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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 11 months

Text

It's Not Funny

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, f!reader

Summary: When you are kidnapped by the Joker, Jason is frantic to get you back. But once he finds you, things might be worse than they first appear....

Word Count: 1590

TW: angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, poison

Notes: A big thanks to @writercole who requested "Jason Todd with the words afraid, funny, and sleep." Not sure if this was what you were expecting, but I really like what I came up with! I hope you do too! 🥰

Jason tears open another door, curses loudly as he sees the empty room, and takes off down the hall for the next door. He has to find you. Soon. The Joker had grabbed you on your way home from work and there was no telling what he had done to you since then. And if he is too late…

Wrenching open the next door, he freezes as he notices a motionless body crumpled in the corner of the room. The person’s back is towards the door, but he immediately recognizes your work uniform. He is across the room in three long strides, yanking off his helmet, dropping to his knees and sliding the last few inches towards your body. As gently as he can, he rolls you over and lifts you into his lap.

Physically, he can’t see anything wrong with you. Your hair is slightly messier than usual, your makeup is smudged and running (presumedly from your tears), and the sleeve of your uniform is slightly torn. But otherwise, you look like you could be sleeping peacefully back home in your shared bed.

Running his fingers across your cheek, Jason murmurs, “Baby, please wake up. Come on, open those gorgeous eyes for me. Or how about one little smile?” But you don’t stir. You just hang limply in his arms, your head tilted back towards the ceiling.

Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Jason tries again. “Hey…. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, but right now, I need you. I need you to wake up and tell me you’re alright. Please.”

He buries his face in your neck, breathing in the lingering traces of the perfume he got you for your birthday. He remembers laying in bed this morning watching you get ready and smiling at him in the mirror as you applied it. Had that really only been this morning? The Joker had only taken you a little over an hour ago, but it seems to Jason that anything that came before he got the call was a lifetime ago.

“J..Jay?”

Jason’s head snaps up. You had managed to lift your head slightly and are staring at him through hazy, half-lidded eyes. He has never felt such relief in his life. He presses his lips firmly against yours before muttering, “Oh, there’s my girl. God, you scared me for a minute there.”

You had kissed him back almost on instinct but now blink in confusion as you struggle to sit up. “Wh-what happened? Where are we?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was at work. I had just finished my shift and was walking home when—” Your eyes double in size as you bolt upright, the terror of remembering what had happened clearing the fog still clinging to you. “Oh my god! He found me! The Joker! Jason, he grabbed me when I was just outside the apartment.”

Your fingernails dig painfully into Jason’s arm to the point they break skin, but Jason ignores it. Instead, he runs his hand over the back of your head and softly murmurs, “I know. I’m so sorry, baby. He left a message for Gordan who then called Bruce. That was about an hour ago. I tried to find you sooner, I’m sorry.”

He started to hang his head, but you tilt his chin up. “No, it’s okay. You found me. That’s what matters.” You let out a little hiccupy laugh of relief but then your face falls. “But how did he find out about me? I thought we were careful. No one outside of your family were supposed to know we were dating.”

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I swear to you, I will find out and it will be dealt with.”

You flinch at the cold darkness in his tone, but don’t ask him to elaborate. You tolerate his more aggressive approach to vigilantism, but Jason knows you don’t approve. However, whoever tipped the Joker off put your life at risk. And for that, they would pay.

Letting out another small nervous half-sigh, half-laugh, you shift in Jason’s arms. “Can we get out of here? I don’t know where he went or when he’s coming back.”

“Of course.” Jason helps you carefully to your feet. “I’m gonna take you to the Batcave just to have Alfred look you over and make sure everything is alright.”

“I’m really tired. Can you just take me home?” You lean your head against his shoulder as if to illustrate your point.

Jason kisses the top of your head, takes your hand, and leads you towards the door. “It won’t take long. Just draw some blood, a quick once over, then we can go home. But I need you to stay awake until then. I can’t have you falling asleep on my motorcycle.”

You laugh, the sound loud and boisterous. But almost immediately, you freeze, your hand slipping from Jason’s as you stop walking. In a tiny, quivering voice, you whisper, “Jay…”

The tone of your voice has him on edge. Turning back to you, he asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

“That wasn’t funny.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, so? I didn’t mean for it to be.”

“And I didn’t mean to laugh.”

Just then, another loud chuckle escapes your lips and you clamp your hands over your mouth, your eyes wide in shock. Jason’s blood runs cold as the truth of the situation dawns on him. Taking your face in his hands, he examines you closely. “Did he spray you with anything at any point?”

“Um, yeah. He brought me here and he went on a long monologue–” snort “–but I don’t really remember it. Then he sprayed something in my face and–” giggle “–I passed out. The next thing I remember I was–” chuckle “–waking up in your arms.”

A loud burst of laughter tears from your mouth. It sounds like your normal laughter but there is a slight hysteric, fearful undertone to it that sends a chill up Jason’s spine. Your lip begins to tremble as you gaze up at him through damp eyes and whimper, “Jason, what’s happening to me?”

Jason didn’t know what to say. While he has figured out what the Joker did to you, he isn’t sure how much to reveal. How much will just add to your already obvious terror. So, instead, he says, “It’s gonna be okay. Just let me call Bruce, and he’ll be able to fix this. Wait right here and I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You nod as another fit of laughter overtakes you, your face momentarily morphed into a wide, toothy grin. But as soon as it passes, the fear returns. However, this time it doesn’t last long. Even before Jason can walk away to make the call, you begin to laugh again. There isn’t much time….

