#straps to hold legs together in wheelchair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wakabahan · 1 month ago

Text

what if you got read something of mine? what if that happened to you? i always use songs for chapter titles, the link is to the song.

Threshold

Shasta and Mamoru had decided on Boogie Woogie Steakhouse for dinner while her sisters all scattered to their own destinations. The night was perfect, warm but not overbearing. The mother and son decided to walk back to their hotel. That, and Shasta needed the fresh air, the aloha blonde she had ordered had gone to her head just a little more than she liked and the bbq chicken, while delicious, was heavy.

They chatted together happily, Mamoru swinging Shasta’s hand as they moseyed down the street. Her youngest was currently over the moon with his meal and couldn’t wait for when they flew back home and he could tell his older siblings all about it along with everything he had yet to experience. Mamoru was feeling particularly spoiled to be spending a holiday on his own with Shasta. At first he was put out that he wasn’t included in his older siblings’ trip, stating he was too young. Now it was the last thing the kid could possibly care about.

The quiet of the area was shattered by a door bursting open. Shasta immediately stopped and yanked Mamoru behind her on instinct to guard him. The door bashed against the wall, sprung on its hinges it couldn’t even swing back.

Shasta watched as a young man wearing a white polo over blue jeans and loafers in a wheelchair was hurried out of the room like a bat out of hell. Pushing the man was a face she remembered from photos, or rather, she remembered his hair and red suit.

“...Ichiban…Kasuga?” Not entirely sure she remembered the name right.

He didn’t notice her and continued to fly down the street, fleeing something.

If she were anyone else, she’d leave it alone. But no one launched themselves out of a room like that unless there was trouble. She waited a beat, not seeing anyone following after Ichiban and his companion. From across the street she could see the faint light of a knocked over lamp.

“Hold my hand tight. We’re going to cross the street.” Shasta instructed.

Mamoru did as he was told. Together they quickly jay walked the quiet street.

Hearing no sounds of alarm from the ground floor hotel room, Shasta parked her son between the door jamb and the broken window. She took Mamoru gently by the shoulders.

“Stay right here, okay? Do not go inside. I’ll be just a second.”

Mamoru looked up at her with big, curious eyes. He nodded eagerly, knowing his mother's tone when she was absolutely serious.

Shasta couldn't hear anything but exhausted breathing. The room was trashed as she crossed the threshold; broken chairs, an end table with a snapped leg slumped with a lamp hanging off it by its cord. It smelled faintly of sweat underneath the natural perfume of the city.

Who the hell are these guys? Stepping passed two men, walking on the outsides of her feet, soundless in her sandals.

“What the hell happened in here?” She whispered.

She gave each man a cursory glance. Shasta was looking for someone who seemed like the one in charge.

Not him, not with those sandals. Several of them wore aloha shirts and sunglasses despite the sun being long set. Her foot tapped someone else's.

Looking down it was a sizable pair of feet, wearing double monk strap loafers. She followed the length of his long legs. Tall, broad shouldered and spread eagle on the floor. He wore a nice pinstripe suit. Of all the other men sprawled on their asses, it was clear he was the one in charge.

Shasta crept down onto her hands and knees beside him. He was so still Shasta couldn't be sure if he was even alive. She reached under the neck of his sweater, two warm fingers pressing into the side of his throat.

He's not dead, good pulse but his skin is cool, weird with this weather.

Slowly, she slipped a hand into the breast pocket of his suit, pulling out a plain black wallet and she flipped it open.

Up close she smelled good soap, masculine and woody; but little else. Judging from his face and hair; she figured he didn't spend too much time on himself other than keeping his facial hair groomed.

“Yutaka Yamai…with a nicely done fake ID.” She mumbled, pausing for a second. “That's probably the best I've seen.”

She made a note that his photo was just as ugly and unflattering as any officially issued license, including hers. Quickly she put it back, he still hadn't stirred.

Yamai was conscious. He was just waiting. The smell of high end perfume as the person kicked his foot and bent down told him it was a woman. He sensed her kneel down, keeping still as her fingers, the tips soft, pressed into his neck.

Yamai let her reach into his breast pocket. With the intoxicating perfume; the sound of her voice made it hard to picture what she looked like, low and soft, but raspy as she mused over his ID. She leaned over him, the ends of her hair brushed over his cheek, tickling.

“Hey, Scarecrow.” She called softly, tapping his gaunt cheek with the back of two fingers.

He then stirred. Despite his size he was quick, snatching her by the wrist, just tight enough where she couldn't worm away. Lurching up off his back he came nose to nose with her, Shasta felt her nose briefly tickle. Meeting his eyes directly, they looked a little worn, deep set with dark shadows under them. Yamai and sleep were estranged if she had to guess.

“You know Kasuga?” His voice was very deep and round, a little reedy; it rumbled in Shasta’s ears.

It's almost eighty degrees, is he sick? Spying a peacoat cast aside beside them that paired with his suit overtop a ribbed turtleneck. The thought of all that fabric made her itch. Shasta mentally picked him apart. His demeanor, neck length black hair he let hang in his face, his dogged stare. He could be bad news.

“I know you can speak, little sister. Heard you when you came in.”

Shasta swallowed, keeping her nerves and temper in check.

“He's a friend of my cousin’s. I saw him leaving just now like there was fire on his heels.”

She watched his tongue run along the inside of his mouth in front of his bottom teeth, deciding if she was telling the truth. All she could do is be calm and wait.

Yamai gazed at her, her jet black eyes in the low lamp light glittered. She was pretty with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, beauty marks scattered on her face. Thick, well-groomed brows bent into a bit of a scowl. She didn't take her eyes off him and she didn't cower away from him.

“Do I know you?” He asked absently. Something about her face struck him as familiar.

Sizing her up; petite but buxom, her chest raised calmly with each breath. Wearing a dusty pink short sleeved turtle neck tucked into high waisted light wash jeans. She had curvy hips that were brought to attention by the thin white belt at her slimmer waist. Casual but she reeked of class. Money.

But she looked familiar, something about her was like a memory.

Yamai wondered how a woman like her would know a yakuza, and one who inadvertently spearheaded the ending of the two largest clans in Japan.

“We’ve never met.” She replied curtly. Her mouth; full and rosy blush colored, naturally set into a frown. Her head tilted down and in slightly, trying to ease her wrist from his long fingers without seeming desperate.

Yamai caught a glint by her right ear. The tips of her ears stuck out from her silky faux blonde bob. He let go of her wrist and nonchalantly moved her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Brassy gold hoops that hugged the lobe, with a connecting ring that held a pear cut yellow diamond. It caught the light and sparkled, almost dripped from her lobe.

“Your fuzzball friend cost me a lot of money. How much do these go for?” He asked, flicking the jewel with the pad of his forefinger.

Yamai fixed his gaze back to center away from her ear, fingers still lazily teasing her. She licked her lips before she spoke feeling a bit like a prize the way he leered at her like a crow to something shiny. Shasta couldn't help but flush as he continued to play with her ear.

“...As a pair they're 45k, so half that. I imagine not a single one of your lackeys has ever made you that much…except maybe that kid with the glasses by the door, he's cute.” She replied calmly, tone certifiably bitchy.

“Mama?” Mamoru interrupted them.

“I told you to stay outside, honey.” She called back.

Yamai watched her expression flit to panic for just a split second, but she never took her eyes away from Yamai.

He could feel her body wind up. Every muscle torqued and ready to fight if he decided to divert his attention to her kid. Just the two of them, she’d been letting him lead. Now she was going to strike if need be.

“But Mama, you’ve been inside for–”

“Mamoru!” Her voice with its rasp was harsh, putting her son in his place.

She's a fighter.

Saying nothing, Yamai popped the latch of her earring with his first finger and slowly slipped it through the soft tissue of her earlobe and into his hand. He watched her eyes cast down, lashes obscuring her eyes, watching him rolling the stone in his palm with his thumb. Her face gave nothing away as she watched his hand.

Guess she wouldn't care, they're probably insured.

“Go.” Ticking his head back towards the open door.

“What, you don't want the other?” She asked, eyes cutting back up to him. He scoffed, he liked her prissy attitude.

“I’ll come find you if I change my mind.” He snarked back.

Shasta gave him one last long look before pushing off her knees and onto her feet. Her face rocked dangerously close to his. Yamai felt her breath breeze past his cheek and another waft of her perfume hit his nose. It wrapped around him for a moment and then was gone. He swallowed the weird unidentifiable twinge of emotion.

Without another word she moved past his men, bonking the one she had called cute in the head as she went.

Yamai got to his feet, and cleared the room to the door, also giving Tomizawa a knock in the head. Tomizawa balled himself up and held his head tight, groaning loudly.

Yamai skulked out of the room and watched Shasta walk quickly down the street, holding her son's hand while she texted someone with the other. The boy had a mop of curly black hair. He looked up to his mother, talking to her, still within ear shot.

“Mama, who were those guys? Why did they leave the door open? That's not safe.”

She looked from her phone to him and squeezed his hand, giving him a smile. “Those guys were up to mischief.” A bit of humor in her voice.

“So they’re bad?”

Yamai staring after her so hard Shasta turned, eyes meeting at a distance. The smile she gave the kid was still in place for a split second that hammered right through Yamai. Again a memory he didn't have that faded along with her smile.

She blinked and turned back to Mamoru.

“No, baby. Not everyone who does a bad thing is bad.”

The boy thought about it before nodding. “Okay. So where is Wakaba’s friend?”

Yamai just barely heard the ping of her phone. “That…is what I am about to find out…” Trailing off as she sent another text.

Walking around the corner out of sight, Yamai couldn't hear the rest. She had a cold snobby air about her and a bitchy expression. But she was classy. To Yamai she was reminiscent. The diamond earring was warmed in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, a shiver ripped viciously down his spine.

Walking down the avenue with Mamoru, she rolled through her contacts. Down to the J’s she called out.

In Chicago a cell phone angrily buzzed on a desk. Jay Halstead was fried. It was going on two in the morning. His fair, freckled skin had a chill from being tired. He had been zoning out watching snow flurries dance in the windows. He grimaced at his phone, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

Jay had drawn the short straw and was stuck drawing up the DD5s on their latest case. The cold quiet made him all the more tired and the coffee he brewed tasted like shit. If he had thought about it, he'd have brought better from home. But he was so confident that he'd get to go home at a reasonable hour.

He scratched his jaw, feeling the day growing in as he turned over his phone and saw Shasta’s name flash on the face.

“C’mon.” He complained, answering. “Hawaii sucks that bad you have to call me?”

Shasta wrinkled her nose. “You answered so you're worse off than I am, it seems. Can you ping a phone for me, please?”

“You’ve been in Hawaii for like, what, two seconds? How are you already working?”

The dry humor of the young detective made her roll her eyes, she could picture his snarky expression, those big blue eyes bright.

“I’m not trying to, but of course, I stepped into something.” She rattled off the number to Jay.

“Uh-huh!” He chirped sarcastically, quickly waking up his computer, and pulling up the proper software. “I got an…Ichiban Kah-soo-gah..?”

“Not quite, but you tried. Does it show where he is?” Shasta asked.

“Guy pinged a cell tower heading west on Aloha St.”

“Thank you, Jay.” Ready to end the call.

No way he was going to let her off the phone without giving her a hard time.

“Shas, you gotta bring me back something cool, or I’ll be totally put out. I- I might even die if I don't get cool swag–” Feigning hard his impending doom.

“Goodbye, Jay–” Promptly she hung up on him.

Shasta sighed, slipping her phone into her back pocket. Mamoru looked up at his mother and smiled, a coy smile. He was waiting for his mother to explain properly.

Shasta let go of his hand and put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him to her.

“It's probably nothing, baby.”

Despite her words; Shasta had a feeling that there was a lot more than Ichiban pissing off a small group of small-time shitkickers.

Dug out of a box he carelessly tossed CDs and DVDs that sat in the corner or his room. It wasn't the original. That one was vinyl and was still in his childhood bedroom.

That is if his older sister didn't shitcan everything he had left behind when he left home.

It was vivid in his mind. Yamai could see himself, that gangly, homely preteen. He remembered that his arms and legs had ached like hell all that summer from a growth spurt. He was passing a little record shop and in the window an album cover had caught his attention.

The record was a bait and switch. It had the clear look of an indie pop album; a young girl, maybe a few years older than he was, with a smile that rotted the teeth. It was so sweet, too sweet. The girl had mostly straight teeth, canines top and bottom a little crooked. The top of her gums visible as she beamed. She was standing in a sunlit field, shielding her eyes from the sun, long black hair swept up in a heavy breeze looking directly at you. Her ears stuck out, adding to her darling charm. She wore a sleeveless denim dress with a floral sailor collar.

The music was pure unbridled anger. The heavy chug of guitars, deep moody bass, drums that if you pressed your headphones hard enough to your head it threw your heartbeat off. The woman was a singer with a smoky siren allure but could startle with gut wrenching growls. It was everything a bratty teenage boy could want.

But it was the girl on the sleeve who pulled Yamai in. He jumped another kid to steal his allowance to buy that record. He had beat the kid bloody to get what he wanted. He had to have it. That girl with her goofy ears and smile wooed him for years until he was an adult.

Yamai found the CD and sat on the edge of his bed, staring hard at the disc cover. His teenage muse was still as beautiful as ever. When CDs came out the booklet had more pictures that didn't make the final cut. He hadn’t really looked at the booklet, he had merely seen the album in a second hand shop here in Honolulu and picked it up without thinking about it. He had been moved purely by nostalgia. A time where life wasn’t frigid and didn’t suck shit.

Thumbing through it there was no doubt about it. Her body was a little different, hips and breasts fuller from age and childbirth. Her jaw was a little softer, crows feet from scowling. But there was no mistaking the placement of the moles on her face. The flare of her ears that made them peek through her hair. One of the pages the girl wasn’t smiling, just her face at rest. That natural downturn of her mouth at the corners.

The woman in the hotel room was this same girl.

#yakuza #after writing #oc spewage #yutaka yamai #shasta shizuka days #yakuza oc #oc x canon #rgg oc #this is technically chapter two but it can honestly stand on its own as chapter one whatever #oc good days #uhhhh idk i guess if you read it tell me what you think but be polite im a crybaby

7 notes · View notes

accessible-art · 8 months ago

Text

[IDs taken from alt: Image 1: A digital portrait of femmelottiematthews sitting in her wheelchair against a pink background. She is wearing a floral top and jean shorts over patterned fishnets. She is wearing an iridescent purple Doc Marten shoe on her one foot. Her wheelchair is light blue, and has a rainbow-coloured strap along the bottom. In the top left and top right corners of the piece, there are line drawings of the comedy and tragedy masks. In the bottom two corners are scrolling, ribbon-like designs. There are lines radiating from her torso and her chair as if from the sun.

Image 2: A digital portrait of @primordial-butch’s torso standing with her thumbs tucked into her front pockets against an orange and red background. She has light skin, and is wearing a leather jacket over a black t-shirt tucked into black jeans. At her waist, resting against a thick, black leather belt, is a chain and a carabiner of keys. A silver necklace in the shape of a half-row of teeth hangs around her neck. Around her body are bolts of lightning and small, white stars.

Image 3: A digital portrait of tumblr user ilona-mushroom standing against an orange and red background. They are wearing a denim battle vest over a black t-shirt. The vest has metal spikes covering the collar and dozens of nails on the left shoulder. The front of their vest is covered in buttons and patches and pins. They are wearing black cargo pants that are also covered in handmade patches, spikes, pop-tabs, and safety pins. One patch reads, "Eat the rich". Another shows an illustration of the smiling sun alongside an Anne Lamott quote: "And then the miracle happens. The sun comes up again." Their body is outlined in white against the sunrise-coloured background, and doodles of zigzags like lightning surround their torso.

Image 4: A digital portrait of a butch/femme couple holding hands against a pink and orange background. The figure on the left is femme and has a dark brown skin tone. She is wearing a white tube top, and white, floral-patterned pants. The figure on the right is butch and has white skin. They are wearing a blue shirt with geometric patterns, and a pair of jeans. Each of them is smiling, and their heads are close together. Yellow lines like rays of sunshine are radiating from their bodies and from their joined hands.

Image 5: A portrait of @littlelesbean sitting against a blue background. The portrait spans from her lap to her grin. She is wearing a pink dress covered in small, red hearts, and has red, chin-length hair. There are lines radiating from her huge smile, and small doodles of hearts surrounding her body.

Image 6: A digital portrait of @draftdodgercrowley (he/she/they) standing with his hands on his hips on a yellow-orange background. The portrait spans from just below their knees, to just above their smile. He is white, and has chin-length red hair. Her blue t-shirt is tucked into a blue floral-print skirt, and reads: "dirtbag femme". Doodles of flowers and stars surround their body.

Image 7: A digital portrait of tumblr user bapc standing against a yellow and purple background. They have white skin and are wearing a rainbow-striped sundress. They are holding the edges of their dress in their hands, and the skirt spreads out in front of their legs. Around their body are doodles of stars, leaves, and flowers of various sizes.

Image 8: A digital portrait of @butch-moon's torso, from thigh to chin, against a dark pink background. They are sitting with their hands in their lap, the middle finger of one ringed hand resting against the thumb of the other. They are wearing a white flowing top tucked into black pants. Their arms are covered in tattoos—a knife on one arm and a rose on the other. Their body is surrounded by doodles of stars, planets, and moons.

Image 9: A digital portrait of @starryeyedbutch, from thigh to neck, standing with his arms crossed against his chest on an orange background. He has light skin, and is wearing a sleeveless black shirt and sweatpants. His sweatpants are slung low on his hips, revealing blue boxer briefs with the name brand "Hanes" written across the waistband. Small doodles of white stars surround his body.

Image 10: A portrait of @rosebutsch's torso, from smiling mouth and cheeks to mid-thigh on a green background. They have a light brown skin tone, and are wearing a white lab coat with black shorts. On their left belt loop is a carabiner of keys, and their hand is in their left pocket. Under the lab coat is a black basketball jersey that has the phrase "Fogtown NFLD" on it in white block letters. A series of small, white stars surrounds their body. End IDs]

All the portraits in my Butch & Femme Portrait Series so far :-)

Huge thanks to everyone who volunteered to be part of the project, and to everyone who has supported it <3

#illustration #digital #queer art #mod toby #disability art

5K notes · View notes

mobilityshop · 11 months ago

Text

Conquer the World with the Esteem Bariatric Wheelchair

Tired of flimsy wheelchairs holding you back? Let the Esteem Heavy Duty Bariatric Wheelchair become your trusty steed, ready to conquer any adventure life throws your way!

Imagine:

Cruising confidently thanks to a super strong steel frame that laughs at bumps and knocks.

Finding your perfect fit with 4 seat width options (20"-26"), ensuring supreme comfort no matter your build.

Leaving worries behind with solid tires that tackle any terrain, from cobblestone streets to sandy beaches.

But that's not all! This bad boy is packed with features that make life sweeter:

Adjustable armrests and swing-away leg rests with calf straps for personalized comfort and support.

Easy-clean nylon upholstery with extra padding keeps you cool and comfy all day.

Attendant brakes for smooth, controlled stops and parking brakes for worry-free breaks.

Folds easily for travel and storage, because adventures don't wait for bulky wheelchairs.

Bonus:

Sleek silver design looks as good as it feels.

Lightweight (18.5kg-28.5kg) for effortless maneuvering.

One-year warranty for peace of mind.

Don't just exist, thrive! The Esteem Heavy Duty Bariatric Wheelchair is your ticket to independence, adventure, and endless possibilities. ✨

Share your heavy duty wheelchair adventures and tips in the comments! Together, let's build a community that celebrates mobility and inclusivity.

1 note · View note

theoretical-whore · 3 years ago

Text

Touch (Abner Krill/Polka Dot Man x OC)

Safe Under the Waves Chapter 3/? Fandom: the Suicide Squad Rating: PG-13 Contains: Medical talk, descriptions of surgery, descriptions of pain, heavy petting, kissing Words: 2k+

A/N: Third chapter! Here we go. A little bit of a time skip here, Beth and Abner grow closer and we learn the truth about Josie’s condition

And so life went on like this for several months. The days got shorter and colder. Beth’s tail healed, but she didn’t leave. At least, not for long. She would leave for a few days at a time, to hunt and find food. While her tail healed, Abner would sneak food out of the kitchen to bring to her, whatever raw fish he knew they could spare. And the unlikely pair grew closer. Abner began to feel a tug in his heart whenever Beth smiled at him. He would mope on the days when she wasn’t around. Josie began teasing him for “having a crush on a mermaid.” He just rolled his eyes and said that crushes were for school children.

Except that she was absolutely correct.

The first day Josie met Beth, her eyes were like stars. Abner had carried her down the steps to the beach one day while their mother was out, leaving her wheelchair up on the cliff. Abner hadn’t seen her so happy since before she lost her legs.

“Your sister…” Beth began one day as she finished off a fish she had caught, perched on the shelf of the grotto, her tail swishing in the deep waters. “What happened to her?”

Abner, who was sitting cross legged in the sand and had been weaving strips of seaweed together, paused. “It, um…” He squeezed his eyes shut as his hands began to shake.

“Oh, Abner, I’m sorry.” She reached out and touched his shaking hand. “You don’t have to tell me if-”

“No.” He said firmly. He set down his seaweed and took Beth’s hand, his heart fluttering with affection and anxiety. “I...I want to tell you. I want...I want someone to know the truth.” Beth’s face softened and she nodded, urging Abner to continue at his own pace. “Mom tells everyone that it was a shark.” He laughed hollowly. “Can you believe that? That a shark would take off both a little girl’s legs? Well...the whole town buys it. But…”

“It was your mom, wasn’t it?”

