Jason,” Bruce says, holding a mug of coffee. He takes a sip as Jason starts pouting. 

“You’re impossible to surprise,” Jason says. 

“Not true. You’ll just have to pay close attention,” Bruce replies. 

“Dick has managed to surprise me in this cave twice.” 

“I gotta ask him how he did that. He’s so cool.” 

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. Jason’s eyes are bright as he jumps around in his costume, preparing to fight crime. 

Bruce opens his eyes to see Dick across from him, tied up in his Nightwing costume. 

“Two caught, one to go,” Joker’s voice says, even though he’s nowhere to be seen. 

Dick looks worse for wear. Bruce can see that most of his face is bruised even though his head is down and his arm is in a position unnatural for an arm to be. 

“Nightwing,” Bruce says. 

He doesn’t say anything or pick his head up. Joker walks back in and throws Damian on the floor in front of him. 

“Got them,” Joker says. “Now you can all die together as the happy family you claim to be, on the anniversary of the worst day of your life. We miss baby Jay-bird, don’t we?” 

Dick Grayson POV 

“Please tell me you’ve got something,” Nightwing says as he and Damian take a break on a rooftop. “We’ve been looking for almost twelve hours and there’s no sign of the Joker.” 

“Well I’d love to tell you good news, hot stuff, but I don’t have any.” 

Damian groans and turns his comm off. Dick rolls his eyes where Damian can see it. 

A moment of silence. 

“You alright, Oracle?” 

“Hold on,” Barbara says. 

“Hold on?” Dick asks. 

Damian switches his comm back on. 

“The computer finally figured out where he is, but I don’t know that you’ll get there in time.” 

“Where is it?” Dick asks. 

She rattles off a location and how to get there. 

“I can do it. Come on, Damian. We’re never telling Batman how fast I’m about to drive with you in the car with me.” 

“Go speed racer,” Damian says as they head towards the Batmobile. 

They get to the Batmobile and Dick starts racing towards the warehouse. “Keep watching the feed for me,” Dick says to Damian. 

Damian pulls his phone out and turns on the news. “Twenty minutes until the timer goes off.” 

“We can get there in twenty minutes,” Dick says hesitantly. 

“You don’t sound sure,” Damian points out. 

“I’m sure,” Dick replies, hiding his concern behind a quick smile. 

Damian nods, clearly unconvinced. Gordon calls so Dick puts the video in the corner of the screen towards Damian. 

“We got an anonymous tip on where Batman is,” Gordon says. “We’ve got officers already on the way and I was supposed to contact you earlier, but got busy.” 

“No need to worry. We know where he is and we’re on the way.” 

“That’s good.” 

“How close are the officers?” Dick asks. 

“About fifteen minutes out,” Gordon answers. 

“We’ll meet them there but they are not allowed to go in without us. Joker will kill them without hesitation if he finds them.” 

“I know the rules. I’ve already alerted them that they can’t go in without you guys until the timer hits five minutes. If it hits that point and you guys aren’t there, they’re gonna go in without you.” 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Dick replies. “Bye, Gordon.” 

He hangs up and picks up speed once he gets on a straight road. 

“Weee,” Damian says sarcastically. 

Dick shakes his head, but laughs for a moment.  

Jason Todd POV

Jason turns on the TV and sees Joker on the screen with a bloody and beaten Batman. 

“One hour left until The Batman dies,” Joker says. “Nightwing and Robin are nowhere to be seen and if they’re not quick about it, they’ll get to watch just like everyone else.” 

Jason recognizes the room Batman’s being held in. It’s from the “Funhouse”. Jason doesn’t grab his helmet or take any of his normal tools with him. He grabs one of his pistols off of the table and runs to his motorcycle. 

After securing the pistol in its holster, he speeds towards the warehouse. He weaves through traffic with expert ease and makes it to the Joker’s “Funhouse” in record time. He walks into the warehouse, memories of his brutal beating at the hands of the Joker flashing before his eyes making it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. 

He searches each room until he finds Joker, laughing as he’s telling the camera that there’s only one minute left until Batman gets executed. The method of execution is something else. A cannon-like contraption that’s got smiles and laughs painted on the sides, but instead of a cannonball it has five knives inside of the barrel. Jason grabs the knife out of his pocket and cuts the wires to the camera as Joker pokes Batman’s face while taunting him. 

“You’ll have the same death day as your son,” Joker whispers. “A fitting end, if you ask me.” 

It takes a moment, but Joker hears the camera feed in the corner of the room cut so he turns in that direction. Jason runs towards him and kicks him into the wall. 

“Five… Four…” 

Jason looks around the room to see the timer on the cannon still running. One thought crosses his mind as he makes eye contact with Bruce, who looks like a light breeze could take him out. 

Joker won’t take anything else if I can help it.  