Jason squeezes your hand then hurries off to the far corner of the room. There, he pulls out his phone and quickly dials a number from memory. The phone begins to ring. And ring. And ring.

He curses to himself and mutters under his breath, “Answer your phone, goddamn it.”

Finally – finally – he hears the phone pick up followed by a gruff, “Anything?”

“I found her. We’re in the abandoned office building next to the river by the park. But you need to get here now.” From behind him, the laughter has become almost constant. And in those few brief seconds when it stops, he can hear you sobbing in fear.

“Did he hurt her?”

Jason takes a deep breath as he tries to steady his voice. “She was dosed with Joker venom.”

Silence. Then, after a beat, “Which version?”

“I don’t know. But even if it’s the non-lethal stuff—” Jason can’t say it. He has seen the horrific aftermath of the victims of the Joker venom more times than he cared to remember. And even those who survived it usually ended up with brain damage or worse if they didn’t receive the antidote in time. “Will you just get your ass over here? I know you always carry the cure with you for emergencies.”

“I’m on my way. But Jason–”

“I know,” he snaps, his voice cracking. “Just get here.”

He hangs up, turns back to you, and his heart sinks. Your hands are clasped tightly over your mouth yet the constant almost inhuman laughter can still be heard spilling from your lips. Jason can see the first signs of the manic, unnatural smile the serum causes starting to peek out from behind your hands, though it seems impossible for someone to be able to smile that widely. And your eyes… your eyes are the worst part. Because without the smile, all Jason can see is the absolute terror shining there. Unable to stop laughing long enough to speak, your eyes plead with him to help you as tears stream down your face but until Bruce arrives he knows there’s nothing he can do.

Walking over, he pulls you into his arms. Your entire body is shaking with the force of your laughter. He tries to hold you still as much as he can, but it does little to help. Soon, you’ll start convulsing and gasping for air, but the venom won’t let you stop laughing enough to breathe properly. If Jason doesn’t get you help by then, you’ll suffocate on your own laughter. Just one more victim on the Joker’s ever-growing list.

Squeezing his eyes as tightly as he can, Jason silently begs.

Please, Bruce. Hurry.

Taglist: @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @zebralover, @lolzghost, @thefictionalcharacterssimp, @venomsvl, @sugarysweetsandpainfulteeth, @your-friendly-neighborhood-al, @hellfire-fan-club, @blue-aconite

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 11 months

Text

It's Not Funny

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, f!reader

Summary: When you are kidnapped by the Joker, Jason is frantic to get you back. But once he finds you, things might be worse than they first appear....

Word Count: 1594

TW: angst, hurt/comfort, kidnapping, poison

“J..Jay?”

You had kissed him back almost on instinct but now blink in confusion as you struggle to sit up. “Wh-what happened? Where are we?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jason shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I swear to you, I will find out and it will be dealt with.”

Letting out another small nervous half-sigh, half-laugh, you shift in Jason’s arms. “Can we get out of here? I don’t know where he went or when he’s coming back.”

“Of course.” Jason helps you carefully to your feet. “I’m gonna take you to the Batcave just to have Alfred look you over and make sure everything is alright.”

“I’m really tired. Can you just take me home?” You lean your head against his shoulder as if to illustrate your point.

You laugh, the sound loud and boisterous. But almost immediately, you freeze, your hand slipping from Jason’s as you stop walking. In a tiny, quivering voice, you whisper, “Jay…”

The tone of your voice has him on edge. Turning back to you, he asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

“That wasn’t funny.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, so? I didn’t mean for it to be.”

“And I didn’t mean to laugh.”

Jason squeezes your hand then hurries off to the far corner of the room. There, he pulls out his phone and quickly dials a number from memory. The phone begins to ring. And ring. And ring.

He curses to himself and mutters under his breath, “Answer your phone, goddamn it.”

Finally – finally – he hears the phone pick up followed by a gruff, “Anything?”

“Did he hurt her?”

Jason takes a deep breath as he tries to steady his voice. “She was dosed with Joker venom.”

Silence. Then, after a beat, “Which version?”

“I’m on my way. But Jason–”

“I know,” he snaps, his voice cracking. “Just get here.”

Squeezing his eyes as tightly as he can, Jason silently begs.

Please, Bruce. Hurry.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @tavners, @merlehs, @mayhem24-7forever, @sunshineflowerchild789, @wildbornsiren, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 8 months

Text

Number 30

TW: Blood, to some extent: gore, somewhat detailed description of injury, murder, angst, smoking, hero is a minor, knife usage, bruises, restraints, (I promise this is [hopefully] not as bad as it sounds)

Notes: No, I have not died. Apparently, I do not die easily. Enjoy tho < 3

Word count: 3.9 k

Today had been uncharacteristically dull for the villain so far. He wondered if he'd described it properly, though, because it had been like that for the entirety of a week. And sure, he wanted the fearsome reputation and days where no one was around to irritate him, but if total, action-free normalcy was his desire, he could have easily stuck with an average, brilliantly staid, white collar job.

And sure enough, fate had heard his pleas, and he found his lip involuntarily curling upwards into a lopsided smirk as he felt someone attempt to sneak up on him.

With his usual deadly efficiency, the criminal had grabbed their arm attempting to twist it backwards, almost successful until the figure broke out of his vice-like grip. They were much smaller than he was; a little short and somewhat scrawny, but the villain knew better than to underestimate someone simply because of size. However, his opponent wasn't just small, they were young. From the attempt to make the grunt sound a lot rougher than it actually was, he realised he was fighting a teenage boy.