Abner had yet to go into detail about the horrors that lived in his mother’s lab, about the horrors he and his siblings had gone through. He nodded. “She’s...she’s obsessed with creating these hybrids. These...merpeople/human hybrids. She...she grows babies in an artificial womb in her lab. She uses them as test subjects. And Josie…” Abner’s whole body was shaking. Was it from the cold or anxiety? Maybe the pain? He couldn’t tell anymore. “God, she was only a kid...one day, I woke up to her screaming and...I ran into the lab, and Josie was strapped to the table and...Mom had cut her legs off.” Beth gasped. “She had cut her legs off and was trying to attach a fish tail to her.” Abner squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to stop tears from falling. “It didn’t work, of course. And Josie’s been sickly ever since.”

“Did...did your mother ever do these things to you?”

Abner nodded. “I’m not...I’m not sure what she did to me. But she put me under one day, when I was a kid. And when I woke up, I was just...in the most horrible pain. It felt like all my nerve endings were on fire. And it’s never...it’s never really gone away. I learned to live with the pain. Some days it’s better, some days it’s worse. But...it’s always there. That’s why I like being in the water. It...eases the pain.”

Aber opened his eyes to see Beth covering her mouth with her hand. Her lashes were shining with unshed tears. “I’m...oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and made a “hm” sound. “We, um...we got used to it. She doesn’t...experiment on us anymore. It’s just the...the infants. Josie says it’s because we’re too old to be of any use.” He let out an empty chuckle and looked down at where he was still holding Beth’s hand. “They always die, the babies. One lived for two years, once. A girl, we called her Mara. Mom doesn’t name them. Mara lasted the longest.”

“When we met…”

Abner nodded. “Yeah. I was sending the latest victim out to sea. He wasn’t even a year old.” Abner started to mindlessly trace patterns in the sand. “I always send them out to sea. Dad always told us that those buried at sea would be reborn as the sea life.”

Beth smiled sadly. “That’s what merpeople say too.”

A cold wind blew across the beach, and Abner shuddered as he felt his nerves begin to light. He clenched a fistful of sand.

“What’s wrong?”

“The cold, it...it makes the pain flare up.” He forced a smile and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m fine.”

Finally letting go of his hand (much to Abner’s dismay), she pushed herself off the shelf and into the deep waters of the grotto. “Come into the water with me. You said it eases the pain.”

Abner looked up at his mother’s lab. The lights were still off. She hadn’t returned home yet. Looking back to Beth, he nodded. He swung his legs over to the edge of the grotto, preparing to lower himself into the water.

“In your clothes?”

“Hm?”

“You’re gonna get in the water in your clothes?”

He looked down at himself. She was right. The other times he had been in the water with her, it had been a moment of panic. This time, there was no haste. No panic. He didn’t have to get his clothes wet. But…”You’re wearing clothes.” He gestured to the deep raspberry top she wore.

“I’m wearing merpeople clothes. This was made underwater, and it’s meant to be underwater. You’re wearing...cotton, or something.”

Shit. She had a point. He conceded, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. His hands began to shake again. “Can you, um...can you close your eyes? Until I get into the water?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“I’m not...attractive, under my clothes. I don’t...I don’t want you to see me.”

Her eyes softened, but she nodded and closed her eyes. Abner breathed a shaky sigh of relief as he began to shed his clothing. “I’m sure you’re beautiful, Abner.” Beth said.

He paused as he began to remove his cropped pants. “W-what?”

Her eyes were still closed, but she had a soft smile on her face. “If you don’t want me to look at you, I won’t, but...I’m sure you’re much more beautiful than you think.”

He folded his pants and shirt, placing them out of the way of the tides, opting to keep his boxers on. “What makes you say that?”

“Because what I can see is beautiful, so why wouldn’t what I can’t see be beautiful too?”

He slipped into the deep waters, his face turning red. The tension in his body lessened as the water eased his pain. “You can look now.”

Beth opened her eyes, still smiling at the man now treading water in front of her. “See?” She reached out under the water and took his hand. “Beautiful.”

He almost scoffed. “I’m…not beautiful.”

She drifted closer, close enough that she could lay her head on his shoulder. “You’re gorgeous.”

The water washed away the fire on his nerves, and he felt lighter than air. With an ounce of bravery he didn’t know he had, he lifted her head off his shoulder and held her face, bringing her forehead to his. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

The moon was beginning to rise, shining soft moonlight into the grotto. Abner felt that tug at his heartstrings again. Beth’s eyes were shining at him, looking at him as if he were the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.

He knew his eyes reflected the same sentiment.

When did her face get so close?

Abner had never been kissed before. It was pathetic, he thought, truly. He was a grown man, and he’d never been kissed. Not even on a dare, although he knew some of the girls in town had been dared by their friends while snickering from behind their hands. None of them had ever gone through with it. But he had read his fair share of romance novels in his life. They were his favorite. And he hoped to god that the knowledge he got from those would suffice as he pressed his lips to Beth’s.

Beth was frozen for a moment, hesitating before returning the kiss. But return it she did, and with equal passion and fervor. Her hands came up to cup his face, mirroring him. Abner felt his nerves light up, but not in pain this time. This fire was different. It felt less like fire and more like...warmth. Comfort. Like when he would curl up in a blanket by the fireside in the dead of winter. He felt like he was floating as Beth’s lips moved in sync with his. She tasted like the ocean breeze itself, refreshing and slightly salty on his tongue. Were all kisses like this? Josie had always told him that kissing was a chore, a useless mashing of faces to show affection. Beth’s sharpened teeth scraped his lips, and oh god was Josie wrong. This was euphoria. He never wanted it to end. She was so warm, so soft, fireworks were exploding behind his eyes.

And then it ended.

“Easy there, tiger shark.” Beth’s voice was soft, and she sounded like she was in bliss. “Don’t forget to breathe.” She was smiling at him so sweetly.

Oh yeah. He supposed his lungs were burning a bit.

“I...I don’t need to breathe. I just need to keep kissing you.” His voice was shaking, his whole body trembling in the water. Her fingers were so gentle on his face.

“Was that your first kiss?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “Was it bad? I-I’m sorry, I just-”

“It was you. There’s no way it could be bad.”

“Can I do it again?”

“Yes.”

His lips were on hers again. He felt her tail weave between his bare legs and her hand drift down his chest to rest on his hip. Her touch left a trail of fire in the cool water of the grotto. Even with the coolness of the water, he felt a stirring in the pit of his belly. She was so beautiful. She felt so good. He wanted to hold her in his arms and never let go.

“Are you okay?” she whispered into his mouth.

“I’ve never felt better in my life.”

She giggled softly, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. “You seem...excited.” Her eyes flicked down his body and then back up to his face.

Abner’s cheeks turned red. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I-”

She pecked his lips. “You worry too much. I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Although I’m not really...familiar with human anatomy, it can’t be too different from mer anatomy.”

“W-what?”

She stroked his cheek, a devilish glint in her eyes. She leaned in close, her breath warm against his skin. Pressing the softest of kisses to the shell of his ear, she whispered, “Tell me what you want, Abner.”

“I-I...I…”

“It’s okay,” she crooned, and he once again could see how sailors would be lured to their death by the voice of a mermaid (he didn’t think he’d mind if she drowned him right now). “Take your time. Tell me what you want.”

“I...I want to touch you. I want...I want to keep kissing you. I don’t want this feeling to stop.” He felt like he might cry from all the things he was feeling. “I just want you.”

The hand on his chest trailed back up and then down his arm, taking his wrist. “Then let’s soak in the feeling for as long as we can, hm?” She took his large hand and pressed it to her breast over her top. “You can touch me. It’s okay. I want you, too.”

She wanted him? That affirmation echoed through his head as he began to delicately grope at her breast. The soft sigh that left her lips was nothing short of angelic as his fingers swept over her still clothed nipple.

“Take me as far as you want to go, Abner,” she said. “I’m yours.”

#abner krill #polka dot man #abner krill fanfiction #abner krill x reader #abner krill x oc #polka dot man x reader #polka dot man x oc #polka dot man fanfiction #the suicide squad #the suicide squad fanfiction #the suicide squad au

30 notes · View notes

bellafarella · 4 years ago

Note

angst 17 and/or fluff 13 and/or misc 1

choices 😉

Thanks for sending me these!! I wrote for all 3; the angst one is a fic on it’s own, and the fluff & misc are in a fic together.

The sentences came from this post

You can also read both of these here: angst & fluff/misc

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

Put your arms around me

Angst #17: “If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart.”

Ian and Mickey have been taking care of Franny for the past three months. Debbie took off with her loser, new girlfriend and she promises she’ll be back in another two months. She was going to take Franny with her but Mickey offered to let them watch her. Franny got all excited, begging her mom to let her stay with her favorite uncles. Debbie relented and took off the next day. Ian and Mickey have a second bedroom in their new apartment that they were going to convert into a guest room anyway so this became Franny’s room until Debbie comes back for her child.

Ian picks Franny up from school, meeting her in front. She rips her mask off as she runs over to him, hugging his legs. “Hey Fran,” he greets her, tapping her back.

“Hi,” she says in her tiny voice. “No uncle Mickey?” she asks when she lets go, looking up at him and shrugging her shoulders.

“Not today, he had something to do,” Ian tells her. “We’ll meet him back at home later.”

“Okay,” she says simply. She takes his hand when he offers it to her and the two walk off school grounds. He asks her how school was as they make their way to the ambulance parked down the street. Ian has Franny ride in the back, strapped in so that she stays safe as he drives them back home.

They get inside the apartment, Ian locking the door behind them as Franny runs in. “Go wash your hands, Fran,” he yells after her.

“I know!” she yells back in her little voice.

Ian walks to the kitchen sink to wash his own hands. As he dries them off, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s from a private number so he picks up just in case, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Ian Gallagher?” the person on the other end asks.

“Um, yes, who is this?” he asks, making his way back to the living room where Franny is now dumping her stuff from her school bag on the coffee table.

“I’m calling from South Shore Hospital. We have a Mikhailo Milkovich that was brought in today and -”

“What happened? Is Mickey okay? I’m his husband,” he says in a panic, realizing they must know he’s his husband since they called him.

“Yes, sir. Mikhailo was in an accident, he’s okay, but he’s asked us to call you,” the person tells him.

“I’m on my way now,” he tells him before the person tells him where exactly he is and then he hangs up. “C’mon Franny, we gotta go get uncle Mickey.”

“Can I bring a toy?” Franny asks.

“Just one,” Ian tells her.

Franny grabs one of her toys quickly from her room before the two are back out the door and in the ambulance. Ian doesn’t park too close, seeing as this is still a stolen ambulance, and the two walk the rest of the way to the hospital.

Ian finds the nurse’s station of who he spoke to on the phone before she leads him to Mickey’s room. Franny’s holding Ian’s hand as they make their way inside and see Mickey laying on the hospital bed with his leg in a cast.

“Oh my God, Mick,” Ian says, tears threatening to fall already.

Franny lets go of Ian’s hand to run to Mickey’s side, she looks at him and he says, “Hey, kid.”

“Are you okay, uncle Mickey?” she asks so softly he barely hears it.

“I’m okay,” he tells her but he looks up at Ian, nodding his head softly, reassuringly.

Ian joins them closer to Mickey and leans down, kissing him softly on the lips. He pulls back and asks, “What the hell happened?”

“Some jackass wasn’t looking and hit me with his fuckin’ car,” Mickey tells him. “Fractured my leg. They said I’ll be in this cast for like six to eight weeks.”

Ian looks down at his leg in the cast and how this could have been so much worse. A fractured leg is nothing but had this car hit him harder or at a different angle and -

Ian starts tearing up and Mickey says, “Hey, Ian, I’m okay,” his hand grabbing his where it’s resting on the bed beside him.

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart,” Ian tells him, letting the tears slip down his cheeks.

“Come here,” Mickey mumbles, pulling him closer. Ian leans down and Mickey wraps his arms around Ian awkwardly seeing as he’s sitting up in bed and Ian’s crouching down.

Ian shoves his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck and lets the tears fall, breathing in his scent, and praying to whatever God there is that his husband is okay and here in his arms.

Ian feels Franny hugging his legs so he pulls back and lifts her up. Mickey pats the bed next to him, away from his broken leg, and Ian puts her down next to him. Ian sits in the chair, pulling it right up beside the bed and waits. The doctor comes in not much longer to explain to them both what Mickey can and cannot do for the first couple of weeks and how recovery will go, before they are free to go.

Ian wheels Mickey out of the hospital in a wheelchair with Franny walking closely beside him. He brings Mickey all the way to their stolen ambulance in the wheelchair, helps him into the vehicle and tells them both to wait there before rushing back to return the wheelchair and running back to get them all home.

That night while they’re lying in bed, Ian sleeping on the other side of his fractured leg, he snuggles close, resting his head on his chest. “I felt like my heart was going to drop out of my ass when I got a call from the hospital saying you were in an accident,” Ian whispers.

Mickey’s arm is wrapped around him and he’s soothingly running his fingers up and down Ian’s arm. “I’m okay,” he says softly.

“It could have been so much worse though, Mick…”

“It wasn’t though. I’m right here,” Mickey reassures him.

“Uncle Mickey?” they hear from the open doorway.

“C’mon in, Fran,” Mickey tells her.

“Be careful of uncle Mickey’s leg,” Ian reminds her.

Franny slowly climbs onto the bed, Ian moving over so she can get in the middle. She snuggles right up against Mickey like Ian just was and says, “I’m happy you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Mickey tells her, kissing her forehead.

Ian snuggles up behind her, reaching his arm over so he can hold Mickey’s hand. Mickey squeezes his hand and the three of them fall asleep together, thankful that Mickey’s okay.

/////////////

A teenage crush

Misc #1: “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” & Fluff #13: “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Ian hates his warehouse job. Well, he doesn’t hate one part about it, which is his very grumpy but very hot supervisor, who on his first day meeting him was told, “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” It immediately made Ian like him.

Ian hasn’t had a legal job since he worked at the Kash’n’Grab when he was like fourteen. So much has happened in the last ten years. Most of it bad but also some good. He was able to finally get stable after being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder like his mother and he found himself this job. It’s been about six months that he’s working for Amazon and the only good part about coming to work every day is seeing his supervisor.

Usually people don’t develop massive crushes on their superiors but not Ian. The first day he started and he met Mickey Milkovich, Ian thought his heart would jump out of his chest. He’s never felt this way before. He’s been with plenty of men in his short lifetime but there’s something about Mickey that - mmph. He makes Ian act like a teenager with a crush again.

Mickey is abrasive. He has crude knuckle tattoos. He has the most fowl, dirty mouth Ian’s ever heard. He has piercing blue eyes and black hair. He’s been at the center of Ian’s dreams for the past six months.

He has no idea what Mickey’s sexuality is. They don’t hang out. Mickey’s the warehouse supervisor, he’s his boss. They chat here and there but it’s never anything more than pleasantries. Mickey doesn’t do small talk and has told him multiple times to ‘shut the fuck up and get back to work, Gallagher’. But Ian has his suspicions. He’s noticed Mickey’s eyes wandering his body when he comes into work in tight shirts or if his jeans are a little more snug than he normally wears.

Ian tries to get Mickey to notice him more than just his employee. He wants to spend time with him outside of work. He wants to bend him over and fuck him, give him the best dick he’s ever had.

Ian snaps out of it, trying to get back to work. He continues going through the box, making sure the products aren’t expired. It’s not the most thrilling job Ian’s ever had but it’s a stable job, a stable paycheck - even if it’s minimum wage - so it’s giving him the security and stability he needs in his life right now.

“Gallagher,” he hears and knows immediately it’s Mickey. He smiles to himself before turning around to see the shorter man making his way over with his trusty clipboard. He looks so good today. He looks good everyday but today he has on some dark blue jeans and a burgundy crewneck sweater that’s rolled up his forearms.

“Hey, Mick, what’s up?” Ian says, going for nonchalant and not like he was just checking his boss out.

Mickey rolls his eyes slightly like he always does when Ian says Mick. No one else calls him that but he doesn’t tell Ian to stop so he doesn’t, he likes the tiny smile he sometimes gets from him when he calls him that. “When you’re done with those, come see me in my office,” he tells him.

Ian gets a sudden wave of nausea and panic. Mickey must notice because he clicks his tongue and says, “Man, calm down, you’re fine. Just - come see me after, yeah?”

Ian nods, mutters out a, “Yeah,” before Mickey walks away.

Ian works quickly, wanting this over with so he could see what Mickey wants. He said you’re fine so this can’t be a bad thing, he can’t be getting fired… right?!

Less than an hour later, Ian knocks on Mickey’s open door. He has a tiny office in the corner of the warehouse. It’s not much but it’s his own private space so that must be nice. “Hi,” he says softly when Mickey looks up.

“Come in, shut the door,” Mickey tells him.

Ian nervously steps inside, closing the door behind him before walking over to the chair on the other side of Mickey’s desk and sits down. Mickey says, “So I have a job opportunity for you.”

“What?” Ian asks a little louder than he expected.

Mickey smiles softly before it disappears. “Yeah, man, what did you think I was gonna fire your ass?”

“Kind of,” Ian tells him honestly, making Mickey laugh.

Mickey clicks his tongue, “I told you you were fine, man.”

“How fine?” Ian tries to flirt.

It fails because Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and he asks, “What?”

“Nothing, so a job opportunity?”

“Uh, yeah, so I’m leaving and they need a new warehouse supervisor and figured you should do it,” Mickey tells him.

“Wait - what? Where are you going?”

“Another job opportunity elsewhere for more pay. So, you interested or not? You get a higher salary and benefits.”

“Why me? I’ve only been here six months,” Ian asks confused.

“It won’t be for another couple months or so but - look, you’re a hard worker, you don’t take any shit, you work quickly and efficiently and you’re always on time and never call in sick. I was told to choose a replacement and I chose you,” Mickey explains, shrugging a little right at the end, looking a little nervous.

Ian smiles softly. Hearing Mickey say these things about him - things he’s noticed about him, it makes him feel really good. “Fuck yeah - I - sorry, yes, I’m definitely interested in the job,” Ian stammers.

Mickey smiles at him and nods. “Good so there’s like paperwork and shit you’re gonna need to fill out. Do you have anywhere to be right after your shift or can we do that then?”

“That works,” Ian grins.

Mickey nods again before saying, “Cool, now get the fuck out of my office and get back to work, Gallagher.”

Ian can’t get rid of his grin as he stands and leaves his office. He’s getting a promotion and Mickey won’t be his boss soon so he needs to try and seal the deal soon. Spending some time together after work is exactly what Ian had been hoping for since he started this job.

Ian’s working late tonight, doing some overtime since a few people called out today so by the end of his shift it just seems to be him and Mickey left in the warehouse. He quickly uses the washroom, making sure he doesn’t look too much like shit before heading to Mickey’s office. Just like earlier, the door is open so he knocks on the side lightly and says, “Hey,” before walking in and going to sit across from him.

“Hey, did everyone else fuck off yet?” Mickey asks him.

Ian can’t help but chuckle lightly. “Yeah, just us.”

Mickey hums, eyeing Ian. Ian sees this look, appreciates it, and definitely wants to jump on it but before he can, Mickey looks down at his desk and grabs a stack of papers. “So, this is what you gotta fill out. Mostly stupid information shit we already know and just some other forms mostly for you to keep that shows proof of your increase in salary and the benefits you’ll get. Just need to make sure you sign the copies for us and the rest you keep,” he explains.

Ian takes it from Mickey’s offering and quickly glances through it. “Do you need this back right away?” he looks up to see Mickey watching him.

“Nah, just bring our copies back whenever,” Mickey tells him. He thumbs at his bottom lip gently and Ian just wants to bite it. “Don’t wanna keep you if you got somewhere to be or whatever.”

Ian smirks, “Are you flirting with me?”

Mickey smirks right back and says, “You finally noticed?”

This shocks Ian. “Sorry what?! When did you ever flirt with me before?” he asks.

Mickey rolls his eyes, “Maybe it ain’t obvious or whatever but I’m your boss, man… can’t just straight up tell you I want you to fuck me in my office.”

Ian’s heartbeat speeds up and blood rushes straight to his cock, it twitching in his jeans. “You - I -”

“Just get the fuck on me already,” Mickey says, putting him out of his misery.

Ian stands, pushing his chair back. He walks around the desk in time for Mickey to stand before he’s grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him hard on the lips. Mickey moans into the kiss, his hands grabbing onto Ian’s waist and pulling him hard against him. Ian brings his right hand down Mickey’s side and to his thigh, lifting it slightly and pushing Mickey up against his desk before he hops up and sits on it, Ian getting in between his legs.

“Wanted this for so long,” Ian tells him as he kisses his way down his jaw and to his neck.

“Mmm, me too,” Mickey says, running his fingers through Ian’s hair and keeping his head where it is, sucking on his neck.

Ian pulls back slightly, looking into those piercing blue eyes that he’s fantasized about looking back at him just this way. They hear a noise from outside of his office so Ian steps back. Mickey jumps off the desk and makes his way to the door. He looks out and turns back to Ian, “Just the cleaning crew. We should probably -”

“You wanna come over? Um, if you want to like pick up where we left off?” Ian asks hopefully, a small smile on his face.

“You live alone?” Mickey asks, eyebrow cocked.

“Um… no,” Ian says, sadness creeping in that his one shot with Mickey got ruined.