He runs towards Bruce as the timer keeps counting down. 

“Three… Two… One…” 

Jason grabs at his chest, where the knives found home after being shot from the cannon. Joker, who’s getting up after being kicked into the wall looks shocked, then angry. Jason’s vision blurs, then stumbles back. Joker starts raging and throwing things around. 

“I killed you! You’re supposed to be dead!” Joker shouts. “How are you still alive?” 

Jason flips Joker off. “I’m just that awesome, shithead,” he chokes out. 

Police sirens can be heard, so Jason pops three shots off at Joker. One manages to find home in his arm, so he tucks tail and runs. Jason takes one of the knives out of his chest and cuts Bruce free, then falls onto his back. 

Bruce shakily gets on the ground. “Jason?” 

“Heh, I cut the camera feeds so you can feel free to pass out until the police show up with Bluebird and your new brat,” Jason says. 

“How are you alive?” Bruce asks. 

“Ra’s woke me up.” 

“What…?” 

“I had this grand plan to take control of Gotham’s underworld and kill the Joker. I know your stupid rule of no killing, but just him. I wanted to do it because he took me away from you.” 

“Jason, you’re gonna be fine. You can’t die again.” 

“You’re acting fairly normal for a man so high off his ass that he couldn’t untie a rope tied like a child tied it.” 

Bruce’s breathing gets heavier and faster, so Jason slaps him. It’s weak by all standards, but it does the trick. Bruce comes back to reality and starts checking Jason’s condition. 

“Stop it, old man. I guess this is how it should have ended. Dying to protect my family, I like that. I still hate you for replacing me and leaving that scumbag alive, but at least nobody has to lose their dad today.” 

Jason turns his head to the side, then starts coughing up blood. 

“Father!” a voice calls from somewhere else in the base. 

“Damian,” Bruce mumbles, then turns in the direction of the door. 

“I hope you don’t remember this when you wake up,” Jason says. 

Bruce turns back towards Jason and he slams the butt of his gun into Bruce’s forehead. Bruce blacks out almost instantly and crumples into a heap. 

Bruce Wayne POV

Bruce wakes up to the sound of a heartbeat monitor. Steady heartbeat, and someone is holding his hands. He opens his eyes and he’s surrounded by his children. Dick, Tim, and Damian are all sitting in the room around his bed. Dick and Damian have a hold of his hands while Tim’s sitting at the foot of the bed with a book in hand. All of them are asleep in various uncomfortable looking positions. Damian blinks his eyes open and stares at Bruce for a minute before seeming to fully wake up. 

“Father!” Damian lets go of his hand so he could use both hands to reposition. 

Bruce ruffles Damian’s hair, which he accepts with a small huff. It only takes a minute for the other two to wake up thanks to Damian’s ruckus. 

“How long was I out?” Bruce asks. 

“Almost thirty-six hours,” Dick answers after a quick glance at his watch. 

“It took you so long that Drake was able to come back from his mission,” Damian adds. 

“What happened to Jay?” Bruce asks. Dick stiffens up while Tim and Damian look confused. 

“Who?” Damian asks. 

Recognition crosses Tim’s face, then it turns to confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“He was there. He got me out.” 

“Jason wasn’t there, Bruce,” Dick says quietly. “You were the only person there and the feed cut suddenly, so we figured you got yourself out. You were pretty high, so you can’t really trust anything you saw.” 

Bruce furrows his brows, but only acknowledges the statement with a nod. The subject changes to his recovery, which will take a couple weeks so says Dr. Thompkins. Bruce doesn’t say much, letting his kids do the talking. Tim tells him all about the mission he was on and how well it went, while Dick and Damian talk about adding trackers into the suits so they can keep up with each other. 

Everyone quiets back down after a while and eventually falls asleep, so Bruce is left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts about the fact that there should be a fourth kid here with him and there isn’t. That Jason would be here with his brothers if Bruce hadn’t been so reckless and careless. 

Jason POV 

Jason stumbles into his base and people start rushing towards him. 

“Boss, what happened?” one asks. 

They take him to the clinic down the road and the doctor treats his wounds. Once the doctor clears him to leave, he heads back to base. Everyone’s waiting, and looks concerned. 

“How are you planning on protecting us from the Bat like that?” one asks. 

“Bat’s gonna be out for a while,” Jason replies. “He’s being replaced by Nightwing, and I’m pretty sure that you guys can handle the week that I’ll be out.” 

“A week?” another one cuts in. “You look like you’ll be out for at least a month.” 

“I heal fast,” Jason says. “I’ll be back to working in no time. I’m thinking that we change our tactics a little while waiting for the Bat to come back. I want things to be a little more discreet. Give the heroes a false sense of security.” 

He explains the plan to them and they all seem pleased with it. 