Not being the sentimental type; the hero's age hadn't sparked a sudden pang of sympathy in the villain, but it was a little disconcerting fighting someone he practically saw as a child. Functionally though, that simply meant that the fight would end a lot faster than he'd anticipated.

The villain aimed a kick to the teenage hero's shins, only for him to dodge narrowly and counter with a kick of his own. It was barely strong enough, only slightly irritating against the older man's leg. The criminal simply slammed his fist into his adversary's face, leaving a trail of dull, purple bruises lining the cheekbone, more to assuage his pride than anything else. And the villain was no sadist, but it was just slightly amusing listening to the little hero grumble a filthy curse under his breath.

"Better watch your tongue," he mock-chastised, as he punched the kid's nose.

"Bloody hilarious," the teen answered dryly, having the audacity to roll his eyes, ignoring the sting in them as he maneuvered his body away from the villain's reach, managing to aim a harsh punch to his lip, and when the villain's fingers reflexively trailed down his lip, they came away stained with crimson.

For a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the hero's own shock matched the villain's, but while the little bastard's expression turned ever so slightly more smug as one of his eyebrows arched subtly, the muscles in the villain's face worked to pull it into a dark scowl.

His arms snaked around the younger's neck in a relentless death grip, the hero kicking and flailing uselessly in his grasp. "Playtime's over, short stack. Whose sidekick are you? Wouldn't want to break some hero's little toy," he growled, his hold still rough on the teen, but loosening only slightly so that he could speak.

"No one's. . .sidekick," he barely managed to breathe out as he gasped for air, taking in greedy breaths.

"Don't play martyr," he snapped, tugging slightly at the hero's hair, not meant to be awfully painful, rather just enough to pull him out of whatever foolish trance he was attempting to immerse himself in.

"I'm. . .not, I just st-started out as a hero. Sixteen's the youngest age."

"Like hell you're sixteen," the villain scoffed, even though to him that age seemed absurdly young to be anywhere that wasn't high school. He knew for a fact the hero wasn't lying because knowing the agency, they were just that desperate.

Or more accurately, just that scummy.

He let him go, the hero practically stumbling and slamming into the building behind him, wheezing and gasping for air, and yet there was a fiery look of absolute loathing burning in the grass green eyes as he held the villain's gaze for a few moments before storming away.

Maybe he wasn't feeling insanely surly, but a quick shower and being back home had lightened his mood just slightly. But for the most part, the villain wasn't sure what to make of the interaction. He wasn't so weak-willed that the hero's little lucky moment of bravado had intimidated him, letting out a cocky snort as he dabbed at his lip with a piece of cotton soaked in antiseptic, the familiar burn crawling across his skin still slightly irritating.

And sure, he wasn't exactly elated at having practically beaten up a kid, but maybe not every fight had to be rewarding. Then again, wasn't like most criminals would actually bat an eye over his age. If anything, he was doing him a favour showing him exactly what he was up against. The villain assumed that this was another minor irritation that would melt away as he pushed himself through rudimentary tasks and then slept through it.

And as the sky darkened into an inky black and stars littered the dark canvas, and he pushed himself into his sheets and let his exhausted mind finally rest, he'd proved his own theory correct once again. Even more so as the start of the next day went by as normally as it would for well. . .a villain.

But most theories had to be tested time and time again till they either persevered or shattered into a million shards like glass, and unfortunately for Villain, the latter was the punishment he was condemned to. Sure, he wasn't particularly appreciative of yet another slow day, but his daily dose of sanity-preserving action really didn't need to be teenage hero shaped.

Taking in a long drag from his cigarette and letting out phantom shapes of smoke in an impossibly slow exhale, an inconspicuous side-eye was the only acknowledgement he showed of the little bastard's presence.

And of course, as he predicted, the young menace didn't seem to appreciate the blatant trampling on his ego that the older man was handing to him, inching closer till he was practically in the villain's face.

"What? Got lost looking for your babysitter? I'm not even asking for trouble now," he drawled coolly as he breathed in the tobacco smoke, the familiar burnt taste numbing the inside of his mouth again, not that he cared much.

"You wouldn't be dressed like this if you weren't asking for trouble," the hero snapped back, raising a half-skeptical, half-annoyed eyebrow and gesturing to the villain's costume.

The snort the man let out was genuine. Sure, the kid was an absolute pain, but in all honesty, he had a point. He quickly sobered up from the mildly amused expression just to remind him he wasn't here to screw around. "What I mean is, I'm not really interested in playing with children. So in the nicest way possible, piss off, kid."

"Why'd you let me go yesterday?" the hero asked, aiming a punch to to the villain's stomach that he effortlessly countered, throwing his cigarette in the snow and crushing it under his boot.

"Because I felt like it? What would I gain from decking a goddamn kid? I've got better crap to do. The real question here, is why did you come back to try and fight me, Superbrat?" he countered flippantly, aiming a kick to the hero's shins.

The kid's eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth in such a manner that anyone would assume it physically pained him to answer. "Because you actually took me seriously."

At this, the criminal outright cackled. "You call that taking you seriously? Have you ever been in a fight before?" he scoffed, aiming a particularly harsh kick to his abdomen, knocking him to the ground. "This is taking you seriously. Don't like it much?"

Instead of the petulant remark he expected, all he received was a heavy wheeze as the hero tried and failed to lift his form up. And just before he could sneer at him, his vision was met with a violent spurt of crimson from a nasty gash across the boy's form, staining the snow a deep red as it seeped out across torn flesh, shredded layers of angry skin and muscle clumsily sutured to cause more harm than good, probably the kid's handiwork.