“I do. Grab your shit and let’s go back to my place, Red,” Mickey flirts.

Ian grins, doing exactly what he’s told before the two of them rush out of there and Ian gets exactly what he’s wanted for the past six months, Mickey Milkovich, more than just his boss.

Send me some sentence prompts

#southside-forever #reply #my fic #sentence prompt fics #ian x mickey #gallavich #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fan fic #gallavich fan fiction #read on ao3 #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #franny gallagher #shameless us #shameless au #fic stuff #coworkers au #hurt and comfort #uncle mickey and franny r bffs

66 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Wreck

I wrote out that little thing I that wrote about yesterday. I also worked on my Stats homework and I might be crazy but I think I understand it now so...

“Just wait here, sweet thing.”

Morgan grunts his understanding. He’s bent over himself in the wheelchair, his right hand pressed into his sore side. The nurse brings the wheelchair to a stop, leaving him right in front of the waiting room’s chairs. He’d managed to come out of the ordeal lucky-- if that’s what you want to call two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.

“Hey, asshat,” Emily kicks the wheelchair, jostling Morgan. “I thought you were dead.”

Morgan looks up at her, his dark eyes bloodshot. Her head is wrapped up, the gauze thick but blood has still seeped through over her right temple. “You’re head okay, princess?” Other than that, she seems to have faired well. That doesn’t account for what he can’t see though.

Emily nods.

She’d been in the first car while he’d been in the second.

The wreck had happened quickly. Morgan can’t remember much but he remembers the way his stomach dropped when he watched the first SUV-- the one with Emily, Hotch, and Dave in it-- get hit by the semi. He hadn’t been fast enough to stop his SUV from hitting the back of theirs.

There’d been so much blood.

“Have you seen the others?” Emily asks. There’s a hint of worry bleeding into her tone.

He’d crawled out of his SUV, bleeding and hurting, to Emily’s shouts. She was standing on the driver’s side, trying to play angry but shaking with fear. Hotch was slumped in his seat, leaning to the side and limp. Unresponsive to Emily’s insistent calls. Morgan couldn’t stand to hear them any longer. Each one sending a cold chill up his spine.

He can’t remember where Hotch had ended up…

“Thank God--”

Morgan looks up and sees what Emily does: JJ and Dave.

The older man is holding an icepack to his head, a sizeable piece of gauze on his temple, and his right arm strapped to his body in a sling. When he sees Morgan he smirks and moves the fingers on his right arm to draw attention to it, “we match!”

So, Morgan deduces, Dave got the good stuff. Lucky son of a bitch. He looks down at his own arm and nods his agreeance, they do match.

Across JJ’s shoulder is a suit jacket. Hotch’s suit jacket. She’s shivering despite how closely she’s pulled it around her thin shoulders. Just behind them are Reid and Hotch. They look just as worse. Reid’s leaning heavily into the bars on the back of the wheelchair, pushing Hotch slow and steady. Each step sending a jolt of pain down his knee. His bad knee.

Hotch looks nearly unresponsive from where he’s looking out from under hooded eyes. He’s got his own sling and two black eyes and a butterfly bandage over his bloody nose.

But they’re alive.

Sometimes, you just have to take the wins where you get them… how you get them.

Settling into chairs-- Morgan and Hotch both fightings to get out of the wheelchairs and into normal chairs-- they struggle to get comfortable. It takes some twisting about but, eventually, pained grunts are replaced by content sighs and the slow evening out breathing.

“How the hell are we getting home,” Emily whispers, leaning back in her chair to look at Dave. She knows the others have not thought about it. Hell, the other’s are sleeping. They’re not worried about that at all.

Morgan, JJ, and Reid are all asleep.

Morgan hadn’t lasted too long after getting settling into the chair. Fighting with Emily to get out of the wheelchair had taken it out of him. What little he had to give, that is. So he’d melted and created the perfect pillow for a very sleepy Reid. Who hadn’t needed permission before drawing his lanky body into the chair and leaning his head onto Morgan’s shoulder like a pillow.

It looks like an uncomfortable position but he’s snoring softly, unbothered. He’s got one leg stretched out, hooked over the chair, and supported by the chair directly beside his. Emily has a sneaking suspicion it’s his bad knee.

JJ has stretched across Morgan and Emily. Her head is pillowed in Emily’s lap and her feet in Morgan’s lap. The lights had hurt her eyes, she’s nursing a nasty concussion, but Hotch’s jacket had proved to be a perfect blind. Between Emily’s fingers slowly working through her hair and the muffled scent of Hotch’s cologne drowning out the hospital antiseptics, she’d succumbed quickly to the heavy draw of sleep.

Hotch’s concussion is painfully obvious. Despite his fight to get into the chair, wedged between Dave and Emily, he’d been fairly dazed, if not confused. In the end, he’d been the most complacent. Going where he was directed.

He’s fighting sleep now.

Dave returns Emily’s gaze, taking a moment to process what she’s said. “Garcia,” he finally answers. He’d gotten his phone and made the call. Judging from the tone of her voice when he’d told her about what happened, she’s not going to be pleased. It’s not their fault, for once, so he suspects they’ll earn a modicum of pity.

He’s hoping for pity.

Garcia makes fantastic pity cookies.

Emily grumbles, “she’s going to kill us.”

She is.

But, as Dave had considered, the cookies they’ll get afterward are going to be worth it.

With a sigh, Emily reaches up and pulls Hotch’s head towards her shoulder. She’s tired and she’s starting to get annoyed with him. He doesn’t deserve her snapping at him right now, so she’s saving them both the hassle. Graciously, he doesn’t so much as hum or grunt when she does it. He just goes where she guides.

She’d watched him jerk his head up about twelve times. He’d been nodding off and leaning towards either her shoulder or Dave’s and seeing no end in sight, she’d ended it herself.

He’s grateful.

His head is pounding and, now resting against her shoulder, that’s one last thing for him to think about.

It doesn’t take him long to succumb to the drugs in his system.

Which makes them a sold 5 out of 7 on sleeping members of the BAU.

The number quickly becomes 6 out of 7.

Emily hates to admit it but… between JJ draped over her lap and Hotch leaning into her side, she’s really comfortable. They’re warm and Hotch is surprisingly soft and JJ is practically a weighted blanket. It’s hard to resist sleep when it comes. She leans her head against Hotch’s and shifts her hands under JJ to keep them warm and finds her eyes sliding shut against her will.

Dave watches over them.

He’s nearly removed from their little pile. He would be entirely if not for the vice-like grip Hotch has on his hand. Even in his sleep, Dave suspects Aaron won’t be releasing him anytime soon. But they’d nearly lost everything tonight. Dave can understand some fear and if holding his hand soothes Aaron enough to sleep then so be it.

“Oh goodness!” The sound of heels on cheap linoleum tiles sneaks up on Dave rather quickly and he looks up to find Penelope Garcia standing in the mouth of the room. She’s deflating, her frustration with them melting away to just… soft dismay. Her eyes land on Dave and she sends him a soft, sad smile.

He smiles back, “they’re okay.”

She nods her head. “I know they need to get home and to bed but… I feel so bad about waking them up.” And she’d only brought one SUV to pack them into. Packed atop one another right now, she suspects that won’t actually be a big deal. Besides, she brought them blankets, popsicles, and cookies (all to soothe over whatever she says as she resists the urge to smack their heads together for getting into trouble once again).

Dave nods his understanding, “they’re… harmless like this. Aren’t they?”

Garcia nods. The mission remains the same, regardless of how cute her friends are.

“Come on, my darlings.” She makes her way around, starting with Morgan and Reid. It’s easy, those two. Morgan’s awake the second Reid shifts and groans because he’s being woken up. “Come on,” Garia whispers, pushing Reid’s hair out of his face. “Let’s get you guys home.”

JJ doesn’t take kindly to being moved about.

Hotch takes it worse when Emily and Dave pull him to his feet and ease him into the wheelchair.

“Do you want your jacket back?” JJ asks him when he sits in the wheelchair, pouting and leaning heavily to his left.

His unfocused eyes slowly work their way up to her and it takes him a moment to process what she’s said. By then he can’t even think of a reply. Can’t even remember giving her the jacket.

“Keep it,” Dave replies for him. “He doesn’t need it right now.”

JJ tucks it back around her shoulders and sinks into the excess material.

“Ready,” Garcia asks them. They look like children all huddled up and grumpy because they’ve been woken up. “Let’s get to the car then, okay? I’ve got blankets and snacks.”

Reid perks up. “Snacks?”

Garcia nods, “you bet.”

Hotch perks up, just a little, “popsicles?”

The sound of his deep voice, raising just a little with his hope is enough to make Garcia smile. “Just for you, sir.”

Hotch hums and settles back against the wheelchair.

Emily nudges him, “wanna split a red one?”

Hotch nods.

Together, they head out to the SUV. They’re going to argue about who sits where and then argue about being sat on top of each other.

Morgan and JJ sit in the very back. JJ shifting about until her head is in Morgan’s lap. Feeling her settle grounds him and Morgan finds sleep easily after that.

Hotch takes the seat behind the driver’s and is content with his popsicle and the blanket that is thrown across his lap. Reid takes the middle seat and ends up falling asleep with his head on Hotch’s shoulder. Emily takes the other half of Hotch’s popsicle and falls asleep with her head leaned against the window.

Dave and Garcia just enjoy the silent car ride home knowing that the assholes behind them will be awake again sooner rather than later in need of painkillers and real food and when that time comes… there goes all this blissful silence. But for now… they just enjoy what they do have.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #hurt

178 notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Handicapped Parking

Pairing: Javier Peña/disabled Reader

Word Count: 2,992

Warnings: Reader is wheelchair bound, canon-typical violence, nightmares, small bit of angst, one use of (F/N) (L/N).

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Javier could not believe what he was seeing. A handicapped parking spot at the embassy. Who the hell worked at the US embassy and for the DEA that was disabled enough to need handicapped parking? You, that’s who. The brand new recruit and official partner for Steve and Javier, you are about to be hell on wheels for those two boys.

Javier Peña had never seen anything like what he was seeing now. A handicapped spot right in front of the building with a car parked in it. A new car that hadn’t been there yesterday. As Javier parked, he eyed the spot. Who the hell chose a job like this if they were disabled? Best anyone could do was paperwork, and that was mind numbing.

Javier almost forgot about it as he walked into the building, greeting the same people he did every morning. Steve was at his desk, hunched over some new paperwork, and he looked up when Javier walked in. “Hey, Javi. Check this out. We have a new partner.”

“Hm?” Javier lit a cigarette. It was too early for this.

A paper was pushed across the desk. “Yeah. Hired yesterday. Meant to keep us in check.”

Javier snorted, reading over the papers. “This says,” he said, looking up at Steve. “This says they’re disabled.”

“So what if I am?”

You had just come back from a very frustrating bathroom break to find your other new partner standing at his desk. You rolled forward, holding out a hand. “(F/N) (L/N), DEA.”

Javier shook your hand and introduced himself. You slotted you and your wheelchair into your desk, which was perpendicular to Steve’s and Javier’s. “So, anything new?”

Steve explained everything they knew and what their current goal was, and you raised an eyebrow.

“He’s in prison,” you pointed out. “Why are we trying to disrupt that.”

“We want his ass in a real prison,” Javier grumbled without looking up from his typewriter. “Not that palace he calls a jail.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, looking over the terms and conditions of the surrender. “So we prove he’s violating these terms. Easy.”

Steve shrugged. “Not as easy as it sounds. Cigarette?”

You wrinkled your nose at the offered cigarette. “I don’t smoke.”

“Okay. One less person I gotta share with,” Steve said, holding his cigarette out to Javier, who picked up his lighter and lit it all without looking up.

The three of you worked in silence for a while. You managed to go through four pots of coffee before three PM, which would’ve been only mildly concerning. However, you and Steve each only had maybe a pot and a half between you. Javier drank the other two and a half pots. So it was mildly concerning for you and Steve, and pretty damn concerning for Javier.

“Jesus I don’t know how your heart hasn’t given out yet,” you said when Javier went back for his seventh or maybe eighth cup of coffee.

“This is a light day for him,” Steve said, looking up when someone placed a piece of paper on his desk. “Usually he’ll have three pots and I’ll have one. He doesn’t sleep much.”

You made a face, putting new paper into your typewriter. Javier came back with his coffee cup and immediately groaned upon seeing Steve reading the paper. “Who wants us to do what?”

Steve chuckled. “You remember that pigeon coup? They want us to stake it out.”

Another groan, this time a bit louder. You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing while looking expectantly at Steve. “Can I see?”

Steve handed you the paper and you read it over. “Well. I guess that solves our violating the terms problem.”

The stakeout was to last as long as it had to, and as you pulled up to the prison before dawn on one warm morning, you immediately knew this would be hell. Steve and Javier took turns waiting outside while you sat in the car, your typewriter in your lap. Your window was open and you occasionally handed the boys whatever they needed from inside the car.

Finally, when the sun began to crest the hills, you braved the outside. Strapping your crutches to your arms, you swung your legs out and slowly made your way across the grass.

“I thought you couldn’t walk.” Javier said as soon as you were standing beside him.

“I can,” you promised. “Car accident. Left me paralyzed, but with lots of therapy, I was able to regain some of my legs. I just prefer the chair because no matter what, my legs won’t support my weight for more than a few steps. When I walk I use crutches and braces to keep my knees, ankles, and waist stable.”

Steve whistled, handing Javier a thermos. “I’ve never seen crutches like that before.”

“Gutter crutches.” You watched Javier take one sip of the coffee and immediately pour the rest of it out onto the ground. “Mostly for long term work. Is that a pigeon?”

Steve turned and Javier raised his gun. Three wasted shots later, and you were scoffing. “Damn. You’re a shit shot Peña.”

“Think you can do better?”

You took the gun, abandoning your crutches and catching the next pigeon in your sight. Your legs wavered, but you locked your knees and tried to stay steady. “I got it.”

“Shoot.”

You waited, ignoring Javier.

“Shoot!”

Again, you waited until the perfect moment before shooting and killing the pigeon in one shot.

Steve smiled, taking the gun from you. “Ever been duck hunting?”

Javier watched him jog after the pigeon. “No, I’ve not been duck hunting you fucking hillbilly.”

You wavered, falling flat on your ass as your knees gave out. “Damn these legs!” You swore, grabbing your discarded crutches and strapping them to your arms. By the time you’d finally struggled to your feet, Steve was back with the pigeon.

“Thanks for the help,” you said sourly at Javier, who had simply watched you grapple upright.

“In my experience,” he said in an equally cool tone. “People like you don’t need much help. I’m sure all I would’ve gotten was a crutch to the knee for my help.”

You glared at him while he read the small letter tied to the pigeon’s leg. God you hated that man.

The next few months were odd. You fell into a rhythm with Steve and Javier. Neither underestimated you anymore, and finally, they learned exactly where your boundaries lay with help. Steve had a bruise on his leg for two straight weeks after you whacked him with your crutch when he asked if you needed help shooting a gun (you most definitely did not) and Javier only ever gave you help when he noticed you struggling. Like when some new intern put the coffee mugs too high for you to reach without standing up and Javier had, very kindly, silently handed you your mug. He did a lot of things silently, usually with that scowl on his face.

“We got a call,” Steve said one day, poking his head into your office space, if it could even be called that. “Let’s go!”

You groaned, standing and hearing your back pop four times as you followed Steve out, your crutches clicking on the linoleum as you headed to the waiting Jeep.

“Why’s Javi driving?” You asked as you got into the back. “I get so carsick when he drives!”

Javier gave you a look in the rearview mirror. “Strap in sugar.”

You rolled your eyes. None of you wore seatbelts. You just didn’t have time for it. So instead, you simply gripped the back of Steve’s seat while Javier drove like a maniac towards your destination.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grumbled as you got out of the car, shaking off the car sickness and looking around. Nothing seemed very out of the ordinary aside from the cop cars surrounding a particular building. “Who’s in there?”

“We don’t know,” Steve said, helping you with your tac vest. “Whoever it is, they’re worth the cavalry.”

Half of your job was waiting, which was hell. You stood leaned up against Steve, trying to keep your weight off your aching back. As the minutes ticked by, you talked to one of the younger cops who’d been left outside. He was sweet, teaching you a few Spanish phrases and smiling when you butchered them.

So of course, when the man you were trying to catch raced out of the building, wildly firing his gun, the young cop got a bullet to the back of the head.

“Shit!” You yelled, looking around as the man raced off. You yanked your crutches off your arms and gestured to Javier. “Come on!”

Javier was on your heels as you ran, trying to steady your feet and knees. Your hips and lower back screamed, but you just kept going, relying entirely on your braces to support you.

Eventually, the stress became too much. Two blocks down, your legs stopped working, sending you screaming to the ground, wildly throwing your hands out to catch yourself before you broke your nose on something. Thankfully, the road was long and flat, so as soon as you righted yourself, you raised your gun and shot the guy in the shoulder.

He went down, clutching his shoulder in pain while you breathed heavy, dragging your limp lower half over to the wall of a building, leaning against the worn down brick.

“Hey,” Javier said, coming to stand in front of you. “You ran.”

“I ran,” you agreed, holding your left knee as it twitched. “That’s a week and a half of chair time, straight. Fuck.”

Javier sat beside you, watching cops run past to grab the man you’d been chasing. “You want help back?”

You snorted. “Javi, I won’t make it three steps like this.” To demonstrate, you attempted to haul yourself upright and almost immediately hit the pavement, hissing sharply as you came down harder than intended.

“So.” Javier looked you up and down. “Is that a no?”

“Yeah that’s a no.” You stared at the sky, feeling your stomach twist. “Y’know what I want? A cup of tea. I haven’t had one in a while.”

Javier shrugged. “I’ve got a really good tea at my apartment,” he said. “My mother mails me some once a month. You’re bleeding.”

You looked down at your hands, finally noticing the ragged scrapes across your palms from when you’d fallen. “Oh. I didn’t even notice.”

“How’d you not notice?” Javier asked, taking your hands and digging through his pockets. “We can disinfect it for real back at the office, but for now,” he said, producing a small roll of gauze from his pocket. “This will have to do.”

You sat still while Javier bandaged your hands. By then, the street had been completely cleared, and you were looking for Steve.

“He’s probably waiting in the car,” Javier said, finishing up on your hands. “We’re gonna have to go to him.” He looked hesitantly at your legs. They’d stopped twitching, but they were still completely useless. “Got any ideas?”

“Unless you wanna carry me,” you said with a sigh. “It’d probably be easiest to call Steve.”

Javier stood, crouching down in front of you. “Can you get on?”

It took some maneuvering and a bit of heavy lifting on Javier’s part, but eventually, you were being carried back to the Jeep, arms slung over Javier’s shoulders and him gripping your legs as he gave you a piggyback ride.

“Comfy?” He asked, and you chuckled.

“Mhm. Totally not in horrible pain,” you replied, feeling yet another stab of discomfort hit your back.

Javier was quiet for a minute before speaking again. “Why’d you come here? No offense, but you’re not exactly fit for the job.”

“Like I got to pick this,” you said, leaning to cheek against Javier’s shoulder. “I was reassigned. I never asked to come down here.”

Another long beat of silence, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s fine,” you promised. “Just a bit stressful sometimes.”

Eventually, the car came back into view, and Steve rushed over to meet you, your crutches in his hand. “What were you thinking?”

“Chase the bad guy,” you said, smiling as Javier turned around and put you down in the car. “Really, I wasn’t. I just went.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, ever the voice of reason. “Don’t do that again. You scared me.”

The drive back to the office was quiet. Javier had to carry you inside the building, and Steve found a hot water bottle to press against your back. Javier finished properly treating your hands while Steve filled the water bottle with water from the kettle.

“Really, a hot bath will probably help the most,” you said, putting the hot water bottle in between your back and the chair you used whenever you didn’t need your wheelchair. “But this’ll do for now.”

Your night was late, as it always was. You weren’t attempting to leave the building until well past ten PM, and when you tried to stand, Javier put a hand on your shoulder. “Nope.”

“No?” You said, surprised. “Let me up Javi, unless you want a crutch to the ankle.”

Javier didn’t move. Instead, he scooped you up in a bridal carry, causing you to squeak indignantly. “Javier!”

“Yes?”

“Put me down! I am more than capable of walking myself to your car!”

Javier shrugged as best he could while carrying you. “You had me piggyback you two blocks earlier and you couldn’t get up all day to get your own coffee. I’m carrying you to the car.”

You pouted, but realized that squirming would only serve to hurt you and probably Javier as well, so you remained still as Javier placed you in his car.

The drive home was, as with most things Javier did, quiet. When he pulled up to the building, you made him go into your apartment across the hall from his and grab your wheelchair. When he came back, you smacked him away when he tried to help you into it.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your back pop painfully. “Fuck.”

“C’mon,” Javier said softly, handing you back our crutches so you could put them across your lap. “I believe I promised you tea.”

You sighed. “Javi, I wanna go home.”

Javier nodded. “I’ll bring it to you. How’s that sound?”

At the notion that Javier would be coming to your apartment, you sighed and gave in. “Fine. I’ll leave it unlocked.”

Ten minutes after you’d gotten settled on your couch, Javier came into your apartment, carrying two cups of tea. He set one down on your coffee table and kept the other in his hands. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually,” you said, reaching and grabbing the mug. “Painkillers are my new best friend.”

Javier sat down on the couch. “You know you could ask to be sent home,” he said. “They’d probably do it.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But then I wouldn’t be able to see you or Steve anymore.”

“That’s what’s keeping you here? Me and Steve?”