“Someone keep tabs on whatever you can find about the Joker while I’m out,” Jason says. 

He heads back to his tiny apartment and crashes.

[glennjaminhow]

My newest hyperfixation ship finally manifests as a sick fic because of course it does.

~

You Know Me Best

Tim wakes up disoriented.

While that’s not unusual for most, it is unusual for him. He’s alert before he’s even aware of his surroundings. That was drilled into him by the time he was four.

He rubs his eyes and groans as he pulls himself up, out of breath from the simplest task. He blinks through the darkness of his bedroom and sags against the headboard, careful not to get too comfortable. Dizziness brews in his skull, thick and foggy. He feels like he’s on a raft in the middle of the ocean, the waves relentless, violent, treacherous. It’s ridiculous. He’s in his bed, at home in Los Angeles. The idea that he’d be anywhere else is as absurd as it is impossible.

Okay. No big deal. He’s a little out of it, and that’s fine.

Kojo whines at his feet.

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he peels himself off the mattress. A wet cough rattles through his chest, but he ignores it in favor of letting Kojo out. The wooden floor is icy beneath his thermal socks. He usually goes outside with Kojo – sometimes even plays fetch with him depending on how late he got in – but not today. He feels strange… distant. Kind of like he isn’t really here. Instead, he stands at the door and stares out the frosted window, eyes heavy.

He jumps when Kojo barks.

“Sorry, pal,” Tim says as he lets him back inside.

The dog huffs and scampers away. His automatic feeder goes off, and then Kojo’s gone.

Tim should be eating too. He isn’t a big breakfast guy, so he typically just has overnight oats or a smoothie, but the idea of eating right not makes his stomach squirm. He has about half an hour before he has to shower. He could lie down on the couch – or better yet in his bed – and bundle himself in blankets, but the here-but-not-here feeling is so strong he’s afraid he won’t be able to get back up. He resorts to sitting at the kitchen table, too exhausted to make coffee even though maybe it’d help fix whatever is wrong with him.

Time passes in a glazed blur, too fast and too slow all at once. He autopilots his way through his morning routine. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, puts in his contacts, throws on jeans and a hoodie, and is out of the house five minutes ahead of schedule. It doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes, he wakes up wrong, guilty or angry or upset or exhausted, but it never lasts this long. He’s great at snapping out of any funk before he enters the station.

“You okay?” is the first thing he hears when he opens the side door. Chen. Great.

He rolls his eyes. He just wants to get into uniform and on the road. Maybe focusing on the job will help.

“Fine,” he says. He heads to the locker room without looking back, even though the urge to read her facial expression is strong. Lucy always wants to know everything, even if it’s irrelevant things like his favorite ice cream flavor or that he’s allergic to strawberries. She’s like this way with other people too, but it’s more annoying because she was his boot and now she’s his gopher. It’s like he just can’t get away from her.

Tim changes. Grabs his thick police-issued coat. Coughs into his elbow a few times. Stands in front of the mirror to make sure his sure is tucked in properly and his hair is up to standards. Heads to morning roll call.

Lucy stops him before he can head inside. She places her hand on his chest; Tim shrinks back from the touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim nods. “I’m good.”

“You’re wearing your coat,” she points out. “You never wear your coat.”

“It’s December.” His voice is hushed and scratchy. Shit. He clears his throat, but it sounds weird.

Fantastic.

Lucy’s eyebrows furrow. “And?”

“Aaand I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Tim says as he pushes past her. “It’s just a coat.”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything with you,” Lucy mutters as she trails behind him.

Tim ignores her.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever, Tim doesn’t have to say a word during the briefing. Grey does all the talking, even down to announcing their jurisdictions and duties for the day. Tim stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest and giving his best thousand-yard stare. He doesn’t focus on anything because focusing means feeling, and feeling means acknowledging that he’s shivering. Hard. So hard he swears his teeth are chattering.

No one seems to notice. Good.

Grey releases them. They disperse.

By the time he makes it to the shop, Lucy’s in the driver’s seat.

The urge to be in control is strong, but not as strong as the urge to sit down.

He’s thankful the shop is already warm, heat cranked to the max.

Lucy immediately passes him a thermos.

“Tea with honey,” she says.

Tim buckles his seatbelt and nods once. “Thanks.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine,” he tells her again.

Is it really that obvious?

He has to get better at hiding these things.

“Do you want an applesauce pouch? It could help your throat.”

Tim frowns. “Like the things that little kids eat?”

“Adults can eat them too,” Lucy says adamantly. He doesn’t know why he believes her. “I have apple, cinnamon, and peach mango.”

“Pass,” Tim says. “And my throat is fine.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. She hands Tim his sunglasses, which were tucked away in her breast pocket for some reason, and puts the shop in drive.