"I didn't do this to you," the villain half-whispered, unable to completely mask the horror in his tone.

"W-whatever," the hero wheezed out as he let out a weak, shuddering breath, biting down harshly on his bottom lip to stop himself from howling out in agony, still letting out a sharp hiss.

As if on instinct, the villain scooped his form up, surprised at how little he weighed in his arms. He himself had been on the skinnier side at that age, but he reckoned he wasn't this light. He tried his hardest to staunch the bleeding with one hand, muttering curses under his breath as his feet worked mechanically to get him home.

"Happy?" the hero breathed out, smirking almost cruelly at him as his head lolled back and forth, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"No," he wanted to scream, but all that came out was a frustrated snarl from the back of his throat, desperate and almost animalistic in nature. He had no bloody idea what he was doing. But he didn't think of that. The hows and the whys were pushed to the back of his mind, far away from the conscious parts of it, his actions all purely reflexive.

If he wasn't so frantic, maybe the villain would have been irritated at the blood seeping into his leather couch, but right now, his attention was fixated on the still unconscious teenager as he cleaned out his wound as thoroughly as he could and started stitching him up.

And of course, mid-stitch, he just had to wake up again, his eyelashes fluttering gently as his eyes cracked open, and he let out a sharp gasp and the villain had to force his shoulder down as he tried to jerk away. "Stay down," he barked, like it made a difference.

But to his luck, the hero's gaze flitted down to his abdomen noticing the needle and while he hadn't completely relaxed, at least he'd stopped squirming. If he was being honest, he was surprised the kid was still holding out through the process, trying his hardest to release the tension in his muscles so as not to mess up the process. His jaw was clenched, his face set in a sombre expression that made him look years older than he really was. But his eyes held a look of fear and mistrust that mirrored the villain's younger self to disturbing degrees.

Still, he kept his attention on the wound and after what felt like eons he was finally done. He backed away, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, looking the wound over before cleaning up and washing his hands in the kitchen.

When he walked back in, he was met with the hero's stern expression. "What the hell?" he attested, raising a confused eyebrow.

"So manners weren't included in your agency training?" The villain raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

The hero let out a laboured breath in response, his eyes practically boring into the floor before turning towards the villain. "Why'd you help me?" he questioned, rubbing his left temple and part of his forehead.

"I'm not entirely opposed to killing, but I need a good reason to get my hands dirty. You aren't one. And you know damn well why a hospital is too big of a risk," he replied evenly.

"Don't you think helping a hero would soil your reputation? They'll think you're going soft." An involuntary shiver racked the hero's form, his current lack of a shirt being the culprit as he continued trying to melt his headache away with his fingers.

"And you'll go telling? You really think I got here without knowing how to hide my dirty laundry? If I kiss up to the soulless bastards, the others will think I'm disgusting for murdering some child. If you can't play by your own rules, you might as well already decide what you want on your gravestone. God, why am I still talking to you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut.

The kid said nothing, shivering again and staring at the floor. Manipulative little bastard. The villain tossed him a blanket draped on an arm chair as flippantly as he could before walking out.

Soft. He didn't like that word, didn't like its implications. He didn't like how the hero, with all his childish naivety, was still sharper than he expected. Sure, he was a kid, a bloody injured kid technically at his mercy, but the magnitudes of his trust in the hero and that of the ridiculous distance he could throw him had an awfully large difference between them. If he could spare this kid once and then nurse him back to health, what was to guarantee that with enough time he would melt into something unbearably weak and malleable? He tugged at the roots of his hair in frustration, wishing his mind could shut up for even a moment.

It looked like the kid had even managed to ruin a steamy shower for him.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, walking in, now in fresh clothes, not bothering with a mask since the hero practically knew where he lived now.

His head snapped up sharply, his shoulders tensing in apprehension underneath the blanket. "I don't know. We've never met," the boy answered with perfect emotionlessness, and the villain despised how well it mirrored his own attitude. The hero felt more like a pseudo-adult than a kid.

"Okay." He wasn't going to pry any further, and it seriously didn't matter to him if the hero was lying. But he imagined he wasn't. The kid didn't have the slightest idea what a sense of self-preservation was. But was it really the villain's job to give him one? To do any of this?

He found himself in the balcony again, his elbows resting on the railing, another cigarette between his lips. He was twenty-five, not intending on having any kids now, if ever, and here he was. "Just a merciful mood," he thought. That was all it was. The hero would recover, they would go on their separate ways and hopefully never encounter each other again.

Right now, however, he realised he was going to have to grit his teeth and play pretend parent for the little brat. "Go clean up. Upstairs, bathroom on the left. If you pop your stitches, I'm not bloody redoing them again, don't care how much you bleed out," he bit out tersely.

He was lucky he still had enough food left over from yesterday because even though he normally didn't mind cooking, he was in no mood for it today.

It wasn't so long before the hero was done showering, and in some of the villain's clothes, comically loose on his frame. "I swear if you ask me some dumb question about the food being poisoned, I just might do it for real," he warned, something entirely feral in his eyes. And if the hero had known the man better, he would've known the gesture was purely theatrical.

"Some place you've got," the hero attested, breaking the tense silence between them.

The villain couldn't help as his lip curled into a lopsided smirk. "I'd love to tell you that I'm in this field purely for my moral stance, or lack thereof, but the pay is just too sweet to ignore."