You nodded. “Javi, before this, no one would even look at me. I was disabled and trying to work in law enforcement. You and Steve treat me like a capable adult, and people actually listen to what I have to say now.”

Javier was quiet. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You took a sip of your tea, smiling. “This is good.”

“Custom blend,” Javier said. “Mamá always insisted it could cure anything.”

You smiled. “You tell her to mail some extra if she can. It’s amazing.”

You and Javier sat in your living room until midnight, drinking tea and swapping work stories. Finally, when you began to yawn, Javier stood. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“Aww,” you groaned, pulling your wheelchair closer. “But I was having so much fun.”

Javier smiled as you sat in your wheelchair and headed towards your bedroom. “Need anything before I go?”

You nodded. “Yeah, actually. Can you help me into bed? When my back hurts a lot it’s kind of hard to haul myself into bed.”

“Sure.”

Between you and Javier, you were able to slide into bed, immediately feeling weary. “Javi?”

“Hm?” Javier turned, standing in your doorway. “What is it?”

You fidgeted nervously. “Stay? Please? I’ve started having nightmares recently and they really scare me.”

Javier nodded. “Okay. Let me grab my pyjamas, I’ll be right back.”

By the time Javier had returned, you were half asleep. He waved to you and settled down on your couch, likely not falling asleep, but you sure as hell did.

It was early morning, before sunrise but well after midnight, that you woke up, breathing heavy and immediately starting to cry. The shattered pieces of your nightmare were practically gone now, leaving you with nothing but jitters, a looming sense of dread, and the image of blinding headlights in your brain.

“Hey,” a gentle voice said, and you jumped, heart pounding before you remembered you’d asked Javier to spend the night. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. No point in trying to lie to him. He could see you crying.

Javier slid into the bed with you, pulling you close and letting you cry into his shirt. When you were spent of tears, he continued to rub your back, his warmth seeping into your skin. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t remember much,” you admitted. “I think.” You had to force your words out, your throat pulling tight. “I think I dreamed I was in the car accident.”

Javier was quiet. “You’re fine,” he promised after a beat. “Hey, you hear me?”

You nodded, wondering when you’d begun to shake.

“You’re safe here,” Javier said. “Safe as can be.”

“I trust you,” you said softly, still buried in Javier’s shirt. “Trust you a lot,” you mumbled, yawning widely and feeling your eyes blink shut.

“I think you need more sleep,” Javier said softly, helping you lay back down. “Agent’s orders.”

You smiled, the sick feeling in your stomach sliding away. “Mhm. Stay with me Agent Peña.”

Javier lay down beside you, pulling you close. “If you insist.”

For the first time in a long time, both of you slept fitfully, cradled in each other’s arms.

#narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

37 notes · View notes

cottoncandyjester · 4 years ago

Note

Your OCs are so cute! How would they handle a darling that counters them i.e. theo w/ someone who can see through his manipulation, hikari w/ someone who refuses to be belittled, prince w/ a prudish or nonsexual darling?

Oh such a good question! thank you very much for the praise they are my babies ✨

This story contains: talk of sex, talk of abuse,drugs, mutilation, manipulation yandere behavior

Theodore

You don't fall for his bullshit

His emotional manipulation doesn't work on you

This both frustrated and amazed him

You were much stronger than he thinks

But it annoys him that he can't go the simple and painless route for this

Everytime he tries to manipulate you it usually ends with you shutting him down

"darling, my sweet angel won't it be much smarter if you stayed with me..listen to me"

"nope. I do what I want"

Wait you can't say that! That's illegal!

He immediately panicked and used force to knock you out

If his words won't work then it seems he has to keep you heavily sedated

Being a med student has beautiful benefits

He doesn't want to keep you like this but it's just until you comply

"angel? Sweetie..? Can you tell me what day it is?"

Silence.

A sigh escaped him as he watched your dull glazed eyes stare back into his, you definitely were too out of it to respond back. He unbuckled the straps he had put on the wheelchair before scooping you up and walking to the bedroom to place you into bed.

"maybe when the drugs wear off you'll be better yeah? I really hate seeing you like this..I miss our conversations and I miss your adorable fiery behavior even if it was a tad bit frustrating"

As he slid his jacket off he crawled into the bed with you hugging you close with a happy sigh inhaling the smell of your hair now

"we can try again tomorrow"

Hikaru

You brush off his insults and he hates it

His temper explodes and so he reacts in violence

Pure rage and violence

He'll put a permanent scar or mark on you that everyone could see

You will definitely have to deal with his feral side

He wants to be sweet and loving to you but he will also do what it takes to have you

You make things such a challenge

If fear of death makes you stay than damn it that's what he has to do

"come to me cutie, don't you want to cuddle?"

"I rather chew nails"

"the hell did you say, pig?"

His sharp tone made you huff lightly, his degrading was nothing new to you if anything you would just throw it right back at him

"you're th pig not me. You are as ugly as one"

Uh oh.

Hikaru tensed up and scowled before walking over to you and gripping you by your hair, giving it a harsh tug and pulling you on your knees in front of him

"listen here bitch, watch your damn mouth before I cut your tongue off! You stupid selfish disgusting-"

Hikaru Inhaled deeply letting out a shaky breath as he let go and cupped your face in his hands his blue eyes swirling with a devilish idea

"you know..you don't need fingers and a tongue to be adorable darling. I'll love you either way, so maybe it's time to make some changes"

Axis

No matter how helpless and pathetic he looks you won't fall for it

He could have been sobbing into your lap begging you to stay and you'll just push him off

This wasn't good

His method didn't work

He had to come up with something new

He restored to desperate measures

If you were handicapped as well you would have no choice but to stay

Doesn't want to hurt you

Sobs while doing it

Will only do it if all other choices fail

"p-please stay-"

"no, I'm leaving for good. Nothing you say will change that"

Axis was on his knees begging you to stay, he was crying so hard now knowing what had to be done. He leaned his head against your stomach with a gentle sigh as he slipped a hand into his pocket

"I understand, after all you can walk out if you wish just know that i love you"

"thank you for being understanding axis now please le-"

You winced and screamed when the male stabbed a needle into your thigh looking up at you his eyes pouring with tears, he looked like it hurt him more than it did you

"i-its okay honey! I'll treat you well, I'll just do something quick and easy like break your legs or maybe paralyze you from the waist down, we can be broken together"

He stood up as you were becoming limp in his arms and he peppered kisses lovingly along your face and neck with a happy hum

"I love you my sweetie"

Prince

Okay...no sex on the first day got it he can wait a day

A week later. No sex..okay?

Two weeks went by and now he was getting worried

You cringed at the utter mention of sex

He was going through a withdrawal

It was driving him crazy how much of a prude you were

Poor boy was being blueballed and he didn't like it

Pleasuring himself was totally not enough

He wanted to feel you

This was how he showed his love and the fact that he couldn't made him pissed

Hell your clothes covered your entire body

You even wore wet suits at the beach

WHO DOES THAT?!

by two months he had snapped

He couldn't take it anymore

He restored to drugging your drink with several aphrodisiacs

He kinda went crazy and mixed a bunch of different ones together

After that it doesn't take long til you are panting and writhing from the feeling

He was only being a sweetheart and decided to help

"what's wrong baby?"

Prince smirks against his beer can as he watched you press your legs together whining and whimpering as your body felt like it would melt.

"i-i feel hot..so hot"

Prince made sure to strike during a cuddle session, he put his can down and held you close tightly looking at you curiously, his smirk only getting wider when he saw just how adorable you looked

"should I help you!"

"i-we shouldn't-"

"do you want to suffer?"

That statement made you whine as he trailed his hands along your body watching you squirm around wildly

"calm down, I'll be gentle I'm just trying to help baby cUse this feeling won't go away on its own"

He will have to use drugs more often

Yuki

Blackmail doesn't work on you

You have nothing to lose it seems

This annoyed him

He just wants to love you why are you being so mean

He just wants to love you

He is normally too lazy for force but if he has to he will

His use of force will just be tying you up and holding you close

If he has to gag you he will

He will make sure you won't leave

Every escape you try is only met with disappointment

He always stays calm

Until you decide to break his fantasy

"leave me alone!"

"be kinder to your boyfriend..."

"oh my fucking God! You aren't my boyfriend! We aren't anything you are just a sicko who is obsessed with me! Go away!"

"but-"

I DONT WANT YOU! I NEVER WILL!"

There was silence after that and a soft sniffle escaped him before he simply reached out fast gripping your wrist while using his free hand to wipe his tears.

"that's not true- not true not true. You just forgot I'll have to remind you just how much I love you"

With that he threw you over his shoulder while tears rolled down his cheeks, he needed a good nap to sleep the depression away and if course you will be at his side so he can cuddle but first he has to take care of you.

You were so mean so he figured he can use his piercing kit to do something about that mouth, he's never pierced someone's mouth shut but maybe he can do that

#yandere imagines #yandere ocs #yandere #yandere oc x reader #oc imagines #ocs #oc x reader

59 notes · View notes

noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

Chess. Chapter 8.

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, harassment, injuries. Rated M.

(Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

“Oh yes… Oh God, yes!”.

Ricks nails bore into my skin, scratching: and leaving red and white traces in their wake.

“Please don’t stop”, I gasped.

Looking up at me, he rearranged his body, giving him better access to his target,

I kicked my leg, moaning.

“Lie still”, he mumbled, and used his free hand to hold the leg down.

“Mhmm”, I responded, and sighed.

“You’re enjoying this too much”, Rick said, and pulled his fingers out from under the bandage on my foot.

I whimpered.

“No… please”, I said, grabbing his hand, and pushing it back towards my ankle. “You have no idea how itchy that thing is!”. He chuckled at me.

“Maybe next time, don’t let Harley cover your foot in glitter body lotion, before she wraps it up”.

“She said it was antibacterial. And I thought she was supposed to be a doctor”.

“Of psychiatry”, he smiled.

“Right”, I remembered. “Ironic”.

He laid back, putting his head on the pillow. I rolled over, a piece of paper sticking to my sweaty thigh.

Putting his arm behind my head, I snuggled up to him; our fingers entangled on his chest.

“Flag…”, I began.

“Rick”, he interrupted.

“Rick”, I smirked. “Rick with the amazing dick”.

“That’s… terrible”, he laughed, pulled me in and kissed my forehead. Our legs entwined. “What were you gonna say?”.

“What happens now?”, I asked.

“I don’t know. You don’t belong out there with them… us”, he finished.

“I think I do”, I said, turning my face to look at him. His eyes darkened. “Look; I’m a criminal. I’ve done things, I wish I hadn’t”.

“We all have”, he said quietly. I continued.

“But here, I can do something with this thing that was put on me. I can use it to help people like the ones we saved today”.

Rick sighed.

“That’s great, in theory”, he said.

“What do you mean?”, I wondered.

He looked uncomfortable for a second, pulled his arm out from behind my head, and sat up. I stroked my fingers up and down his back as he spoke.

“Can I say something, without you smacking me across the face again?”, he asked. I rolled my eyes in response. “You’re rash, you take unnecessary risks…”. I interrupted.

“Just like every other person in the squad!”.

“…and you’re not as strong as you think”, he finished.

I sat up. “I was strong enough to give you a run for your money, back when we were wrestling in that alley”, I said, and kissed his shoulder.

He turned to face me, and with a hand on my waist, he pushed me back down on the bed, and got on top of me.

“Maybe I was just enjoying rubbing up against you”, he breathed; and began to place small kisses down my neck.

“Are you trying to distract me?”, I laughed, and struggled against his grip. He chuckled against my neck, and started trailing his hand down my side, placing it on my buttcheek.

“What are you doing?”, I giggled.

“Checking out the asset”, he whispered into my ear, and squeezed my cheek. I squealed and laughed.

His phone buzzed in his pants pocket on the floor. He reached to pull it out; and the display read A. Waller.

“Flag”, he answered, and put a finger to his lips, hushing me.

“You heard. Yes… I know…”. He put his feet on the floor, and looked over his shoulder at me for a second.

“No, that’s not… No. Waller… Wall… Amanda! It’s too soon!”, he said in to the phone. He sighed.

“Yes, I know. I understand. Yeah… see you then”. He hung up. “Bitch!”. He threw the phone across the bed.

“Back to work?”, I asked, sitting up.

He ran his hand down his face, and turned halfway towards me.

“Waller… is coming here, to brief you all personally”.

“What does that mean?”, I asked, worried.

“I don’t know all the details, but it’s probably not good”. He turned all the way towards me, and took my hand, placing it on his cheek.

“There are things I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to, but because I wouldn’t even know where to start. The next couple of days you might hear some things…”, he said, and put his hands on either side of my face. “I need you to know, that this is real”.

“I know it is”, I said, and ran my thumb over his bottom lip. “I know”.

We got out of the bed, and started to dress. While Rick tied his boots, I picked up the harness, and looked at it.

Rick turned to face me, as I started putting it on.

“I’m sorry”, he said, and looked at the ground in front of him.

I limped over to him, stroke his cheek, and kissed his lips softly. Slipping my hand into his pocket, I pulled out the key he had placed there; and put it in his hand.

“Let’s just get this over with”, I said, and connected the straps to the disc on my chest; so he could lock it.

He did, and then pressed the button on his wrist. A short beep, and the light turned from green to red.

“This thing coming up… it doesn’t sound good. But I’m going to do whatever I have to, to make sure you’re safe”. He put his forehead to mine.

“I’m a big girl, Rick”, I smiled.

“You’re hotheaded and stubborn. And that’s not a compliment”, he said. “To top that of, you’re still injured”.

“Keep going like this, and I will smack you”, I smirked. He put his lips to mine, savoring the feeling.

“Just please… follow my orders, and we’ll get through this”.

I smiled at him.

“Yes, colonel Flag, sir!”.

He smirked, and we went out the door.

---

I’d had to go back to my cell; but I’d fallen asleep quickly, once Rick had led me there, removed my harness, and left me – after a quick kiss, while no one was watching.

The next morning, we were gathered in the gym.

Digger, as always, looked chronically hung over, but the only other member of the team seeming affected by the “party” the night before, was Harley; who was wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, and clutching a tiny cup of espresso.

I was sitting in my wheelchair, though I did not need it; it just so happened to be the most comfortable chair in the room. Foot raised on the empty beer crate, I was pretending to read my copy of Alice.

“Mhm”, said a voice from behind me. “Must have been a good one”.

Floyd sat down next to me.

“I’m not sure what you mean”, I said unconvincingly.

“You’ve been reading that same page for the last 20 minutes”, he said.

“It’s my favorite part”, I retorted.

“And,” he continued “you’re holding it upside down”.

My face reddened, and I put down the book.

“Anyone else notice?”, I asked.

“Oh, we all know. You have a hickey the size of Florida on your neck”, he chuckled.

“Fuck”, I gasped, and tried to cover my neck with my hand.

“Too late, girl”, Floyd smiled widely. “Only thing, I can’t figure out which one of these nasty ass guards you’d be willing to knock it with”.

So he didn’t know about Flag. Rick.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen”, I groaned. He laughed and patted my shoulder.

“Hey, you’ll get no shit from me. We all need a little tlc sometimes”, he smiled, and got up to walk away. Turning around, he stopped for a second.

“Did you find your something to live for?”.

“Maybe”, I said honestly. He nodded, and went to join Diablo at the dumbbells.

The metal doors opened, and Griggs came in, followed closely by a dozen of his men. No matter how badass he tried to look, it was clear he was terrified of us; especially when we were grouped together.

“Hey shitheads. Line up!”, he barked. “You had a nice party last night it seems”.

We all got in line, about six feet between us, as we stood next to each other; hands on our heads, and legs spread. Griggs walked up to a grey-faced Digger.

“Crocodile Dundee; stand up straight when I’m talking to you”, he roared in to the poor mans face; as he was doing his best to block out the sound with his hands.

He walked back and forth in front of us, avoiding getting too close to Croc, who was standing at the end of the line.

“You need to clean this shit up!”, he yelled, and kicked at the beer case I’d been resting my foot on earlier.

“I’ve been told you have guests coming in. That woman, Waller, and the colonels samurai”.

I started swaying; my ankle giving in to pain. It was difficult to stand up straight. Griggs sauntered over to me, and put his hands on my waist. I heard mumbling and a growl coming from my friends; but the guards all cocked their guns, and aimed them at our group.

“How’s the foot?”, he said quietly, looking into my eyes, swaying back and forth with me; in a weird slow dance.

“I heard you went to visit colonel Douche last night. You were in there a long time, Puss”, he jeered. “Did ya’ give the soldier boy a little lapdance? You’re good at that, ain’t you? What was that place called you worked at? Scottys’?”.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Floyd sending me a look of confusion.

“Get off me”, I hissed; trying to create distance between us, still keeping my hands on my head.

“Oh, come on”, Griggs smirked, leaning in to me. “You like a man in uniform, don’t you? All someone has to do is flash a bit of rank, and you’ll spread ‘em. Screwing your way out of here…”.

A bright voice interrupted him.

“In my professional experience, slut shaming is usually a sign of extreme insecurity, and pent up sexual frustration, stemming from the aggressing party not interacting in any kind of physical intercourse themselves”, Harley said pointedly. “Blue balls much?”, she finished, smiling brightly.

Griggs stepped away from me, and stormed towards her. He was stopped dead in his tracks, as Digger bent forward in front of him, heaving; and letting out a steady stream of his stomach content; making it land on Griggs’ uniform.

“Shit. You disgusting… Shit!”, Griggs yelped, and stormed towards the door, followed by his guards, who kept aiming their guns at us until the door closed behind them.

“Oops, sorry mate”, Digger burped. We all laughed.

“Come on man, let’s get you cleaned up”, Diablo said, and supported Diggers weight on their way to the bathroom. “Good job”, I heard him laugh, as they walked away.

I went to sit down; my hands shaking, as I arranged myself in the wheelchair.

“You and Flag, huh?”. Floyd was looking down at me. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been with some nasty ass skanks in my day. But… really?”, he looked at me, disbelieving.

I sighed.

“It’s like I said. It wasn’t supposed to happen”. I looked up at him. “But it did”.

Floyd tilted his head.

“I guess he’s got that Ken doll thing going for him. And he’s not a total asshole. Just be careful this doesn’t fuck up your situation in this place. We got it better here than we could have wished for, being who we are”, he said, and crouched in front of me.

“Live, Y/N”, he said quietly, squeezed my knee gently; and left me alone to my thoughts.

---

“You’re going to Gotham”.

Waller was briefing us in a conference room, connected to hallway outside the gym. We were all sitting around a table that gave off an aroma of stale coffee and cigarette smoke, looking at a slideshow, that would probably be destroyed once this meeting was over.

In a corner of the room stood a masked Asian woman, carrying a sword. Rick had introduced her to me as Katana.

“She’s got his back”, Harley had beemed at me, grabbing Katana in her arms, and giving her a tight squeeze. “I’ve missed you so much!”. Katana had retreated as quickly as she could; and was now scowling at us from her corner.

“A terrorist group has threatened an attack on Midtown, three days from now”, Waller said. “Exactly where has yet to be confirmed; but we suspect it will be going down in the area of Gotham Proper. This makes either Gotham U., Central High School, or Gotham Hospital likely targets. Either way, casualties will be in the thousands”.

She switched the slide, showing us a map of what seemed to be the western part of Gotham.

“It seems the group has gained access to all surveillance footage in the area, meaning they will notice us coming at them, regardless of which direction we decide to take”.

“We?”, Diablo asked.

“Well, you. Obviously”, Waller retorted. “Police and military have been ordered to act as normal; not evacuate or show any sign that we are taking this threat seriously”.

“So basically, you’re letting people die”, Floyd said, trying to control his temper. “Why?”.

“Don’t worry, Deadshot. Your daughter and her mother have been sent on vacation to the west coast, visiting family.

“They ain’t got no family on the west coast”, Floyd growled.

“They do now”, Waller said.

“Get to the point, Waller. What do we need to do?”, Rick asked.

“You need to go in quietly, but well-armed”. She looked at me. “This is where you come in, Chess”.

Ricks eyes were instantly on me; worried and enraged.

“No, she’s not ready.”, he said as calmly as he could. Across the table, Harley was making a heart shape with her hands, winking at me.

“Colonel, you need to go in invisibly. Literally”, Waller said to him.

Rick walked up to her, and lowered his voice.

“She almost died yesterday. Her ankle is messed up; and she might have a couple of fractured ribs; due to the beating you let the guards here give her”. That last part was only half true, as I’d had no trouble with my ribs, when he was holding on to me for dear life, as I rode him the night before.

“I didn’t let the guards do anything. Y/N is a prisoner here at Belle Reve, and whatever treatment she receives from the staff here, is between her and them”. I really don’t like you, I thought.

“Amanda…”, Rick said, but was interrupted.

“Let’s speak in private”, Waller said coldly.

---

Rick and Katana walked us back to the gym, leaving Waller waiting for them in the conference room.

Once back, and out of sight of the guards, Rick looked at us all, his eyes ending up meeting mine. He lifted his hand, and pressed the button on his wrist. My disc shone green.

Katana grabbed his arm, and angrily said something I couldn’t understand.

“She deserves to know”, Rick said quietly, and walked up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Remember what I said last night”, he said in a hushed tone. “And be quiet”.

I nodded, and disappeared from view.

Leaving the rest of the group behind, waiting for more instruction; we walked back to the conference room. Katana was grumbling something all the way; the only word I could understand being “stupid”.

Waller was sitting at the end of the table when we came in. I lightly touched Ricks arm, letting him know I was there. He sighed.

“Amanda, this is dangerous”, he said.