Tim puts them on without a second thought, pulls the sleeves of his coat over his hands, and crosses his arms. He stares out the window as they drive through the busy streets of LA. The morning is drizzling and overcast, but that doesn’t stop the Christmas festivities. He should be BOLOing and patrolling even from the shop, but the road ahead of him is fuzzy. There’s a tightness in his chest that builds with each passing second. He gulps and shifts in his seat, biting his bottom lip. He should be able to handle this. Whatever it is, whatever is going on with him, isn’t bad enough to cause all this drama.

He can handle it. He can handle it.

And he tries to breathe through it. He really does. But now he’s nauseous, and his mouth is salivating, and each blink hurts. His dad would kill him. His military brothers and leaders would laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up. Because that’s what he should do. That’s what he has to do. He needs to suck it up. He doesn’t know why he can’t. But the fact that he can’t means that he’s out of control and being out of control means chaos and chaos means –

“Tim?”

He swallows thickly.

“Pull over.”

She does, and Tim is barely able to open the door before he spills out onto the concrete below, coughing up nothing but bile. His stomach heaves. Everything is raw and exposed and open, and he doesn’t like this. He shouldn’t behave like this. He should be able to hold it in like he always does. But he doesn’t hold it in. Of course he doesn’t. That would take a level of discipline that he clearly doesn’t possess.

“It’s okay,” he hears. The voice is soft, kind.

Lucy’s hand is on his lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles.

He shakes his head. “’s not okay,” he mumbles, swiping at his messy chin with his hand. He hiccups, and more bile splatters on the ground below.

None of this is okay.

Tim screws his eyes shut when Lucy’s hand leaves his back.

He coughs and hunches in on himself. Maybe if he curls into the smallest, tightest ball imaginable, he can disappear. His heart hammers in his chest, skipping beats and double-timing. The rest of his body feels like it’s been stored away in a deep freezer for months on end. He tries to hide his face in his knees, but moving is a herculean effort. His limbs don’t feel like they belong to him anyway, so it’s pointless.

“Tim, hey,” he hears. The hand on his back returns and then moves to his shoulder and then to palm his forehead.

His instinct is to flinch away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, and then we’re gonna get you home.”

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t know why there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried, but he’s sure it wasn’t because of something as dumb or idiotic as not feeling in control.

Lucy unclenches his hands for him. Cleans them with something cold and wet. Does the same thing to his chin and the front of his coat. Tim shivers. Coughs again. Blinks rapidly. He doesn’t – maybe can’t – fully understand all of what’s happening. Delirium settles in, nestling and burrowing. He just knows one second he’s on the ground and the next he’s sagging against Lucy’s side as she helps him into the shop. She wipes his cheeks with her thumb and buckles him in, safe and sound. Tim leans on the door, pressing his cheek to the cool window, hoping that it’s enough to ground him, to help him stay in reality, to let him get back to himself in one piece.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, but things – everything – just feels wrong.

Tim isn’t sure how or when it happens, but somehow he’s in his bed. His gray comforter is soft against his skin, pulled up over his chin. He tries to roll onto his back, but he can’t seem to muster the strength. Instead, he coughs wetly and attempts to place how he got here. He’s home, so it isn’t anything sinister, and he knows Lucy was with him the whole time. His former boot wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. It’s weird to acknowledge that, to understand that someone has his back, but he knows it’s the truth.

Something wet drips from his forehead and down his cheek.

Tim blinks. His arms feel like they’re glued to his side.

“Any better?” he hears.

Lucy comes into his line of vision, kneeling down in front of him. She replaces the wet thing on his forehead – a washcloth apparently – with an icepack. Tim bites his bottom lip and winces.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But you’re gonna hate this even more.”

Lucy invades his cocoon, exposing him to the air outside. Tim lets out a groan that’s dangerously close to a cry and shrivels in on himself. Lucy places an icepack under each armpit, and this time tears swell in his eyes. The cold is immediate and fucking hurts. Like needles. He hates needles, but she’s right: he hates this even more.

“It’s just for a few minutes. Your fever is through the roof, and you need to cool down before you fry your brain,” Lucy says.

She pulls the comforter back over him. Tim wraps his arms around himself and coughs, body shaking harshly. He chews the inside of his cheek with chattering teeth. His dad would absolutely annihilate him for this… this…

“Tim,” Lucy whispers. She’s still kneeling down in front of him. “You’re okay. This is only temporary.

He gulps. “You sure?” His voice is weak.

Everything about him is weak.

“I’m sure. Just breathe. You’ll get through this.”

Tim nods. He looks at Lucy, whose brown eyes are shining with tears, yet also full of reassurance. She’s trying to make him feel better. He ignores the desperate ache for her to hold him close, to run her fingers through his hair, for her to whisper comforts in his ear.

He breathes. Closes his eyes. Lets sleep tug him under.