"Alright. No henchmen or servants to do your bidding?" He raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively.

"Nah. If you work alone, no one can stab you in the back or slack on the job and screw everything up for you."

The hero let out something between a tired sigh and a laugh, and the tension in the atmosphere resurfaced again, thick and uncomfortable but not at all unfamiliar.

The rest of the evening they'd spent in total avoidance of each other until the villain had practically thrown himself into his own bed, after giving the hero a room to sleep in. He'd tossed and turned so many times he'd lost count, the dark corners of his mind tormenting him with disturbing ideas of the consequences of his decision. He'd known he was paranoid, but was it really this severe?

His tired, red-rimmed eyes had cracked open only a little after sunrise, the jolt of waking up with a start infuriating to him. Grumbling under his breath, he threw a robe on his form, too lethargic to even put a shirt on, and almost instinctively he slowly made his way upstairs. . .

. . .to find the hero's room empty, his clothes on the bed, and just like he'd suspected as he went downstairs, the dirty suit missing along with its owner.

Well, the kid was out of his hair now, left to face the consequences of his own pathetically foolish decision. Any lingering feelings of disappointment in him had simply and efficiently been ignored as he went on with his day, completely teen hero-free.

"Just a merciful mood," he'd reminded himself every time he'd wondered if the hero would randomly show up and attempt to fight him again. And the day turned into weeks and then into almost a month or two, he wasn't counting, and the hero no longer disturbed the peace of his thoughts.

Until he didn't. . .

All it took was an inconspicuous text notification he wouldn't have even noticed if the phone wasn't in close proximity of him. Other Villain was at it again with trying to piss him off, subtle threats, trying to ruin his plans, all sorts of stupid garbage in a series of pathetic attempts to get back at him.

Well, he would give him exactly what he wanted, as a last wish of course. Kindness was a virtue.

The drive there felt longer than it actually was, but everything felt slow when he was pissed anyway. But there wasn't any reason to care about speed, was there?

He must've thought he was so clever, like Villain hadn't bypassed his fortress's crappy security a million times before, as he was doing right now. And he'd finally found the room where the prick was cowering away, kicking the door in effortlessly.

"It's playtime bast-"

His words were immediately cut off and caught in his throat as his gaze flitted over from Other Villain's sick, smiling face to Hero's diminished figure. If he'd believed the hero looked terrible before, there was a whole new level of hell written all over him, bruises on every inch of skin that his tattered suit exposed, tried blood caked over his lips and matted hair, the golden blond now a dishwater gray with filth. He was bound in ropes, and still through it all, his jaw was set, the muscles of his face tensed perfectly in place just not to show emotion.

And yet his eyes betrayed him as he looked at the villain apologetically, doing everything in his power to stop himself from breaking down in tears.

"Listen, whatever the hell you want, leave the kid out of it," the villain growled.

Other Villain merely let out a soft, genuinely amused chuckle. "So you do care for him. Well, you'll be happy to know that even after all this," he tugged on the hero's hair harshly, and the villain wondered if he could grit his teeth any harder, "he blatantly refused to give me your location. I'd almost thought you'd kill him, but when I saw you take him, and then he was back alive and well, I figured it out."

Of course. He was nothing, if not a cowardly rat. He couldn't possibly let Villain know he was being followed, rather deciding to drag him right here in his territory.

"Close your eyes, kid."

"Bu-"

"Close your goddamn eyes," he snarled, and the hero obliged.

He knew the kid could still hear everything, but it was better than nothing, no matter how much he hated it.

Once again, everything the villain was doing was reflexive, but this time, an inexplicable rage took over his limbs, spreading like wildfire all over his body, something akin to poison in his bloodstream.

He mercilessly kicked the other man down, and once he'd gotten up, the villain's switchblade was in his thigh, twisting it through the skin and flesh and tearing through it with reckless abandon, blood spurting everywhere.

He couldn't even hear Other Villain scream, seeing only red both literally and figuratively, as he pulled his knife out and pushed it back in so many times he lost count, till he finally pulled away from the other criminal's mangled corpse, bone and blood vessels sticking out grotesquely in some places, his breathing laboured and his shoulders tensed as though he were no more than a wild animal.

He wasted no time cutting through Hero's restraints. "Didn't I tell you not to bloody play martyr?" he choked out, pulling the kid into his arms as the knife clattered to the ground.

"Why'd you do it?" he said softly.

The hero had stiffened at first at the contact, but now he was practically leaning into the villain with all his weight, barely able to hold himself up as he shook like a leaf in the older man's arms, slowly reciprocating. "You c-could've let me d-die," he breathed out, tone uneven and shaky as the villain felt the fabric of his costume get progressively damper. "You didn't. Yeah, I ran away, I freaked. I can barely trust. . .people I'm supposed to trust, let alone a villain, and I'm sorry, didn't mean to screw you over."

"It's okay," he replied carefully, tears streaming down his own face silently, awkwardly patting the hero's hair. He was still fairly new to the whole affection thing. "Let's go home." The villain waited till the hero pulled away before gesturing for him to follow.

One year later. . .

"I take it your date went well seeing as you're back this late?" the kid, now seventeen, and a considerable few centimetres taller asked, sprawled out lazily on the couch, practically his now as much as it was the villain's.

"Was a bloody disaster actually," he said through a snort, sliding his jacket off on a chair, a bit too lazy to change right away.

The teen let out an amused hum, gesturing for him to explain further.