“I know”, she answered. “That’s why it’s these people doing it”.

“But her?”, he asked, sitting down in one of the chairs. It seemed he couldn’t sit far enough away from her; such was his aggravation.

“She’s getting to you”, Waller said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”.

“No. This is not that. She is a member of my team, who just so happens to be completely unprepared for this situation”. I stood against the wall behind him, watching his shoulders move as he spoke.

“This is not your team, Flag”, she said harshly. “These are assets; they’re disposable. You’re not supposed to make friends with them”.

“I am the leader of that squad”, Rick tried, with an authoritative voice.

“You are the babysitter of a bunch of gangbangers and psychopaths; put in this jail to be punished for their deeds. That gym out there was supposed to be a training facility. In stead you’ve let them turn it in to a frat house”.

Rick slammed his fist into the table, making me jump. Katana looked in my direction, letting me know she’d heard me. I needed to be quieter.

“You can’t ask this of them!”, he yelled. “She could die. They could all die!”.

“So?”, Waller said, voice leveled; eyes cold.

“How long have you known about her?”, he asked.

“She’s been on the board for a while; a file I kept in my drawer for when I needed her. When this threat came in, I knew it was time to extract her”.

“This is the one, isn’t it?”, Rick said. “The one you’ve been preparing for months. The one you didn’t want to tell me about. Why?”.

“Because I knew what your reaction would be, and I didn’t have time to deal with your sensitive emotions”, she answered.

Rick sighed. “There is no threat, is there?”.

“There is a threat, but it’s not new. We’ve known about this group for a little over a year”.

“Then why now?”, he wondered.

“Because we caught her”, she answered. “Now we finally have a chance of taking them down; because they won’t be able to see you coming”.

“And the attack? That’s bullshit?”. He was tensing up.

“Not exactly”, Waller said, gathering her papers. “We know they have access to explosives, and that they are able to set them up quickly; causing great damage to a large area. The three targets I mentioned before, are still the most likely to be hit”.

Rick stood up and walked over to her, staring her down menacingly.

“When we finish this one; you and me – we’re done”.

She took her papers and walked towards the door.

“If you say so”, she said, and closed the door behind her.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r

@hyp-oh-critical

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag fic #rick flag imagine #suicide squad fic #suicide squad imagine #deadshot #harley quinn #amanda waller

96 notes · View notes

realm-sweet-realm · 4 years ago

Text

Allies in Ink Hell

So... @lonelyghostwriter and I came up with the idea of an AU where Henry reunites with a partner while in ink Hell and they’re both perfect toons. So I decided to write this.

Also for the sake of this story I’m not doing shared consciousnesses. Instead, I’m going to go the route of certain ink creatures having certain strong instincts.

I hope it’s half as cute as I was trying to make it!

---

“He meant the world to me,” Grant said, probably not for the first time that day. His hands were shaking as he held the cup of tea in his hands.

Joey patted his back in a gesture of comfort. A mere few minutes ago, Grant had been knocking on his door, expecting to find… what? His former employer with a knife to his husband’s throat? He hadn’t known. All he knew was that two weeks ago, Henry had gone missing after he’d gone off to pay Joey Drew a visit, and the police hadn’t found the faintest trace of him. Of course, when that apartment door had opened to reveal an old, decrepit man in a wheelchair, Grant’s wall of denial had come crashing down. Henry was gone. And Joey, apparently changed by the years, had been kind enough to let him in, offer him a drink, and listen to him talk about Henry and the life they’d shared together. Joey, too, seemed shocked and horrified to hear of Henry’s death, but he said that his stories could wait.

“Thank you for listening. And I’m sorry you had to hear about Henry’s death from a perfect stranger. I just- I thought- but then I saw that you couldn’t have.”

“It’s fine,” Joey said, “Grief does that to people. I would know. Tell me, are you starting to feel light-headed?”

Grant nodded. Somehow, despite the strange question, he felt almost supernaturally calm, like an anesthetic was kicking in.

“That isn’t grief. And you were right about me. I made Henry a Boris and put him in a loop. Sent him to another dimension to try and give my story a happy ending. You know how a frail old man like me manages to kill someone as strong and healthy as he was?”

Grant’s eyes went wide for a single second of realization, then rolled back in his head. He collapsed unconscious on the table. “Poisoned tea.”

Sacrificing a person was an arduous task at Joey’s level of mobility, and he didn’t have forever before the poison wore off and the man woke up. Lacking the strength to move the body to a more convenient place, he was forced to draw a pentagram in the middle of his kitchen, navigating around table legs. He also drew a second pentagram to rid the area of the body, the bloodstains, and the pentagrams themselves. Thankfully, he’d remembered to bring his knife with him before getting out of his wheelchair and onto the floor, because getting back up again was a challenge. After slitting the man’s throat, though, it was just a matter of waiting for the machine to do its thing. Within an hour, an Edgar came out of the ink machine, unconscious, just as Henry had been. Joey put it into the sketch dimension and considered the crisis averted. It would have simply been too dangerous to have a suspicious person on the loose.

---

The first thing Grant could feel in the sketch dimension was an overpowering animal instinct to find... something. He wasn’t sure what, but the desire was desperate and overwhelming. Everything else could wait. Thankfully, being uh- whatever he was- also came with some perks- namely, sticky feet that allowed him to climb. As soon as he found the ink machine room, he was skittering down the chains until he came upon five creatures fighting. On one side, there was a monkey-looking creature and a creature that looked like a decapitated pirate with its head held by a fishing rod. They seemed incomplete somehow. The other side had the same two creatures, and also a spider-like creature. Grant knew, instantly, that that was how it was supposed to be. He screeched to the two butcher gangs, and as soon as they saw him, the fight broke up. The complete butcher gang left, and Grant jumped over to join the other two creatures.

Once he was alongside the other two creatures, the high of animal instinct subsided and everything about his situation hit Grant in the face at once. The cartoonish environment. His tiny, ridiculous body. The fact that Joey had killed both him and his husband, and that Henry was still out there somewhere. The butcher gang passed by a dead cartoon wolf strapped to a stretcher. Grant stopped to stare at it before the Charley pulled him along. Had that been Henry? Like there were multiple of whatever he was, were there multiple of those? And by extension, had that Boris been a person, too? Had the two creatures he was currently following? This world was so new and strange.

---

Sadly, for a long time, it seemed that there was no way to find Henry. By the standards of an ink creature, Grant was doing well- he and the other two butcher gang members had a home in Bendyland, a protector who took the form of a possessed amusement park ride, and clever leader in the form of their Barley. Even more lucky than all that, though, was the fact that his two companions had once been his old friends, Shawn and Lacie. At least, Grant thought that until he realized that that meant his friends and died and spent over a decade in this place.

Grant didn’t know when he first saw the Boris his husband had become. It had seemed like any Boris. The Boris had distracted him and his companions in order to switch a lever. It was back three days later, and then another three days after that, and after that, and so on. Each time, it went and damaged Bertrum afterwards, forcing Lacie to repair him. And this coincided with Alice speaking over the speakers. Grant couldn’t understand her anymore- English was lost on him, and apparently on his companions as well- but she had always sounded so threatening.

I put him in a loop...

The next time the Boris passed by, Grant refused to follow the sound of the can (not easy while his butcher gang instincts were telling him to). The Boris was unphased and threw a can at his head instead, forcing a squeak out of him. This wasn’t working. Grant ran into the little storeroom and pulled the lever for him. Henry smiled (even in wolf form, Grant could recognize that smile), patted him on the head like a pet, and left for his next objective.

No, Grant thought, That can’t be all I can do for him.

That night, he explained everything to Shawn and Lacie, and they planned for the next loop.

---

Henry was so accustomed to the loops by now that nothing about them phased him much anymore. After defeating Bertrum this time around, he’s walked into the haunted house as always, and as always, the cart had taken him to a part of Alice’s laboratory, where he was strapped down. He waited for her to finish sharpening her knives and begin the agonizing procedure that would make him strong enough to protect her from anything. After the procedure he’d turn on her, kill her, and eventually make it to the basement to kill Bendy and start the cycle over. Again. And again. And again.

On the other side of the room, chattering sounded. This was no surprise- butcher gang members often chattered for no apparent reason, and Alice had at least ten of them in cages or in gurneys. The noise picked up, as though they were all trying to be as loud as possible, and under it, Alice could hear the sound of a cage unlocking. She stood up to see seven members and counting who were roaming free and freeing others. She ran over and slashed at them with her knife, but it was no use. Two Charleys grabbed onto her arms and pulled her to the ground as three other butcher gang members crawled over her. Soon, they had pounded her into a puddle of ink.

Lacie took a good look at the ratios- they’d freed three full butcher gangs, who were now leaving peacefully. There were two Barleys and an Edgar left bound. They’d have to be freed later, and very carefully in order to avoid disputes.

Grant went over to Henry and undid the straps that were holding him on the gurney. Henry smiled. It must have been his little friend from the last loop! And it did have similar body language to it. Very familiar body language- not that Henry could quite place it. Once Henry was free, the little Edgar tried dragging him somewhere by the arm (though Henry eventually picked him up and let him point instead, so he wouldn’t have to be awkwardly bent over). The other two members followed. It took him back to the room with the switch. It was his little buddy.

Borises did not understand the language of butcher gang members. Only butcher gang members did. But Borises were expert at non-verbal communication, and soon he’d figured out that the Edgar wanted him to stay. Henry couldn’t- not for the long run, anyhow. He had a time loop to escape from and a life to get back to. But he may as well have had a home base to plan his next move. This was quite the unconventional loop after all.

From that point on, Henry stayed at least one night with the butcher gang with each loop, after they saved him. Often the little Edgar would crawl in with him, and Henry would hold him against his chest like a teddy bear. He’d wondered if the Edgar was Grant at this point, but chose to deny it. There was no reason for Joey to have gone after him, and it was easier on his mind to believe that this was just an Edgar that shared Grant’s mannerisms. Henry missed Grant terribly, especially when he was with this Edgar who reminded Henry so much of him, but it was better to think that Grant was safe, rather than enduring this alongside him. He could have written out the question and asked the creature, but truthfully, a part of him didn’t want to know.

With each loop, the Edgar would follow him up to a certain point, then leave to be back with its gang. Instincts were powerful. After a few loops, the entire gang started following him. They helped him in combat until they were defeated, and the Barley knew the location of all sorts of hidden rooms.

The studio was Hell. But Henry was glad to have allies.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Henry Stein #grant cohen #grant x henry #edgar #boris the wolf #butcher gang #malice #my fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

chonzu · 4 years ago

Text

This is the beginning of an idea I had where Atsuhiro survives the attack and ends up in Tartarus. I want to expand on it but I’ve worked on this for a few days and I’m happy with it I suppose! Spoilers for Chapter 294/295 ofc.

I apologize for the weird formatting, I’ve been working on mobile/iPad for a while now.

He loved the League. He would give his life for the League and their leader’s ideals and he knew that’s how it would end as he hit the ground, snatched out of the air by the blond child he’d barely seen once before months ago at the Yakuza base, and while the rest of that battle lasted barely more than a few minutes, Atsuhiro fell in and out of consciousness more times than he could count. He could not move no matter how hard he tried, but that was alright. If Shigaraki had gotten away, well. He couldn’t blame the kid for leaving him behind.

Atsuhiro let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“Hurry! Go, get the Tartarus staff on site! Get...we need…....alive...”

If he couldn’t move anyway he wasn’t going to struggle—everyone was gone, surely, and the heroes were getting tended to, going by the muffled voices and sirens, and he’d accepted his death by now. As long as his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, it would be alright.

He was roughly moved again, his mind fogging up more as a numb pain crawled up his side. His arm was restrained, locked down; his body was jostled until he was shoved roughly into the back of a cold vehicle onto a starkly-cold metal surface. Atsuhiro tried to open his eyes, but this was it for him. He let that darkness take him, hoping that the young boss, Spinner, and Dabi had gotten away.

His eye snapped open into quiet darkness, into what he guessed was a small and sterile room barely bigger than a closet. Machines hummed and chugged gently to his left and his right shoulder pressed against a cold concrete wall. He tried to speak but his throat was drier than a desert, leaving him sputtering and coughing until he’d caught his breath.

He couldn’t lift his right arm, a cuff had been attached to his wrist, his fake left eye and left mechanical arm had been removed, and he could only imagine what other types of straps were keeping him down on the bed that wasn’t very comfortable and they’d never given him any blankets or turned the heat up. He may as well exist in a dungeon and it wasn’t apparent that there were any guards near him at the moment.

With his wrist cuffed as it was, it blocked his hand from being unable to touch anything and he didn’t have any smart ideas to get out of this. Truthfully, he thought he was dead, but the straps were tight and deliberately made to keep him from moving his arm at all. The numbness in his hip and chest was almost too much but if he squeezed his eyes shut he almost couldn’t feel it. He felt a little lost and panicked without his left arm.

Remember, he thought. Remember. What got him into this place? A heist gone wrong? Did he steal something from a hero more high-profile than he’d expected? A more dastardly villain than he’d hoped? His work with the League often brought him to many unsuspecting places, but up until recently they’d been working on projects with...the Meta-Liberation Army.

Atsuhiro opened his eye. There’d been a war. That’s right, yes. He’d watched the boss get away, but he couldn’t remember anything after being grabbed by that sunny-haired kid he’d thought they’d gotten rid of a long time ago.

A few minutes into trying to relax, Atsuhiro realized that an alarm was going off on the machine and only got louder and worse the more he suddenly panicked. He pulled against the restraints to no avail. His heart nearly lept out of his chest when the door flew open, the room flooding with a fleet of armed guards and heroes silhouetted black against the harsh white fluorescent lighting that spilled into the room.

“Wh— what?”

A strong hand grabbed his face and turned his head every possible direction, to which he objected loudly and wasn’t heard. The doctor who grabbed him turned him to face them, their gaze cool and steady, but unfocused. He heard whispers from the front of the room that maybe they should stick a muzzle on him like one of their other prisoners, but the doctor handling him waved them away.

Atsuhiro was poked and prodded. “Please, come on. Take me to dinner before you start doing that. I’m /starving/.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen, Sako.” The doctor pressed their lips together, barely giving him so much as a look as they hummed, tapped a pen against their lips, and started to scribble on a clipboard. “Prisoner is awake, far too alert, and begging for food. I’d say we’ve done a good job here.”

“Fuck— what? Prisoner?” Atsuhiro struggled again. “At least tell me where the fuck I am!” Sharp pains in his side would have crumpled him if he didn’t have the restraints tied over his chest.

The doctor turned their back to him. “Prisoner is starting to panic. Sedate him."

They left in a hurry, coat a flurry of fabric behind them lime a cape, and Atsuhiro noticed the lines of drips going into his arm. He struggled more, but when what he assumed was an intern leaned down over a tray of medication he suddenly felt faint.

Before he fainted, Atsuhiro watched a fuzzy guard wave at him.

No, no, no, he thought. No. He couldn’t go out like this again. His eye closed however, and darkness claimed him once more when the door shut tightly and he fell into a fitful doze.

"Sako Atsuhiro."

His whole body tingled as he lifted his head. He felt like his mind was rapidly being overwhelmed by the sharp lights, solid metal room, and his arm held at a strange angle, while his body lagged behind him as if trapped in syrup. He had been given only enough pain medication to sit up and talk, but it made his mind fuzzy and he squinted against the harsh white lights of the room and the spotlights angled directly at him. Restraints kept him firmly against the chair, so he was unable to escape. He couldn't if he tried.

Atsuhiro cleared his throat, squinting. "Yes. Yes that's...that’s my name. How can I help you? Besides giving away all of our best secrets, of course."

The man who spoke to him seemed as nondescript as the next guy. Tall, short brown hair, quite a friendly face, business casual. Definitely not the kind of person who would be the main character in a show. A stack of papers sat under his hand. "It's just me in here."

"Okay? And the two hundred people recording this conversation?"

"I just want to talk."

"Well we certainly are! How's life treating you?"

"That's irrelevant. Sako, we have you listed for numerous crimes such as theft, destruction of property, child endangerment, involvement with the League of Villains and the Meta-Liberation Army, just to make a few. Just recently you were caught attempting to land an attack on our heroes.

"I don't really know what to say to that?”

The man hummed. "I understand. We’ll be keeping an eye on you, of course. You have a hip replacement and reconstruction scheduled soon. I’ll be visiting every few days.”

Atsuhiro resisted rolling his eyes. “Please, why are you telling me all of this.”

“Why not? You can’t escape, you can’t move.”

“I see. You know, it’s polite to at least tell someone your name? You seem to know me /quite/ well.”

The man pressed his lips together. He spent a moment writing down a few of his own notes. “I guess you can call me Tsukauchi.”

Atsuhiro blinked, mulling it over. He’d never heard of that name before. “Okay. Why are you bothering to fix me up?”

“The marble that you compressed was lost at the scene so there wasn’t a way to even attempt to assess what you’d lost.” Tsukauchi shrugged. “We obviously need you alive, which I’m sure you already know?” He raised an eyebrow and Atsuhiro pouted. “All prisoners at Tartarus receive /some/ kind of care. We aren’t heartless villains.”

“Yeah, and you use that care to keep us alive and trapped here and for what?”

“Sir, you were involved in committing mass murder.”

“Pah!” Atsuhiro straightened his shoulders. “So let me guess. Keeping me alive here is a worse punishment than death?”

“If that’s how you would like to see it.” Tsukauchi wasn’t looking at him, but seemed to be quite a good listener. “My time here is short today, but I’ll be back again shortly.”

“I look forward to it.” Atsuhiro gave the man his sweetest smile. Tsukauchi stared at him with a peculiar look, then looked down to gather up his notes.

He left silently. Guards crept out of shadows Atsuhiro hadn’t even realized were there and he was being dragged from the stage again. He couldn’t walk, oh no. He could barely /sit up/ and so he was roughly thrown into a wheelchair, the quirk-neutralizing cuff around his arm was adjusted, and straps tightened around his chest and legs.

The doctor who he’d seen numerous times by now and who he assumed had performed the surgery on him pushed his wheelchair along. They went down long passages, each holding cell specially designed to the needs and quirks of those they held. Atsuhiro’s own holding cell was only the basic one; cold, dry, with solid metal plates and a single bed. Because of the neutralizing cuff on his wrist, he wasn’t able to compress himself, and even if he was, there was a second cuff that held his hand at a specific angle and had a cage around it to leave him unable to touch anything. Without his right arm, he’d never be able to get it off on his own. Not unless he pulled some crazy gymnastics, which just weren’t possible with his injuries.

Apparently he was to be getting a slight upgrade to a different wing once his injuries had healed, but they gave a severe estimate of at least six weeks and an incomprehensible amount of physical therapy thereafter—if they deemed that necessary. After all, he was alive, and that’s really all they needed to question him.

Along the way, some of the captured prisoners gave him looks if they were able to look out of the windows on their doors or restrained in tight places facing the hallways for quicker analysis by guards and inspectors. Atsuhiro did not look at any of them.

#MHA #bnha #bnha spoilers #mr compress

14 notes · View notes

crybabytoy59 · 4 years ago

Text

My Begging letter PT2.

On the way to there home a 45 min journey I managed to wet my diaper past Mistress Mummy’s constantly beating with the rubber hammer ! My now wet rear pad soaking with the seed from my anal use from Master Daddy was making its presence known! I had squealed as she put nipple clamps on me over the pvc maids dress as they were quite large & had sharp teeth.

As the van slowed into there drive Mistress Mummy lent into my ear whispering “This is it Crybaby Sweetheart no turning back now a whole weekend as Sissy Crybaby Pain Fuck Toy 🧸..That’s a Clever girlie you cry for Mistress Mummy...soon Am going to have our New girlie Crying proper “BigBaby Tears” Won’t I cutenesses?” ...pardon Mistress Mummy can’t hear you !...(Wess Mistress Mummy) Much better we want loud clear replying or take what you get Madam !” She Open the van door Master Daddy had a wheelchair “In we get Crybaby so we can get you inside for the rest of Your Preparation As Mistress Carla & Mistress Dee just did the first of your Preparation Mistress Mummy & I will see to The next few treatments cutenesses, Off we go..Are you Afraid Crybaby? (I nodded) Clever girlie Crybaby that’s perfect as You have Good Reason to Be Afraid Madam ! !”

Master Daddy pushed me up a slabbed path to There back Door Mistress Mummy opened it smiling as I was pushed inside a large kitchen I was left in the middle of the room as Master Daddy hung up the van keys, they both took there coats off then stood in front of my smiling as I looked on through tear smeared eyes.

It was then I finally had a good look at them Mistress Mummy was around 5’7” with an athletic frame she obviously kept fit, she had on black leather pants with knee high black leather boots a white shirt that was quite transparent showing off the black leather bra beneath it made her stern look complete, she had both dark & light blond highlights in her long curly hair that fell around her shoulders in large curls, bright red lips that were now moving seductively in front of me her makeup done with a Dominant look to it !

I was caught like a rabbit in car headlights as she lifted my chin in her hand..

Crybaby concentrate cutie am not telling You this Again !

“This is our home while here you will do What you are Told when you are Told, showing us both complete Obedience, as we told you there will be No Safeword here you will be Used as we wish for our pleasure.....If however You Are Obedient & Please us then that will Not go unrewarded Crybaby....So Let’s Get started Down on all fours & follow us ...Master Daddy?”

As I looked up he had a dog training slip lead this was a simple chain slip attached to a short pink leather lead ! Slipping it over my head he positioned it up the back of my neck giving it a short “jerk” he spoke ..