"She tried to poison my drink. Shame she was pretty cute, though." He sat himself down next to the vigilante (he still fought crime, but he selectively ignored what the villain was up to. . .), letting out a tired sigh.

"And you just. . .called it a day?"

"I told her if she led me to her employer, I wouldn't shoot her. never go anywhere unarmed if you can. See, I spilled my drink on the floor. And it turns out she works for a bastard, and well. . .hungry dogs aren't loyal. So he's dead, and I'm even with my sugar-sweet date."

The hero couldn't help it as his smile turned into a laugh, the villain soon following suit. Instinctively, the villain wrapped his arm around the younger's shoulders, mirroring the kid's grin.

Whatever that was between them may have been far from perfect. Sometimes, there were days when they'd accidentally aggravated each other's older wounds, days when they just didn't have the right words and days where they didn't fully understand. But maybe they didn't have to all the time, maybe they just had to try. They still had time, much to learn and a lot to figure out. But at least they knew for a fact you can find a family in people you can choose.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi@those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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awkward-sultana · 8 months

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"I've been carrying it with me for some time…"

#Muhteşem Yüzyıl #Magnificent Century #mcedit #weloveperioddrama #perioddramaedit #period drama #perioddrama #historical drama #Muhtesem Yuzyil #Lesson For Firuze #Make Way We Are Waiting for a Holy Wa #Hurrem Sultan #Leo #Blood tw #poison tw #death tw #grief tw #Awkward-Sultana

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localcanadiancryptid22 · 10 months

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Literally if poison is bad then why does it taste so yummy???.

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forthewinn · 8 months

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@savingthrcw || “No. you can’t go, it’s too dangerous.”

"That's exactly why I have to go." Winn replied as he placed a hand on the tactical gear that Alex had brought him. "CADMUS is targeting aliens, which means you guys have to stay here. The gas they are releasing is going to kill you if you inhale it. It's harmless to humans." Or at least, they all hoped that it was. "You would do this for me, you've done this for me. Let me do this for you."

#savingthrcw #look! im a badass (season 2 verse)#poison tw

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another-whump-sideblog · 2 months

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I’d kill someone to see any form of Jane whump

YES YES YES

I made a new friend today.

I've been avoiding getting close to people for a while. It hurts too much when they die. But being alone hurts too, so really it's just a matter of choosing what's slightly less painful, and today it was making a friend.

He's a scientist. He asks me lots of questions about my powers, and some of them are things I haven't even thought about! I think he wants to figure out how to become immortal himself. It would be nice to not be alone, but I don't think it would be a good idea. I think he's really ungrateful for the fact that he can die, that he has an emergency exit if things get too bad, but I don't try to convince him. If he decides he doesn't want to be immortal, he might decide he doesn't want to talk to me anymore, and he's interesting. I don't want to stop talking to him.

We run lots of tests. I've done most of them before, but he seems to like figuring stuff out on his own instead of trusting my word, which is fair. I show him how if I cut off a limb, some force always pulls it back to where it should go, increasing until my body is whole again. We cut off one of my fingers and lock it in a safe. It takes twenty minutes for the force to increase enough to break through the safe walls.

"Fascinating." He says. I like it when he says that. I like to pretend he thinks I'm interesting and not just my powers.

Eventually, I tell him I think my blood is important to the immortality somehow. Usually the way my healing works is reversing wounds, but I seem to just make more and more blood the moment I need it, no matter how starved or dehydrated my body is. I can't produce new tears if my body doesn't have enough water, but I can always, always produce more blood.

He immediately wants to have a transfusion of my blood. I tell him no, of course. Eventually, he convinces me we could try watering a plant with my blood to see what happens. Plants can't suffer from being immortal, they don't have feelings or thoughts, so I agree.

At first, it doesn't seem to be working. I don't think it will work, but we do have access to infinite amounts of my blood, so we just keep doing more and more. I make sure it only ever goes into the plant, and he has no opportunity to transfuse any into his own body. When I think the plant is more likely to die from being in a pot so filled with liquid than it is to become immortal, we do the daily test, and... it works. He cuts a tiny piece off of one of the leaves, but it never falls. He cuts off a bigger piece, and we can see with even more clarity how it reattaches.

Oh, I don't like that at all. I don't like the look on his face when it finally works, I don't like that my blood has the potential to hurt people so badly.

I have to convince him not to try eating the plant by reminding him that it's too big to eat all at once and that something inside you trying to reattach to something outside you can only have negative consequences.

He lights the plant on fire, and it burns endlessly. That's pretty cool, but I'm worried the fumes will hurt someone, so while he's asleep I put it out and bring it into my void. I've never been able to do that with something living before, but I guess since I can go in my void it makes sense that something so made of me can go in there too.

He's furious, but there's not much he can do. He can't even land a blow on me, with my ability to teleport.

He's not a very nice person. I like that, I think. It won't hurt so bad when he dies, and I still get some company for the next few decades.

A few weeks later, he drinks a vial of some kind of poison in front of me and says that it'll be my fault if he dies because I don't give him a transfusion of my blood.

"You fucking idiot." I tell him. "Did you not notice that the pieces we cut off the plant before it became immortal never grew back?? Even if I was willing to make you immortal, chances are you'd be immortal and constantly experiencing the effects of being poisoned."

He's already looking sick, so I don't think he faked drinking it.

"I can help you if you want. I'll give you some charcoal, or a more specific antidote if you tell me what that was." I'm trying to sound unbothered, but I really thought I'd get a few more decades out of this guy...

"I'll fight you the whole way." He says. "And if you manage to save me, I'll just do it again until you make me immortal."

And then he collapses and vomits all over himself.

"I was just a tool to you this whole time..." I knew that, and he was just a tool to me too, so why does seeing him curled up on the floor in pain hurt? Why do I want to fix it even though I know he'll just keep trying anyway?

I should just leave. He's a nasty person trying to manipulate me using a suicide attempt and he deserves to die alone. But I don't leave.

I sit beside him and stroke his hair and tell him that I will miss him, that he was my only friend for a while, that I wish he could've been smart enough not to do this, not to seek out immortality.

I tell him all about how much immortality sucks as he dies. I tell him how lucky he is, how he'd be in this much pain forever if he was immortal. I tell him about all the people I've loved and watched die, I tell him about the loneliness and the boredom of being immortal, I tell him about how I've used poisons like that on myself before just to feel something for a few minutes. Forty-five minutes after he drinks the poison, his heart stops beating.

I go into my void and cry.

#ask #thank you so much for the ask!!#eatyourdamnpears #jane's pets #minor whump #debatably #can only really emotionally whump Jane for obvious reasons #emotional whump #suicidal ideation tw #self harm tw #emeto tw #suicide tw #poison tw #including some LORE because I don't think Liam'll ever find out about some of this stuff in the main series #so it's not really a spoiler #she's only a couple centuries old at this point #I try to make her perspective distinctly inhuman while also being childlike so I hope that comes through

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compassionatereminders · 8 months

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They should invent an antipsychotic which works on me that doesn't feel like you're actively poisoning yourself every night

#kat gets personal #poison tw

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memento-morri-writes · 2 years

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Underrated Whump Trope: POISON

There's just so much you can do with it!! So many different delivery methods and symptom combos. And if you can't find an existing poison/poisonous substance that fits your needs, just make one up!! But like, the shock, the panic, the potential for betrayal... The diversity of potential symptoms, and of their effect time. The panic of trying to find an antidote. Not knowing how long the character has, because you have no idea what poison was used.

Plus, if your WIP involves magic, you can have all kinds of bonus stuff. Like, a poison that resists magical healing. A poison that turns the victim's magic against them. A poison that renders their magic useless.

Just, poison.

#writing #tropes #whump #whump tropes #whump prompts #poison tw #illness tw #death tw #morrigan.txt

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kyuhu · 11 months

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Hot take: Liet should poison more people

I think he'll start off as the "I'm not gonna use poison ever I have morals I'll do a fair fight and that's it" type of guy which quickly changes because he doesn't want Feliks to whine ages about a stab scar on top of his "why did you kill me?!" screaming he already has to deal with. Also he has the best knowledge about herbs and plants, I think even nowadays Liet could go through a random forest and make a quick poison in his kitchen out of the ingredients he picked up on his walk.

So yeah, Liet probably poisoned as much people as he ended up in bed with, which is a lot haha.

#answer #poison tw #manipulation tw #I'll just put this tag to everything that's even partly related to the post!#hope that's okay #nsfw-ish

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heartatflight · 4 months

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cecelia killed her district partner, he was thirteen, had been injured fleeing the bloodbath and without the sponsors for medecine he was slowly dying of infection. she found some poisonous plants and made a tea, he went in his sleep. she took a strip of his arena uniform and tied it around her wrist.

#hc. cecelia.#technically still not a muse #but also pretty much #she consumes my thoughts #poison tw #she doesn't cook after the games

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 7 months

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What Went Wrong

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Poisoned, 8. Seizure, 14. Bleeding Through the Bandage, 21. Near-Death Experience, 30. Coma, Alt. Prompt: Bloody Knuckles Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag, f!reader Summary: After a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Rick is forced to relay what happened, no matter how painful it is for him to relive it. Word Count: 5033 TW: Poison, Mentions of Death, Blood/Bleeding, Seizure, Hospital, Language, Rick is taller than Reader Note: Written for @ailesswhumptober's event. Thank you to the anon who requested Bloody Knuckled with Rick! It was really a wonderful inspiration! And thank you to @loverhymeswith for all the support and beta reading for me! 💖

Colonel Rick Flag sat in the small break room—now a makeshift interrogation room—oblivious to the world around him. All he could do was stare blankly down at his busted, swollen knuckles and watch as his blood slowly reddened the gauze he couldn’t remember someone wrapping them in. Apparently, someone had also given him something for the pain, but it was doing little to stop the throbbing ache that seemed to intensify with every beat of his heart. Yet, he sort of liked it. It gave him something to focus on, to ground him, even as everything else around him lay in ruins.

Gritting his teeth, he balled his left hand into as much of a fist as the swelling and bandaging would allow, and almost blacked out as every nerve running from his hand up his arm screamed out in excruciating agony. Squeezing his eyes together tightly, he stifled a groan of pain as he forced himself to maintain the fist.

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!”

Waller’s sharp tone cut through his fog and Rick’s fist instinctively uncurled, lessening the pain to a point where he once again became aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he looked up to stare at the pair in front of him in a slight daze. “W-what?”

Waller nodded at the other man who shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Uh, yes, well, I understand this may be difficult for you but we need to get your official statement on what happened for the record.”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

The man shot him an apologetic smile. “I understand that but the less time that passes between the event and the report, the more accurate it is. And considering there were numerous asset casualties, we need this to be as accurate as possible to avoid any liabilities.”