“Heal Crybaby Pain Toy headie at my thigh & Keep pace..off we Go !”

This couple were truly Dominant & I was about to be on the receiving end of there one true pleasure in life...Breaking a Slave Together !!

As I crawled at his side Master Daddy kept the chain taught so I was choking slightly with each rose & fall of my head at his thigh, Mistress Mummy opened a door to a small laundry room on the far wall were coats she pulled one of the coat hangers & the wall opened! Inside was a pink nursery ! With all manner of adult sized items a high chair, baby bouncer, pink rocking horse, lots of toys ....& a huge Adult Baby Cot !!......But in the centre of the room was a frame it looked like a pink foot stool the kind you used to get in a shoe shop but much larger there were straps hanging from it & at its base was a half round that had an oval padded cup, on the floor next to the frame were a few items...

The other half of the round for the base & a steel frame that looked like a mask ? Also ther was two Y shaped bars with pink cuffs open at the ready, next to this was the part that had me stop in my tracks ! There was a stand hanging from this lots of items I recognised anal plugs all with rubber tubes from them,catheters lots of different sizes ! Gags of all shapes including a large bent cock one with veins over it ! Also two hooks projected from its To with red rubber bags around two feet long, but they were bulging Full of liquid !

Master Daddy again jerking my chain Spoke “Ah ah. Baby in you come to your new room, Over to the frame & lay over it backwards neck in the half circle & Headie in the cup Cutie .....(I crawled into position) Clever girlie Crybaby that’s Very Good !”

Mistress Mummy spoke “Now Crybaby girlie give me your handies under you, Clever girlie Crybaby that’s it Push them in here...Good Babyslave Hold still Now” she. Put straps tightly over my arms & wrists over the leather mittens I had just pushed my hands into then she had me lift up slightly as she fed two belts around under me encircling my chest one just at my armpits one just under my nipples, she fed the ends through ratchets tightening them slightly next she put one right at the top of my hip bone over my tummy again tightly Master Daddy joined her as she lightly spanked my rear “Leggies up in the air Cutie wide apart ! Clever girlie Crybaby that’s very good”

They put the Y parts to the frame bending my legs at the knee over the Y part, next they both lifted what looked like a padded oar guide for a boat ? Putting one each into the Y upright, Mistress Mummy again Spoke to me ..

“Now Crybaby Relax Don’t fight us...Master Daddy one..two...three...”

I yelped as they pulled my lower leg out then backwards into the guides my ankles now caught in them they both put the straps on tightly ! My feet were now in line with my knees but out to the side of my thigh in an uncomfortable position, they kissed each other as Master Daddy Spoke “Be a good Babyslave for Mistress Mummy As Master Daddy has to get some things ready for you Crybaby remember Complete Obedience” he left the nursery closing the door behind him..

Mistress Mummy held the second half of the neck circle pushing it over my neck to a loud Clicking she looked me right in the eyes “Don’t mind Master Daddy..I know your going to be such an Obedient girlie for me aren’t You Crybaby Toy...OPEN WIDE !! No WIDE !!!” She had the Frame mask but she had fitted a feeding dummy to its mouth part This was quite large the. Clear tube giving no secret to this gags intended use To feed Me something while in this upside down position!

I started tearing up as she stood towering over me lifting a catheter tube one with an infallible inner balloon, laying it over my tummy she popped the rubber pants open “Did you wet your Diaper for Mistress Mummy in the van ?....(Wess Mistress Mummy) Clever girlie Crybaby let’s see how much Cutie”

Lifting the tabs she opened the Diaper....”Crybaby Cutie that’s pathetic? That’s not a wet Diaper.....Don’t fret Baby MUMMY help you BABY !”

She slid the catheter up inside me inflated the balloon tugging it as I whimpered she giggled, in her hand was a Chasity device ! This she put on me as she squeezed my balls into the tight ring she told me. “I know this is quite large but Mistress Mummy will soon have you into your proper cage (she held up a pink baby dummy shaped cage it was tiny !) Yes Crybaby You Will fit in this in. no time..after all Babyslaves like you can’t have a Big clitte ..No a nice tiny clitte so All our friends can see your a Little Baby Girlie !”

She laughed a WKD Dominant laugh as she clicked it shut the catheter tube poking out its end !

“Now Mistress Mummy did promise to use Your fuck hole worse than Master Daddy So Crybaby Cutie Let’s Get started Pain Toy !”

36 notes · View notes

patchwork-panda · 4 years ago

Text

If A Moment Is All We Are (26/?)

AO3 link: HERE

Music is recommended for this chapter. When you hit the first **, please open up this link: HERE When you hit the second **, please open this link for the BSD 1st ED

It was dark.

So, so dark.

I opened my eyes as wide as I could and then squeezed them shut just to check that they were actually open. They were.

I swallowed uneasily and tried to stay calm.

Earlier, when he was carrying me to the car, Dazai had accidentally jostled me awake. When I looked at him, he simply said he was taking me back to the ADA, specifically to the infirmary so Dr. Yosano could heal me with her Ability.

“It’s going to be rough,” he’d murmured softly into my ear, “and she’ll probably keep you overnight, but it’s better than being in a hospital for several weeks.”

I heard a crack of a smile in his voice.

“You’ll be okay.”

I’d then floated in and out of consciousness as Dazai had gotten in the back seat with me, buckled in my seat belt and laid my head against his shoulder for support. As the low rumble of the engine starting slowly filled the car, I found myself drifting off yet again. I was so out of it that I didn’t really remember the trip... Except for one small detail.

At one point during the ride, I thought I felt Dazai brushing his long fingers through my hair. He was singing something under his breath, something low and pleasant that sounded like it had nothing to do with suicide... and his singing voice had sounded so beautiful that I could feel myself smiling as I listened...

That was the last thing I was aware of before I passed out entirely and woke up in this pitch-black room. Where the heck was I?!

Groaning a little, I tried to stretch out but found almost immediately that I couldn’t. My arms and legs were strapped down to a partially upright table—a cold, hard slab of a table I didn’t remember being strapped into. I then tried moving my hands and flexing what little muscle I had but instantly regretted it when my entire body was suddenly flooded with a sharp, electric surge of pain.

Right. My arms and ribs were still broken.

I rolled my head to the side with a sigh of defeat, my neck cracking loudly as I moved. It was pretty clear to me now that even if I were at full strength, there was no way that a weakling like me would be able to break free from these restraints. They were probably made for holding down the monstrous strength of an angry Kunikida or a starving Kenji... Which just left one question...

Who strapped me in here?

There was a soft creak.

I swiveled my head towards it and saw a sliver of light appearing in the corner, watching as it grew wider and wider until I realized it was the light from an open doorway. Then I heard a hollow “snap.” Lights—bright, white and blinding came on all around me, flooding into my eyeballs with such intensity that I winced and screwed my eyes shut against the onslaught.

** “Well, well, well,” a low, feminine voice purred, “If it isn’t our newest recruit? You’re hurt, aren’t you...? Kyou-chan?”

Heels clicked against tile, the sound echoing sharply throughout the room. I looked up to see Dr. Yosano in a lab coat and gloves, the golden butterfly clip gleaming brightly in her hair. I should’ve felt comforted at the sight of her but there was something about her smile—something sinister that made the blood turn cold in my veins...

“Y-Yosano-sensei.”

I tried to crack a smile but found my face feeling oddly stiff and frozen.

“Yeah, I guess I am... Dazai-san said you were going to heal me?”

Yosano’s smile widened.

“But of course, my dear.”

Her black-gloved fingers went for the buttons of her lab coat and that’s when I realized she hadn’t been wearing her tie. In fact, she wasn’t even wearing her shirt.

I suddenly wished I’d opted for a normal hospital...

“Welcome to my special operating room,” Dr. Yosano continued, slowly shrugging off her white lab coat. “I’m sure Tanizaki-kun has told you plenty of stories about what happens here, but let me be the first to reassure you...”

Her lab coat dropped to the floor and she kicked it under a tarp.

“It’s not as bad as he makes it sound.”

My eyes widened.

There were tarps everywhere, covering the other chairs, the floor—even the surgeon’s lamp over my head was covered in a thin sheet of plastic.

“Y-Y-Yosano-sensei...”

I could hear my own teeth chattering as I spoke.

“Wh-why’s everything covered in plastic? What are you—?”

I heard a heavy thunk.

Clad in only a lacy black bra and a matching set of panties, Dr. Yosano had dropped her thick black faux-leather bag on the ground and was now bent over it, fumbling with all sorts of things that jangled and clattered with a jarring metallic frequency. I couldn’t see past the edge of the table where she crouched but I could definitely hear her squeal of delight when she found what she was looking for.

“Kyou-chan.”

Something gleamed from underneath my table and I bit back a scream when I saw Yosano rise from the floor with an actual honest-to-God machete—the kind I once saw in a horror movie—in her gloved hands. The shine of the machete’s long, polished blade was reflected in the manic glint in her purple eyes and as I struggled against my bonds, I fully understood why the patients in this room needed to be strapped down.

“I believe I once told you how my Ability works, yes?” she whispered. “That I can heal you back to perfect health so long as you’re on the verge of death? Well, unfortunately, Kitten... you’re not quite there yet.”

“Unfortunately?!”

I started to shake.

“See, that’s where this beauty comes in,” the good doctor explained, running one finger along the edge of the blade. “You’re not quite injured enough, so I have to speed the process along. I mean...”

She shot me a pointed look.

“You do want to get better quick, don’t you?”

I didn’t have the courage to shake my head ‘no.’ For some reason, I found myself nodding instead.

“Good. In that case...”

Running her tongue over her glossy pink lips, Yosano approached.

“The doctor is in.”

Slowly, lovingly, she leaned in and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The golden butterfly shone in her short, dark hair.

“It’s not very often I get to patch up a girl,” Yosano crooned, her fingers deftly sliding from behind my ear down the line of my jaw. “Kyouka-chan is very good at avoiding severe injury you see, and it’s not like the office girls ever see combat...”

She cupped my chin and lifted my face up towards hers.

“But don’t worry, Kitten,” she whispered softly, “I promise I’ll take good care of you...”

She let go of me, raised the machete high into the air and let out an absolutely maniacal laugh.

“Hold still.”

She swung.

The last thing I heard before her machete buried itself in my flesh was the sound of my own terrified screams ringing in my ears.

***

“All done!” Yosano called brightly.

Fully clothed once again, she threw open the door to the main office, which hit the wall with a loud crack but not even that was enough to shake me from my stupor.

With no wheelchair available in the Agency infirmary, Dr. Yosano was forced to cart me into the room on a dolly, the kind that movers normally used to bring furniture into a house. While the wheels squeaked against the tiles below me, I sat mutely on the flat metal surface, staring straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes in an upright fetal position. My knees were drawn up against my chest and my arms were wound so tightly around my body that I was cutting off the circulation the good doctor had just restored. But it’s not like having any amount of blood flow would’ve made a difference.

I was still feeling completely numb from the trauma of what had just happened. Had I spent the entire night in the infirmary? Two nights? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it was mid-morning, that there was bright sunlight streaming in through every open window but I was still feeling cold and numb in a way that had nothing to do with my body.

Someone approached and it took me a full ten seconds to remember where I had seen his concerned face before.

Tanizaki Junichiro frowned.

“Told you,” he mouthed without actually speaking, shooting a nervous, furtive look up at the terrifying woman who had literally just cut me apart and put me back together again.

“Come on,” he mumbled instead, struggling to pry my arms away from my body. “Let’s get you to your desk. You can pass out safely behind your laptop the way the rest of us do after ‘treatment’...”

As he gripped my wrists over the jacket sleeves and pulled me off the dolly, I looked up into his face, full recognition dawning at last. I tried to speak but found my mouth unable to cooperate with my brain.

“T...T...”

Tanizaki raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“T...Ta...Ta...!”

Tanizaki was now looking slightly disturbed.

“What is it, Kusunoki-san?”

Unable to hold back any longer, I burst into tears.

“Tanizaki-kunnnn!!!!” I wailed, latching onto the redhead’s waist.

“What the—?!” Tanizaki squawked, instantly blanching. “Kusunoki-san, get a hold of yourself!”

“I was so scared!” I bawled, hanging on tighter even as Tanizaki tried to peel me off of him. “You were right! You were right about everything! I swear, I’ll never let myself get hurt ever again! I’M SO SORRY—”

“Kusunoki-san...”

Hiccuping, tears and snot running down my face as I clutched at the ends of the red sweatshirt Tanizaki tied around his waist, I turned to my left to see Naomi, standing there with a chilling look in her dark blue eyes.

“May I ask you why you’re hanging on so tightly to my dear brother?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. “Is there something I need to know?”

Shaking my head, I was forced to let go as Tanizaki finally succeeded in pushing me away. I hit the ground with a sharp smack as Junichiro ran to his sister’s side, apologizing profusely and begging her not to take it out on him later on tonight, at which point I finally remembered to clap my hands over my ears and do my best not to listen.

Fortunately for me, someone else’s indignant shout suddenly shook the room.

“Like I said before, we’re the Armed Detective Agency, not the Lost and Found! Go take that thing to the police station instead!”

As one, we all turned to the door to see Edogawa Ranpo, standing in the doorway looking extremely irritated, with his arms loaded to the brim with an actual stack of pastry boxes. Behind him was a rather short, thin young man with close-cropped brown hair in a black tie and gray slacks—a regular office worker from the look of him. He was clutching a pink embroidered handkerchief in one hand.

“Now let go!”

Scowling, Edogawa snatched the end of his brown poncho out of the young man’s other hand and stomped into the room, the boxes in his arms wobbling dangerously as he went. Suddenly spotting me, he stopped walking and paused to squint at me.

“Oh, Kusunoki.”

Edogawa looked me up and down and frowned.

“I heard you got sent to the Infirmary. You all better now?”

When I gave him a very shaky nod, Edogawa nodded approvingly, then jabbed an index finger back at the guy in the doorway and demanded:

“Then do something about this guy, will you?”

“Do something?” I repeated, glancing towards the door.

The office worker waved.

“What... do you want me to do?” I asked blankly.

Edogawa slapped a palm over his face.

“Ugh. Do I have to do everything around here?” he griped. “Here—!”

He shoved the boxes in my arms and I let out a tiny squeak as I struggled to keep them all from falling over.

“Take these to my desk—and if you drop a single one, you’re going out to buy me two of whatever hits the floor. You!”

He jabbed his finger at the guy in the doorway once again. When the office worker perked up, Edogawa pointed in the direction of the client booth.

“In there.”

No sooner had I finished putting the boxes of pastries on Edogawa’s desk (taking extra care not to drop or smush a single thing) than the Great Detective grabbed me by the back of my shirt and dragged me to the client booth. The young man was already sitting and appeared to be fiddling slightly with the handkerchief in his hands.

I sat down opposite him.

“I’m Kusunoki,” I said, bowing slightly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Miura,” the office guy said, also bowing awkwardly. “Thank you for your time.”

I glanced up at Edogawa, who had not taken a seat on the detectives’ side with me. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot impatiently.

“Tell her what you just told me,” he ordered.

“Uh, yes!” Miura stammered. “You see, I found this earlier today, at the subway entrance around the corner from here.”

He held up the pink handkerchief. There was a capitalized “R” embroidered in one corner and it looked slightly damp, as if the young man had taken the time to wash it in the sink before bringing it in.

“I don’t know who dropped it but, if it’s not too much trouble, could you help me return it to the rightful owner?” Miura asked.

“Uh, Miura-san,” I started, shooting a quick look over my shoulder at Edogawa, who was standing behind me and seemed only to be growing more irritated with every passing second.

Clearly he didn’t want to be kept from his pastries while they were still hot and fresh...

“I hate to repeat what my senpai said earlier, but...” I pressed my lips together. “We’re not the Lost and Found. Lost items are better off being returned to the police station—”

“But you’re a detective agency aren’t you?” Miura pressed. “I heard you’re the best in Yokohama! My friends tell me you solve cases the police can’t handle. They told me...”

He dropped his voice and looked around even though the door to the client booth was closed and the three of us were clearly alone in here.

“They told me a newcomer solved that recent serial kidnapping in their first week here—”

I flushed.

“Oh, uh, that—”

“—and that if all else fails, you have the power of a legendary genius at your disposal—”

“That is absolutely, one-hundred percent correct!” Edogawa crowed, suddenly beaming like he was being interviewed on TV.

I turned all the way around in my chair to gawk at Edogawa just as he slammed both hands on my shoulders and shook me in a friendly, if somewhat overly excitable way.

“In fact...”

He grinned and I suddenly felt the need to run.

“Kusunoki-kun here is the one who caught the serial kidnapper! And she’d be more than happy to help you return the handkerchief.”

My jaw dropped as Miura looked on in amazement.

“Ranpo-san, what—?!”

“On two conditions. One...”

Edogawa held up a finger.

“You buy the whole office a party-sized box of pastries from that new macaron shop downtown.”

I balked but Miura only nodded readily.

“Two...”

Edogawa held up a second finger.

“You have to go with her when it’s time to return the handkerchief. In fact, I want you to be the one to personally hand it over to the owner.”

Edogawa shot me a meaningful look.

“You got that?”

I breathed in sharply as I suddenly understood his meaning.

Edogawa wanted me to see into this man’s future and find the person he hands it back to. But how was I supposed to do that when I didn’t know when this event was going to take place?

As if reading my thoughts, Edogawa motioned me closer.

“You said that before,” he whispered in my ear, “when you looked into my future, you saw a massive book, right? And that there was writing in it, right?”

I nodded.

“Look for the word ‘handkerchief,’” Edogawa instructed me.

And with that last bit of advice, he patted my shoulder and walked out of the client booth.

‘Look for the word ‘handkerchief?’’

I frowned. I must’ve still been a little dazed from Yosano’s “treatment,” because this made no sense. Look for a word... Look for a word...? Why would Edogawa instruct me to do something like this? Unless...?

I let out a soft gasp as it came to me.

Edogawa really was brilliant...

Taking my cell phone out of my pocket, I set a timer to “vibrate,” and tucked it back inside my coat pocket. I turned to Miura and stuck out my other hand.

“Can I see the handkerchief?”

Miura nodded and as he passed the handkerchief to me over the table, I carefully switched on the timer and reached out for Miura’s hand.

If this worked, I’d have a new way to use my Ability...

My fingers brushed against Miura’s just as the timer went off and I closed my eyes and let the vibrations wash over me.

I felt a pull—just the slightest of tugs on the tips of my fingers, as if a small child were yanking on them and leading me forward. Taking a deep breath in, I concentrated on the sensation and let it lead me away...

...And I floated down, weightless, and sank into that dark tunnel once more.

When I opened my eyes again, my body had disappeared. All that was left of me was a pair of eyes and the memory of a form I’d long since left behind. Taking a moment to look around, I examined my surroundings. Words, silvery and undefined, twinkled all around me like stars, floating in the air in long, sparkling columns, like strings of crystal beads hanging from a massive chandelier. I quickly spotted the four walls of the tunnel and the four corners where the walls met and nodded to myself (or at least that’s what it felt like) as I realized I was once again in a giant, translucent book.

This was the “Story of Miura’s Life.”

I stared ahead of me, down the “tunnel” that was actually not a tunnel, but reams and reams of transparent pages and considered the task ahead.

Edogawa had said to look for the word “handkerchief.” Basically, he wanted me to find the very next instance of the word “handkerchief” and touch it to “activate” the vision—in the same way I’d done with the date and time when I’d looked into Edogawa’s future.

But what if the word showed up multiple times in Miura’s future? How was I supposed to know which one to touch?

Feeling nervous, I looked around and randomly selected a word to focus on. As before, the longer I stared at it, the more it began to take shape and within moments, the silvery amorphous blobs to my left condensed and became a legible set of characters.

“Armed Detective Agency.”

Okay, not what I needed.

I glanced back down at the hall of loosely glittering words and grimaced.

I may have found my way back to that strange metaphysical space where a person’s future was written down as if it were a literal story, but today the situation was different. If the words didn’t properly materialize until I spent enough time looking at them, how was I supposed to pick out a single word like, “handkerchief,” much less get to it in time before Miura got weirded out by my so-called “narcolepsy” and pulled away?

If only Edogawa was in here with me to give me some kind of hint...!

Fighting the growing sense of panic, I closed my “eyes” once again and tried to focus.

Concentrate. Think about the words you’re looking for. What exactly are the words you need to see?

Without thinking about what I was doing, I wrote the words “return the pink handkerchief” in the air.

At once, there was a sound like a chime. I opened my eyes to see the words I’d written hanging in the air, glowing before my eyes like molten gold. But before I could reach out and touch them, they shot off into the distance, streaking through the book like a shooting star in the sky.

I ran after it, phasing right through the translucent pages like a ghost, silvery words parting around me like curtains and fluttering in my wake. My Ability was guiding me—taking me to the exact moment I needed to see. I stopped running as the glimmer of gold stopped moving at last, shining like a beacon in the air, just up ahead of me. Knowing instinctively what I had to do, I reached forward and touched it, shielding my eyes as the entire page in front of me suddenly materialized like a solid wall.

I’m standing in front of a train station.

I’m halfway across town, nowhere near the place I picked it up, but the detective girl is insisting this is the place...

The clock nearby chimes three times... It’s two in the afternoon, a full week after I first picked up the handkerchief...

I sigh and glance down at the handkerchief in my hand, this tiny pink square I happened to pick up. I stare at the softly embroidered “R.” Something about this feels familiar but I’m not sure what...

I look up. A girl is walking towards me. She’s not really looking up at me or any of the other people around us but at the ground. She has softly curled, light brown hair and big eyes and—woah!! She’s really cute!

I can feel my heart beating faster as she approaches. Her skirt and purse are the same color as the handkerchief in my hands.

Panicking, I wave to the dark-haired girl behind me, the detective—oh man, she’s not even standing anywhere close is she? I can’t see the look on her face but she’s mumbling something, pushing me towards the girl with the pink skirt.

I can’t do this—I can’t!!

My mouth’s already open—too late!

“Excuse me, Miss,” I hear myself say.

Uwaaah... she’s looking at me... What do I do?! She’s so freaking cute...

I hold out the handkerchief

“Are you looking for this?”

She stops, she stares at me and her hands fly to her lips. She’s nodding...!

Suddenly, the girl disappeared. Darkness fell over my eyes, something pressed against my face and I let out a strangled gasp when I realized I was now back in the physical world. The handkerchief slipped right out of my hands.

“Guess who?” a warm, familiar tenor whispered right into my ear.

“What the—Dazai?!” I shrieked.

Irritated, I reached up and tried to remove his large half-bandaged hands, but before I could grab hold, Dazai jerked my head to the side and laughed.

“Let go of me!”

“Not until you turn around to check~!” Dazai sang.

“Dazai, I know it’s you,” I snapped, getting to my feet, “so take your hands—”

Wrenching his hands away at last, I spun to face him. But as the cool air hit my face at last, I realized my cheeks were wet.

I froze.

I hadn’t been crying, so that could only mean one thing...

Gingerly, I reached up and brought the tips of my fingers to the area below my eyes. They came away wet with flecks of bright, red, fresh blood.

“...shit.”

Had Miura seen...?

At once, Dazai gasped dramatically.

“Oh my gosh, Kusunoki-kun!” he cried, frantically digging a handkerchief out of his own pocket. “I’m so sorry! Your makeup is all smudged.”

He smushed his handkerchief against my face and stared smearing at the area over my eyes.

“But don’t worry, I’ll fix it!”

“Ah—wait—Dazai-san, stop!!” I sputtered, making a face as part of the hankie went into my open mouth. I spat it out and tried to fight him off as he kept wiping at my eyes.

“I said stop! I can do it myself!”

“But I wanna help,” Dazai whined as I finally snatched the hankie from him and held it up against my eyes.

“I think you’ve helped enough,” I mumbled.

Clearing my throat, I tried to turn around so I could speak to Miura again. Unfortunately, because I couldn’t take the hankie away from my eyes, I ended up doing an awkward shuffle and bumping back into my own chair instead. I hissed as a bruise appeared on my shin and immediately scowled as I heard Dazai stifle a tiny snicker behind me. Thankfully, before I could hurt myself further, I felt Dazai’s hands at my back as he helped guide me in the right direction.

“Uh, Miura-san?”

I did a sort of half-bow in apology, hoping I didn’t look too stupid doing it (what if I was bowing at the wall the way Katai had done with me?!). At least Dazai hadn’t laughed this time, so maybe I was safe...

“Yes...?” Miura’s voice sounded tiny and unsure, and thankfully, was coming from right in front of me.

“I can figure out who that pink handkerchief belongs to, but you’re going to have to give me some time,” I babbled. “Do you think you could meet me back here in a week? Around one in the afternoon?”

“One in the afternoon?” Miura asked, sounding ecstatic.

There was a loud clattering noise as he hurriedly got to his feet, nearly knocking over the table from the sound of it.

“Yes, Detective! I’ll set my calendar—oh crap, it’s this late already?!”

I heard the glass door slide open, followed immediately by the sound of running feet.

“I gotta go back to work,” he called, his voice growing quieter as he ran further out into the hall, “But I’ll be back! See you in a week Miss Detective!”

There was a bang—the front door of the Agency office slammed shut and I took Dazai’s handkerchief away from my eyes at last.

“Oh my God, that was too close!” I gasped, turning to the tall, bandaged detective beside me. “Do you think he saw the blood?”

“Judging from his reaction, probably not,” Dazai said, shrugging.

“Thank goodness...” I moaned, sagging on my feet in relief.

I probably should’ve expected something like this to happen, given what happened the last time I used my power with Edogawa. But in all honesty, I’d expected the side effects to be a little better this time...

I should probably have more control by now. After all, Edogawa hadn’t seemed worried...

Shoulders slumping a little, I glanced down at Dazai’s handkerchief and winced. Two bright red spots, roughly the size of a pair of ten-yen coins, had bloomed like rose petals in the middle of the white and gray striped cloth. They were still wet to the touch. I crumpled the handkerchief in my hand and sighed.

“Thanks for helping me out back there, Dazai-san...” I mumbled sheepishly. “I’m... sorry about your handkerchief. I’ll go wash it for you.”

But as I took a step towards the open door, Dazai shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that right now, Kusunoki-kun,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” I insisted, to Dazai’s apparent surprise. “President Fukuzawa asked you to keep my Ability a secret, didn’t you? You really helped me out back there. I mean...”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Heat crawled up my neck as I remembered that the last time I’d interacted with him, he’d been carrying me (princess style) around because I was injured. I suddenly couldn’t look him in the face.

“It’s not only that... you saved me from getting blown up after I fought Akutagawa. You... you saved my life. Dazai-san, I...”

I twisted the handkerchief in my hands. My face felt hot.

“I... owe you one,” I finished lamely, staring at his feet.

For a moment, silence reigned. Dazai watched me quietly as I fidgeted with my hands in front of him. Then he raised an eyebrow.

“You owe me one, huh...?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “Well...”

I looked up just in time to see a familiar smirk crossing his face and before I could stop him or even react, he walked over to the door and started pulling it closed.

“I can think of a few ways for you to pay me back,” he whispered, his dark eyes gleaming with possibility. “In fact, why don’t you keep that handkerchief. You might need it later...”

My breath hitched in my throat.

“What do you mean by that, Dazai-san?”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean...”

I took a step back, only to hit my chair again and I cursed as I accidentally sat back down in it.

“What’s the matter, Kusunoki?”

Two half-bandaged hands shot out and grasped the armrests. I glanced up only to find myself staring directly into Dazai’s chocolate brown eyes. His lips parted seductively.

“You seem a little nervous.”

“I-I’m not nervous,” I stammered, heat flooding into my face. I struggled not to squirm in my seat as Dazai’s grin widened.

“I just want to know why you closed the door...!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dazai asked.

His dark, tousled bangs fell into his eyes as he cocked his head to the side.

“I wanted to make sure we weren’t interrupted.”

“Inter...?”

My cheeks were on fire. My voice was no louder than a squeak. I shrank back into the chair as Dazai slowly leaned in close.

“After all,” he murmured, his voice low and husky in my ear. “This is a very personal matter...”

“Dazai-san...!”

This was it. My heart was beating way too fast and my face felt so hot, my brain was probably boiling over. I was going to pass out on the spot...!

I closed my eyes and braced myself. But to my surprise, nothing happened. Instead, I heard the flapping of paper and when I opened my eyes, a sealed envelope had appeared before my eyes. I blinked at it.

Dazai grinned.

“For you,” he said sweetly.

I stared, looking from Dazai to the envelope and back.

“Eh?” was all I could manage as Dazai placed the envelope in my hand and went to take a seat on the coffee table in front of me.

“What?”

He propped his chin up in his half-bandaged hands and looked at me.

“Disappointed?”

I scowled and returned my attention to the envelope, my cheeks burning in humiliation and rage.

“You wish,” I snapped, refusing to look at him as I tore it open. “And you know what? I take back what I said earlier, I...”

I trailed off as I looked inside the envelope. There was only one thing inside and I grew quiet as I lifted it out.

It was a Polaroid—a very old one—and the rectangular image nestled within the yellowed, off-white frame was grainy and faded with age. I could see three people in the picture, all laughing and smiling as they toasted one another with tiny cups of sake. They looked like they were having the time of their lives. Squinting at them, I brought the picture closer to my face, peering more carefully at the two figures on the left and I let out a soft gasp as I finally recognized them as a much younger Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki. They were wearing their wedding clothes—the same clothes they were wearing in the big photo in Mrs. Yamazaki’s apartment—and as I followed their gaze to the left of the photo, I realized I knew who the third person was.

He had to be the former president of Tanaka Investments—Tanaka Ichiro’s uncle, the man who started the business. The more I stared at him, the more I began to see the family resemblance: the angle of the jawline, the shape of the nose...

I lowered the photo and looked at Dazai.

“Where... did you get this?”

“Shimada-san dropped this off last night while you were resting in the infirmary,” the bandaged detective answered. “He said to tell you, ‘President Tanaka sends his regards.’”

My eyes widened.

“He did?”

Dazai nodded.

And as I glanced back down at the photo, I thought I saw something written in black on the back side. I flipped it over.

“To Tanaka Isshun,” I read aloud, “Thank you for everything. I owe you my life... Yamazaki Shuji.”

I grew quiet. Dazai took his chin out of his hands and sat up.

“Something wrong, Kusunoki-kun?” he asked. “You look confused.”

I put the photo down and glanced up at him.

“I... I don’t understand,” I said. “If President Tanaka had this in his possession the whole time, then why would he have told me that Shuji-san was a bad person?”

Dazai’s eyebrows drew together.

“When did he tell you this?”

“Yesterday,” I said, thinking hard. “Or maybe it was the day before...?”

I shrank down in my seat a little as I told him the truth.

“It was the day you were in Nagano...”

“Ah.”

Dazai’s expression grew placid. I looked away from him and back at the photo.

“I-in any case, he said Shuji-san was desperate to escape Nagano, that he was willing to do anything it took to leave CORVID, include faking his own death. If this photo tells the truth, then why...?”

The photo wrinkled in my hand.

“Why did he give me this?”

Dazai grew quiet. Noticing my hand was shaking, he gently took the photo from me and examined it.

“I think...” he said quietly, lowering his eyes and scanning the picture, “that this is a thank you present. A gift for the rookie detective who saved him from being killed by a car bomb in that dingy parking garage.”

His expression softened into a smile as he handed the photo back.

“It’s also an apology.”

“Apology...?”

Confused, I took the photo from him.

“For what?”

“You remember that conversation we had back there in the conference room?” Dazai asked, as I looked back up at him. “The one about the goodly apple? About whether or not the apple is still good when you finally learn the truth?”

I nodded.

“Well,” Dazai said, his deep brown eyes sparkling as he regarded me, “I think this is President Tanaka’s way of saying you were right. That Yamazaki Shuji was, in fact, a good person.”

He leaned forward, his expression gentle.

“While I was in Nagano, I got to talk to Shuji-san’s family,” he said. “Do you want to know the reason why he wanted to leave CORVID?”

He leaned forward and tapped the photo.

“I heard he left...”

The tip of his finger brushed Mrs. Yamazaki’s face. Dazai smiled.

“So that he could get married.”

I breathed in sharply.

As I stared at the photo in my hands, at Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling face, Dazai stood.

“I have one more present for you. And before you say you don’t want it,” he said, waving me off as I opened my mouth to protest, “It’s not from me.”

He placed a second envelope in my hands. Inside was a short letter and a beautiful bookmark in the shape of a flowering tree branch.

“It’s from Tomie-san’s family,” he said as I took out the bookmark. “They wanted to say thank you for saving her.”

“But I...”

I swallowed thickly. A lump was forming in my throat.

“I didn’t...”

I heard my own voice crack as I spoke. I hung my head.

“I didn’t save her,” I whispered.

As I stared at the photograph in my left hand, Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling face began to blur.

“She was still murdered a week later... How could they still think I saved her...?”

“Because you gave her an extra week.”

Something large and warm settled on my head. I felt Dazai’s fingers slipping through my hair as my eyes began to burn and sting.

“A full seven extra days that she was able to spend with the people she loved, who loved her in return.”

Dazai smiled, his expression tender.

“And those seven extra days may have meant more to them than you and I could ever know.”

** A single drop fell onto the photo, followed swiftly by another.

“See,” Dazai said, as one by one, the tears began to fall like spring rain onto Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki’s smiling faces.

“I told you that you’d need the handkerchief later.”

Taking the photo from me, Dazai reached over and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders as I broke down at last.

“In the end you were right, Kusunoki-kun,” he whispered, gently rubbing my back as I cried into my hands. “I guess all a goodly apple needs to be a goodly apple... is someone to believe in it.”

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai x oc #dazai x reader #yosano akiko #bsd dazai #bsd dazai osamu #dazai #dazai osamu

15 notes · View notes

ziracona · 4 years ago

Note

So last night I wound up reading Amanda's wiki and It made me kind of sad for her, because it very much sounds like she was suffering from stockholme syndrome of a kind there, to me, atleast. Which makes me wonder, what do you think of the pig/amanda? What's your Amanda like in your stories? Do you think she had any potential for redemption (with A LOT of work)? I guess I just wanna hear your thoughts on her character because ur always rly good at it?? - Sleepy

Yeah, whoever wrote the Saw wiki loves Amanda and hates Hoffman and it’s genuinely hilarious. They make a lot of assumptions (like that her motive for killing Adam after he won his game was mercy killing, which is a throughly unconfirmed opinion), and use the most sympthetic & extreme language possible. I’ve watched all the Saw films, and as a character, Amanda is a very enjoyable villain, but as a person? She’s a truly awful human being. (Side note—this typed last— So, mentioning certain Saw characters sends me flying into a rage like a D&D berserker, so this is gonna get angry as hell, but 0 of it is at you. I love you. This is at the Jigsaw squad. WHO I FUCKING HATE. Ahem. Anyway. Felt like the level of unbridled and sudden fury needed a heads up lol.) It’s not Stockholm syndrome. In Saw one, she’s a victim who is put in a reverse beartrap and forced to either die, or cut the key out of the stomach of a paralyzed by drugs but very alive (which she knew) other kidnap victim, whom she cut open and killed. After enduring that trauma and barely surviving, she immediately accepted John’s offer to join him. She was not forced, she was not tricked. He asked, and because she wanted to feel special and important, she agreed to inflict suffering she knew goddamn well the horrible level of on others first hand, and went willingly. She is self-centered to her core, and became dependent on and infatuated with John, and obsessed with his approval. She kidnapped Adam and Lawrence with him, who were kidnapped for fuckall reason (literally John just thought photography was pathetic) and for almost cheating on his wife (lol this was John’s ‘stated’ reason—his real reason was John is the world’s pettiest bitch, and Lawrence was the doctor who told him he had cancer. I’m not fkn kidding he’s that level of petty self-absorbed, self-righteous bastard) respectively. Then killed Adam after he won his game, which should have given him freedom but John reneged on like he always does like the pissy little bitch he is, Amanda killed him for reasons up to speculation. However, given John usually tests people who win a second time or tries to get them to join or some bullshit, it’s more plausible to assume her motive was seeing him as a threat than that it was mercy killing, and it’s only stated in-film to be an emotion based decision, not her actual movtive. Everyone’s opinion on this action is just that—opinion. With varying degrees of factual basis behind the educated level of educated guess.

In Saw 2, she helps John kidnap a bunch of drug addicts like herself who all got false arrests by the same officer at one time or another, along with a poor fucking 15 year old whose crime is having that cop for a dad. She then spent the next two hours watching people whose only crime was drug use, like herself, die horribly of organ deterioration, knowing at any time she could have stopped it and saved them all because she knew how to get the antidotes. Bitch even holds one girl in her arms and stokes her head and pretends to care about her while she hacks up deteriorated lung and blood and fucking dies, when at any moment she could have chosen to let her live. Literally no one should be more sympathetic to them than her. She knows how addicted to drugs feels, and the help you need. Anyway, she doesn’t, she lets them die and plays with them, and then when it’s to her, the 15 year old—who multiple times saves or helps her when hurt by other participants, and is nothing but kind—and one other man, the man shows up to kill her to get an antidote, and the poor fucking 15 year old child kills him with a saw to save her, traumatizing himself to a breakdown afterwords, and instead of being even thankful, she attacks and knocks him out, ties him up and attaches an oxygen tank so he won’t suffocate, and locks him in a fucking like tiny ass safe to be a game piece for another trial and leaves him there. His dad, who admittedly needs to serve jail time but isn’t a fucking murderer at least & does love his son, shows up distraught looking for his kid he’s afraid is dead, and she sneak attacks and takes him down, then leaves him chained up in a nasty lost bathroom to starve slowly to death, and doesn’t even do him the decency of telling him his kid isn’t dead. When he breaks his foot to get free and comes hobbling wounded after her, she sneak attacks again and he nearly wins, but she fucks up his broken foot and starts to leave, then comes back and beats him (she thinks) to death becuase he said she would never be Jigsaw, and she’s that petty and proud. Kid never gets to know what happened to his dad, and even alive, will definitely die young from the complications one, you know, gets from almost dying of chemical organ deterioration.

In Saw 3, the main victim is a man whose kid was lost in a hit and run. Jigsaw has Amanda kidnap his wife because she’s a surgeon and also was once not as sympathetic as he thought she should be when talking to him about his cancer at the hospital (I’m not even fucking exaggerating—side note, I will beat John Kramer to death myself with my huge fucking meat fists and laugh as I watch his bones crumble to dust). This poor bitch just lost a kid, then separated from her husband because he was a fucking mess consumed with revenge against the poor college kid who accidentally hit his son & totally withdrew from the world, and she wakes up with a collar filled with shotgun shells basically a 360 gun blow off your head collar deal on, and Amanda wheeling her around in the wheelchair she’s tied to. They tell her if she keeps John alive until the person being tested finishes his test, she can go free. The whole movie, Amanda keeps trying to convince John to kill the poor woman even though she complies just because she’s a throughly selfish, petty, conceited, self-pitying bastard with no regard for others, and wants this “Bitch” to die for fun. She feels she’s a threat for John’s attentions, and John isn’t even romantically inclined toward her, but she’s obsessed and doesn’t care. Amanda decides between Saws 2 and 3 that people aren’t fixable—even though she herself was supposedly “helped” by her Jigsaw game and this is hypocritical as fuck—and just starts straight up fucking torture murdering for fun. To the point even John thinks she has to be stopped. Like if John fucking Kramer thinks you’ve gone to far? Jesus help you because no one else can. She still does the torture, but instead of like, chopping off your own hand with a paring knife and getting to live, you chop it off and then still slowly get your head crushed between two beams being screwed closer and closer together. She kills Kerry for fuckall reason except she wants to (Kerry is a detective who did jack shit wrong—she was just on the case. It’s utter bullshit). Kidnaps her, straps a thing with hooks in her ribs that will tear out her rib cage when a timer runs out, and kill her that way, and had her hung up above the ground tied by chains, and tells her if she burns her hand up in a bottle of acid to get the key at the bottom which is hard period in the suit—never mind losing the hand—she can live. And Kerry fucking does, ruins her hand, unlocks the lock, and the suit won’t come off becuase the cunt rigged it. Then Amanda shows up to watch her die for fun just to smile smugly at her and watch her fear. Because she’s a fucking soulless, sadistic, evil, self-centered, self-important asshole.

Obsessed dad let’s a fucking bystander whose only crime was seeing a hit and run and running off freeze to death stripped naked and sprayed with water in a freezer slowly, saves a judge who gave too weak a sentence to the hit and run kid after the man begs, and then lets the poor fucking college kid who did it and already feels awful get his arms twisted till they snap off, legs twisted till the same, and then his head twisted around back so far it twist snap kills him. The rack is fucking beyond inhumane death. Amanda monitors this while threading Lynn (the poor doctor lady) for fun and crying over poow wittwe John who is dying of cancer (thank you god for doing what we couldn’t), and being miserable. Eventually, Hoffman sends her a letter saying if she doesn’t kill Lynn, he’ll tell John that she was one of the people there to steal drugs the night his wife got injured and miscarried (he probably already knew 🙄), and becuase Amanda cares about nothing more than Amanda, she fucking monolgauges at John about how special and sad she is how he needs to fix her and she’s a murderer but she doesn’t care because you know—she’s depressed : ( so she gets a pass for her self she’s UwU sad so her poor little crisis can have a massive torture body count bc she’s that special UwU and why is Lynn not gonna die even though she did her job!??? So unfair! No one changes kill them all but tell me I’m special I’m symapthetic because I’m sad and that makes it fun for me to tear people’s ribs out :’( —and then she fucking shoots Lynn becuase she cares less about an innocent woman’s life than the potential for John to be mad at her :’-( you know—such symapthetic stuff! And then John is like “Ok then fkn die :’(“ and Jeff/unstable dad/Lynn’s husband runs in and shoots her and then kills John.

Anyway! I fucking hate Amanda with a passion, and John. I cannot stand humans who hurt each other for fun, especially when they target those who most need help. But above all I cannot abide a person who is a sadistic, selfish, wholly self-absorbed fuck of a human, and refuses to take any responsibility for their actions or admit how fucking bad they are and has the goddamn nerve to act like a victim. Like if you’re going to be an evil son of a bitch, at least have the decency to admit it. If you’re a self-pitying “im uwu special and sad and better and more important than everyone else” —double points for “& becuase I am attractive I can get away with being a soulless shit without any being held accountable” from fandom or the media itself, tripple if from both—? I will kill you myself. I will rip out your eyes and chew on them. I will kill my self on a bomb to take you too. I will chew off my left arm for the sole purpose of getting to beat you to death with it. The wiki writer bends over back so bad they’re gonna need a brace the rest of their life to make her sound sympthetic, but they’re just a fan. She’s not. At all. She doesn’t have Stockholm, and I see people say “she got manipulated and used : (“ all the time, but without fail so far it’s people who think she’s hot and just want a reason to stan that because somehow a hot white woman with short hair even if canonically infatuated with John Kramer is somehow both a lesbian, and excusable for every horrible torture murder she ever did to feel uwu special in her depressed sad times. She wasn’t manipualated. It happened fast, she wasn’t courted into it, and she didn’t even hesitate to say yes. He offered her an out, made sure she was serious, and she stayed. And then she escalated to the point John took her out to stop her, because it was worse than what he wanted to do. I enjoyed her as a villain but as a person I fucking hate Amanda, and don’t really want to see her get another chance. Bastard doesn’t deserve one. I can’t say there’s no continuum in which she could never improve or be redeemed becuase who the fuck knows, and I like to think there’s a smidgen of hope for anyone, but that said, I do think the more evil you willfully do, the more you lose your humanity, and you can hit a point there’s just no person left. So. Anyway, hah, I don’t think she’s redeemable and frankly don’t want her redeemed. I want to burn her to death myself if I have to die that way too. Also! This was a wildly angry answer but none of it is directed at you. That wiki writer does make her sound symapthetic, I’ve read the wiki too—just I go into a blind rage any time John or Amanda is even mentioned and it takes me a half hour to come back down. I fly into a rage. If I ever go into anaphylactic shock, all a friend has to do is start mentioning the names of Saw villains and my adrenaline will start pumping like jet fuel and I’ll be fine. I just have a whole lot of righteously just rage at horrible awful self-righteous self-absorbed malicious manipulative dehumanizing self-pity bastards who take 0 responsibility for their evil or admit it, and Amanda & John are two at the way top of that rage list. It’s a dark but powerful headspace when I think of them. I become very powerful...but also very enraged. Lol, anyway, here’s the breakdown you didn’t need, but it is throrough!

#ask #Sleepy #anonymous #Saw #dead by daylight #Amanda Young #Saw 2 #Saw 3 #spoilers #side note! I have friends who /do/ love her as a character—I ain’t got beef with her existing or smth. or people who enjoy or love her #I like my fair share of horrible villains. I love Rafe from Uncharted 4 & he’s a certified piece of shit.#the only thing that gets me is people who try to be like ‘🥺 : ( but she’s a pwetty white woman w short hair which = lesbian /queen/! & makes #her exempt from all responsibility of torture murder. 💕💖 bc she’s so special and she was sad : ( I hc she dissociates so how can people not #love her if I pretend she doesn’t know what she’s done when canonically that’s not the case but I still think it? why do you not adhere to #my personal head canon making her sympthetic. : ( She’s pretty so she deserves 0 guilt or punishment. pwetty sad poor little baby girl : (#needs love. TuT No badness ever wum? she isn’t responsible for her own actions what u mean an adult is responsible for their choices even if #sad?? :0 No. I don’t understand you can love terrible characters so I have to snap my back in half trying to pretend she did nothing wrong’#because I have uhhhh seen it more than I wish despite my best efforts & im so goddamn tired :’)#sorry Sleepy this is like #one of my top 10 ‘I’m flyinn into a rage’ buttons I can’t help it I hear John or Amanda’s names & I see red #and can’t stop until the Justice and Judgement cards of life’s tarot deck are done punting me back and forth like a racquetball

14 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Been Having A Hard Time Adjusting

Summary: Alternative to the peaceful homecoming of Emily Prentiss - Aaron Hotchner never truly comes home with her.

Warnings: medical trauma, amputation, scarring, blindness, mental health, hallucinations, sexual assault, self harm, and just sad stuff

Part One, Part Two

They find the sweet spot where nothing exists past the tip of his nose. Where his mind slips and he dissociates, gets caught in the old wall just a few feet away. In the spackled off-white paint. His eyes unfocused and unmoving. A nestled warmth where he finds himself outside his mind and body and bathed in entire numbness. Compliant to their overwhelmingly constant touches and questions. Without the heavy thrum of sedatives in his veins, he’ll kill himself. Tears stitches back open with his searching fingers to find where to dig and rip into the skin to feel the warmth of his blood.

“Is there someone we can call?” he’s given up. His fight depleted to leave him bareboned and dying. “You didn’t list anyone in your files but if you give us a name…” He hadn’t listed anyone for a reason. He’d wanted his death to be as nonexistent, as unpleasant as his life. So that the others might be given the chance to move on. So that his son will not think of him. He’ll slip through the cracks and they’ll just forget. It could go unnoticed. Now, he’ll be left to go slowly. They can place feeding tubes and restrain his mobile limbs but that will not breathe life back into him. He’s not active by any means but he’s reserved and he’s lost. He doesn't want to stay. He’s done.

He’s been fighting his whole life but he’s never been good at knowing when to give up.

There had been life in him, initially. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped for this eventual returning to his life. His old life. It’s a complicated, convoluted thought that he carries for a week. His presence of mind comes back slowly and the drugs can not hide what he knows intuitively. He finds the wounds on his face, holds his fingers near his right eye and the sight is… The doctors tell him it was shrapnel and that he’s lucky he has some sight in it at all and that there is no perceived brain damage. He looks at himself in the mirror. Looks at this man that he can not recognize.

There is a mass of bruises and wounds on his face. His eye isn’t easy to notice the pupil blown wide and a well-meaning doctor tells him that the scarring he’s typically used to seeing will happen over time. Just as many of the wounds on his face, they just need time to scar.

They sit with him, run their fingers along the wounds as they guess at which ones will heal and which ones he’ll never get rid of. “This one looks like lightning,” a nurse tells him like he’s supposed to appreciate finally understanding what Harry Potter looked like. Does she think Jack will appreciate that? That he’ll look at his father’s face and see a hero and not a horrible mess of these warped scars?

It’s sick, he knows. He’d never think these things about anyone else. But he looks in the mirror and he sees someone that he hates.

And it all goes to hell when Dave shows up.

It’s… He doesn’t know what day it is anymore but he’s turned away from the door of the room. Propped up on pillows and looking out the small window in his room. The physical therapist had come in to move him, forced him to practice moving from the bed to the wheelchair, and then from the wheelchair to the recliner, a nurse had kindly pushed in. He’s left alone because he’s content like this, turned like a flower to the sun. Eyes closed and nearly forgiving, compliant.

“Hotch...”

He jerks at the sudden intrusion. Panicking at the sight of the man before him. It’s a little too much. “D--Dave?” he hasn't spoken in so long that his voice grates and cracks. Tears sting his eyes and he chokes, crying as Dave steps towards him. Sobbing as Dave bends down and shakes his head, his own eyes filling with tears. “You came,” he whispers, leaning into the palm that Dave presses to his cheek. Warm and rough and here and he hadn’t realized how lonely he was. How tired of his own mind…

Dave looks like he always does, carefully suspended between two ages. His hair greying near the temples but his eyes betraying him and his age. He’s tanned, dressed softly in a way that makes Hotch feel like a young cadet all over again. As if he’s marching into the bullpen to meet his hero. But here he is. Dave is right here.

“You’re too thin,” Dave whispers, stroking his cheekbone. “Being a pain in their ass, huh?” He smiles, fondly and softly and Hotch feels its warmth in his chest, in his face. He nods and smiles even harder when Dave brings their heads together. Rustling Hotch’s hair playfully. “It’s good to see you, Hotch.”

He nods, unable to trust his voice. He closes his eyes, leans entirely into the touch.

“Aaron?”

He hums.

“I brought you lunch, sweetheart.”

Eyebrows furrowing at the sudden change, he opens his eyes. The room is empty. He’s still in the recliner. He looks for Dave, going frantic as he realizes there is no proof of Dave ever having been here. But he must have just fallen asleep. “I’m not hungry,” he whispers and lays limply, bites down against his tears as they hook up to the supplements they pump into him. The only way they can think to keep him alive for just a little longer.

Dave keeps coming.

He shows up as Hotch’s falling asleep, whispers through the exhaustion about the next morning. Smiles and assures Hotch he’ll be here when he wakes up. He never is. Emily comes. She brushes her fingers through his hair and he asks her to tell him one more time the names of the countries that she visited as a child. The ones she loved best. He needs her to do the accents to squeeze his hand and throw her head back with laughter but she squints her eyes. She shakes her head and never answers. Never tells him.

“Who are you talking to?”

Hotch blinks, confused but not nearly enough. Some part of him knows what this is but he needs them so desperately that it keeps him from falling apart. He’ll lean into this delusion because it is all he has. “No one,” he whispers but they know. The nurses, the doctors, the therapist. They've noticed.

He doesn’t know why (he knows exactly why).

There are no thoughts leading up to it (it’s everything, it’s all too much).

No ideations (he just wants to sleep…).

It hurts. He rips the IV from his hand with his teeth, grunting at the pain as the needle comes free. He means to run away but he looks down at his leg - to where his leg should be - and he sees red. He feels red. Digs his fingers into the gauze, crying out when he finds the stitches. The hole of mangled flesh and the warmth of his blood coating his fingers. He doesn’t get very far. Isn’t capable of enough damage - not to him, at least. He wants to do worse. To hit and scream and throw himself somewhere dark and cold to die.

He passes out in a puddle of his own blood. Wakes enough when the nurses come in, dragging in crash carts behind them. The head of the bed falling and his hands being moved away. He’s floating. Not really there. He feels the odd little dance of his heart in his chest like it’s stomping quickly to a rhythm not quite right.

He wakes… alive, unfortunately. They restrain him - his two mobile limbs. His left arm still pinned with crap he doesn’t care enough to look at. It’s not as humiliating as it would have been just a year ago. He’s too drugged, too laden to care about the strap they have to put over his thighs to keep him from moving the stump of his right leg. His right hand is held to the bed by the wrist. He looks at it, occasionally, tests the flection of the fingers, and sleeps.

He’s restrained for three weeks but he doesn’t try anything. Doesn’t move or speak. Just looks at the wall. For three weeks they watch him - it’s suicide watch but unbothered. He’s more of a pacifist, anyhow, maybe it would be helpful to know that’s a return of character for him - to just wither away instead. For a week they have this grey area where he’s never left alone during the day and the restraints go back on during the night. They turn on the TV and try to get him to eat but he can’t or maybe he just won’t. He ignores them.

Dave doesn’t come back.

He’s just too tired to care anymore.

He’s there for a month and makes no progress.

“Agent Hotchner.” His physical therapist lets himself into the room. There’s no use in asking to come in, he won’t answer. “I was thinking we work on transfers today,” the other man informs him. He pushes the wheelchair into the room. There’s no point in working with prosthetics, he fluctuates in weight too dangerously to keep them to size. Besides, he is too weak. Too weathered and caved to hold himself up. His left leg is cramped in that bed. He isn’t’ strong enough.

Hotch doesn’t do what they ask but he goes numbly into their directions. Spurring to life like a machine before sputtering back out. He’ll sit up but his movement is mechanical.

He goes elsewhere because they can’t come here.

To Derek. Falling asleep after long cases in the backseat of whatever beat-up car Gideon rented, their shoulders rocking back and forth. Waking for just a moment either leaning, if not held, in Morgan's lap or to find the other man sleeping on him. The unspoken nature of the two of them. Laughing in the bullpen and the time that he carried Morgan across a field because they fell down from some rafters of a barn that Gideon warned them about. They made it to the driveway and laid atop one another called Gideon to come get them. He remembers cracking his eyes open when Gideon had stood over him, shaking his head. “The two of you are nothing but trouble.”

It distracts him from the pain and the way that he can still feel his right leg. They tell him it’s phantom pain but he feels it. He wakes in the middle of the night certain he can wrap his fingers around where an ankle or a calf would be. Is certain his toes hit the end of the bed. He moves to transfer from the bed to the wheelchair and he still tries to put either on a leg that isn’t there.

He’s stationary and that’s how they find him.

Penelope finds him on Tuesday and it feels far too much like the morning she spent frantically calling hospitals to find him. His name isn’t given - not public because he’s American and he’s in a veterans hospital because the federal government won’t fork over the money it’s going to take to airlift him home. Besides, he’s got no family listed. No one to call and raise hell to get him home. No one to care. It’s hard to say they did until just a week ago… Hotch was always good at hiding in the emotional sense but he’s never been good at hiding himself. It made his childhood miserable for reasons with much higher stakes than just children’s hide and go seek.

Dave goes because the plane ticket is nothing and his absence will be fine. Emily tries to come but he tells her to stay, makes her stay. Hotchs’ done all this for a reason and he fears the state he’s going to find him in. Never mind, Emily’s still dead to Hotch - still someone who is dying and needs protection. It’s too much.

Dave drives an hour to Washington D.C. and takes a one stop flight straight to Pakistan. It’s nearly eighteen hours and with too little sleep he arrives at the hospital at 3 p.m.

David had taken to Hotch effortlessly. He’s just that sort of person-- the sort that draws you in with their mystery, with the kindness they couldn’t be bothered to pretend it’s so challengingly genuine. That’s just how Hotch’s always been. Honest but somehow so intuitive, knew things you could never remember telling him but right still. Always says the right things without ever telling you a thing. Until you’re a decade into a friendship with him and you can’t remember if he’s from the east coast or if he’s from the south or maybe if he’s ever had a pet or even what his favorite color is. Not because you didn’t pay attention but because he’s careful. Never tells more than necessary and he’s got that perfected.

And it’s how Dave knows something isn’t right.

Because Hotch could be dying and he’d never bother you. He’d never put you off by asking for a thing.

“At the two week mark he got an infection, his right leg was severely damaged in the accident. The wound and the leg started to necrotize. His organs started to shut down. Sepsis set in--”

Dave’s eyes snap to the doctor’s, sepsis. He looks back to the man in question. Hotch had this way about him, the way he moved and breathed and lived like those old stop motion pictures. Every moment so carefully constructed to create this flowing motion, entirely soundless. Dave has always thought he looked like the grasshopper from James and the Giant Peach with his too long limbs. Thin and pliable. Now, he rests heavily. That grace and flow stolen from him.

“Agent Rossi?” Dave tears his eyes away from Hotch, forces himself to concentrate once again on the doctor. “He’s… He’s been experiencing some rather unpleasant signs of post-traumatic stress. He won’t speak to the therapists on staff--” The doctor looks hopelessly to the man so oblivious to them. “We had to perform a unilateral bk-- we-- I amputated his right leg just below the knee.” By that time, Hotch had lost his abilities to make these decisions himself. Mind ravished by fevers, he was hallucinating. Seeing people that weren’t there.

Dave feels a knot form in his throat as his eyes wander. Slowly over those thin shoulders, down the curve of his back and the bones betray, the bones that protrude through his thin t-shirt. Down to… to see where one foot sits in the rest and the other stops. Where they’ve tied the access material of his sweatpants off.

“He has a prosthetic,” the doctor sighs. “We’ve had to resize it twice. We can’t-- We can’t do it again.” The doctor looks so impossibly exhausted. “They have to be... the prosthetics are advanced but fluctuations in weight ten pounds, even, that throws them off. He can’t keep weight on him and so we size them and then he loses more weight and he’s not getting stronger.” And it’s pointless. He won’t walk on the damn things. Refuses aids and he could walk, by now he could likely run and leap and move but he refuses much else aside that damned wheelchair. “He’s damaged the nerves, the bone, that I don’t know if he’ll be able to use a prosthetic.”

Dave doesn’t need any of that explained to him.

He understands it all too well.

Dave shakes his head. Clearing his throat rouses through his trousers, pulls out his wallet, “if money is the issue--” He hands the man the cards Dave thinks he might need. “Size them,” he asks. “Size them one more time and let me take him home.”

The doctor shakes his head, “Agent, maybe… maybe I’ve betrayed your confidence here.” He sighs, “sir, he’s not well. He doesn’t speak. Not to a soul except in his sleep and he screams. In-- In agony, in fear. He wakes and he has no memory of this happening. Denies our therapy. He doesn’t eat. He sustains on intravenous fluids and a feeding tube which he once fought but now doesn’t even… He’s prone to chronic infections.” The doctor frowns sympathetically to Dave and he is truly upset with this prognosis. Of his patients' negligence to himself and it might be good to finally have someone here for the man but he can not be released. Not without imminent danger. It couldn’t even be recommended he make the trip to another hospital.

“Do what you can?” Dave pleads.

And the doctor wants to break down, to confirm that they have. Everything they can think of. From tough love to entirely too understanding. Everything they have ever been trained to do. He isn’t responding. But Dave isn’t hearing it.

Dave crouches down in front of Hotch, placing himself directly in his line of sight. “Hotch?” He reaches, slowly, up towards him because Dave knows to expect a flinch. No matter how many miles Hotch puts between himself and his childhood, it still comes back in the little moments like these. But Dave’s fingers ghost across cold, pale flesh and there is nothing. No flinch or recoil or even an in-take of startled breath. Only empty eyes.

He’s still so foolishly hopeful. There has to be something, an ember to send to life. He’s just in need of a little poking, the right words and the right commands and he’ll come back. “Hotch,” Dave calls once more. He smiles, cupping Hotch’s cold cheek in the palm of his hand. “Aaron,” he amends because, of course, Hotch won’t answer to his first name. It’s impersonal. Everyone knows it. Hotch is sacred. It’s something entirely their own.

Dave had assumed the doctor was a fool. What could this stranger know about his Aaron? But… this isn’t even his Hotch. This isn’t Hotch at all.

David Rossi has no idea who this man is but he’s not Hotch.

The physical therapist makes his way over, wheelchair pushed out in front of him as he edges closer. Looking between Dave and Hotch, trying to make sure the doctor’s okay for him to come is genuinely welcomed. Dave stands up out of the way, taking a short step back as he watches, numbly, the way the therapist talks to Hotch. The gentle way he kneels down and makes sure that Hotch’s eyes find him before he speaks again. “How are you doing, big guy? Up for the trip back?” he gets no answer, which Dave is growing to find less and less surprising.

“Alright,” the therapist answers as if Hotch has said something, like he’s even acknowledged the other man’s presence. “I think that pretty nurse--” the therapist locks the wheelchair and sets it up for ease transfer. “You remember?” the therapist asks all without breaking stride, like he’s having an active conversation with Hotch. “Well, I”m sure you remember, don’t you? You know, the pretty nurse Amy? Tall? Brunette? Damn, man, I swear I’m in love.” The therapist taps Hotch’s right knee and it spurs Hotch to life. He sits up and the therapist keeps talking as Hotch makes slow, lazy movements to push himself to the edge of the chair. “She asked me out for drinks tonight.” The therapist puts his arms under Hotch's, ready to step in and guide if Hotch can't do it himself. “I’m getting drinks with the hot nurse, isn’t that great?”

Dave watches silently.

Hotch maneuvers himself easily enough, his left hand is still covered in bandages, but he places his weight on one arm and one leg. The movement isn’t entirely sophisticated but it gets him where he needs to be - seated in the wheelchair without help from either of them men standing close.

The physical therapist kicks the breaks down. His smile startles Dave, mostly because of its brightness despite the dreary mood of everything else around them. The physical therapist grins at both of them - his spit and shine nearly a bit too much. “So,” the therapist hums. “Do I need to worry about this guy taking my spot as your best friend? I mean, we’re friends, right, but do we have to compete for the throne of best friend?”

Hotch’s head raises, glancing up at the therapist and Dave feels himself choke, as if punched at the look in his eyes. They stop, the therapist shooting Dave a glance before he kneels down. He places a hand on Hotch’s leg, the two of them eye-level with one another. The therapist clears his throat, solemnly offering, “he’s real, Aaron.” He glances up at Dave, motioning him closer.

Dave takes a stiff step closer - biting down to prevent himself from huffing an agitated breath at the younger man when he’s only beckoned closer. Until he’s kneeling down beside Hotch as well, his chest tight at the way Hotch’s eyes dart to him but seek comfort in the therapist.

“Who is this, Aaron?”

Hotch’s eyes dart to Dave, his dry lips parting but falling closed without an answer. He looks away, flushing with embarrassment at his inadequacy. Dave feels his throat tighten like a vice, begging someone to explain what’s happening here. He’d been told Hotch didn’t have any brain damage and that while nightmares and hallucinations had plagued his waking state, he was fine. Those were symptoms of PTSD and the hallucinations had abated and likely, the nightmares would too once his physical body is able to start to heal.

“You know,” the therapist prods. “Introduce me, Hotch.”

Dave moves, shifting as if to speak to beat Hotch to the chase and the therapist cuts him a look. He doesn’t say a word.

“Aaron,” the physical therapist takes his unharmed hand, trying to solidify Hotch’s attention. “Please? He’s real. Just like you and I, okay? You can tell me.”

Hotch turns his attention to his knees and Dave feels his conviction, feels the way Hotch has solidified his final opinion - Dave isn’t here. He looks at his lap, pulling his hand back to pick at his nails. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. He can’t bring himself to say it. Doesn't want to look at Dave and have him disappear again. Doesn’t want to feel his heart get broken again when Dave disappears.

Dave is stopped, he means to move forward to maybe grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Hotch does know. Of course he knows. Dave has known him since he was a twenty-something punk-ass kid with untailored suits and a shitty Windsor knot. He’s his best friend…

“Okay,” the therapist caves and shoots Dave a look that conveys all that it needs to: he’s to fall back. “That’s okay,” the therapist assures him. It’s pointless, Hotch has worked himself to the point of tears over what Dave had thought was a simple question and Dave feels like he’s been kicked in the head.

They go on without another word. None of them speaking. Dave watches Hotch cry, a few soft tears that trail down his face while he glares down at his lap. He wants to say something. To reassure Hotch or to remind him. Hell, anything is better than this silence that they’ve fallen into.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner

25 notes · View notes