“Assets and liabilities,” Rick spat, the words like ash in his mouth. “That’s all any of them are to you, isn’t it? Numbers on a page to use how you want. But the members of Task Force X are people. Yeah, people who made some wrong choices or did horrible things, but that doesn’t mean they are just fodder you can throw at your problems.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you too viewed your squad members as nothing more than that,” Waller said coldly, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes completely devoid of all emotion. “I wonder, did your view on them change before or after you started crawling into one of their beds?”

Rick leaped to his feet, his metal chair clanging loudly on the hard tile as it toppled over. The man jumped and cowered back in surprise, but Waller didn’t even flinch. Instead, she continued to stare Rick down, daring him to try and make a move against her. But they both knew what would happen if he did….

Recognizing he was in an impossible situation, Rick could only point at Waller and snarl, “You leave her out of this. Whatever relationship we might have didn’t affect what happened on the mission. And what I do on my own time is my own business.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Before Rick could snap back, the man cleared his throat, his face bright red behind his glasses, and he reached for one of his papers. Scanning it, he asked, “Excuse me but are you confirming you had an intimate relationship with Belle Reve prisoner 0806?”

Rick turned his attention to the man, anger gleaming in his hazel eyes. This just proved his point. To them, you were nothing more than a faceless number, something to be used when convenient then tossed back into a cell like the other thousand inmates of Belle Reve.

“Yes,” Rick said through gritted teeth as the man began to write something on his papers. “After several assignments together, a connection developed and we became romantically then intimately involved.”

The man paused his scribbling and glanced up as Waller began slowly walking around to stand behind Rick. “‘Romantically’...so this relationship between you and this inmate was more than just physical?”

A thousand moments with you unwillingly flashed through Rick’s mind: your head resting on his shoulder as you slept on the flight home from a mission; the determined glare on your face as you fought off a swarm of enemies all by yourself; the way he didn't need to say a word for you to know exactly what he needed; the pure adoration in your eyes as he settled between your legs on your tiny prison cot. How could he not have fallen in love with you?

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

“Given how the evacuation team found you, sir, one might say differently.” Rick began to rise up out of his seat but the man put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to ask these kinds of questions so we can get the full picture of what went on in that lab. It’s in your best interest as well as ours if you can be as honest and detailed as possible so we have all the information when presenting our findings. Right now, the depth of your relationship with this inmate only matters to me if it caused some sort of misconduct during the mission that led to its failure. Otherwise, I don’t care what the two of you have been up to or how you feel about each other, I promise.”

Rick could feel Waller’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and he knew that she felt very differently. If she had her way, he would be court-martialed immediately. Not because he had been sleeping with you or because he loved you—no, he was certain she already knew about that. But now that it was public knowledge the head of her pride-and-joy task force was sleeping with one of its criminal assets presumedly right under her nose, it would put a black mark not only on the squad but on her as well. And that was not something Waller took lightly.

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.

“Thank you.” The man gave Rick a small smile and looked back down at his papers. After scanning them for a minute, he looked at Rick and said, “Now then, Colonel, to the best of your recollection, can you tell us what happened? What went wrong?”

What went wrong….. It was the thought that had been plaguing Rick for the past twenty-four hours. He had replayed the entire mission over and over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently to save his team…..to save you.

It was supposed to be a textbook in-and-out mission with no foreseeable complications. An underground lab was developing a new weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands—which included the scientists developing it. Though hidden, the lab didn’t appear to have more than the most basic levels of security and it seemed like a cakewalk for a small team to go in, destroy the research and weapon, and secure any scientists on site.

Because of this, it was determined this would be a good chance to break in the newest recruits to Task Force X and Rick found himself leading a team comprised almost entirely of untrained, terrified ex-criminals who wouldn’t shut up or fall into line. Before they even got off the plane, he was ready to detonate every last one of their nanite bombs.

Luckily, you had been allowed to tag along to help keep everyone under control….including Rick. Even if no one realized how deeply the connection between the two of you went, it was obvious that you had a way of calming him down and centering him even in the most dangerous or stressful of situations. Rick pretended to hate the idea that he needed someone to manage him but honestly, he didn’t mind as long as it meant he got to spend more time with you.

On your very first mission with Task Force X, Rick noticed you were special and unlike anyone he had met before. And by the third mission, he had you pressed against a wall in a dark alley as you shoved your tongue down his throat. Since then, he would do whatever he could to be near you, including bribing the guards to turn off the cameras in your cell for a few hours once or twice a month—and still it wasn’t enough. He was counting down the missions until you earned your freedom and he could have you in his bed every night without having to leave.

And this mission would bring that dream one step closer to a reality.

Once inside the building, Rick sent the rest of the Squad to destroy everything in the labs (he figured they could handle unbridled destruction without needing supervision) while you went with him to find the mainframe and extract any information you could before wiping it.

The plan seemed to be going perfectly until you and Rick finished your assignment and were heading back to the rendezvous point. Just as you reached the lab’s exit, there was a whirring sound and a pair of thick, metal doors slammed shut inches in front of Rick’s face. You spun around to try to rush back the way you came, but another door slid shut, blocking your retreat.

“Damn it!” Rick yelled as he slammed his fist against the thick metal door. Sighing, he picked up his radio to call into headquarters. Usually, they would all be on earpieces, but since it was supposed to be such a simple mission, they had forgone them this time. “Control, this is Flag. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled to life. “We copy, Flag. Did you complete your mission?”

“Affirmative, Harcourt. But on the way to the rendezvous, we got cut off. We are trapped between two metal doors and I can’t see a way out. Requestin’ an extraction team to come get us.”

“Launching extraction team now. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by.”

“Copy.” Rick slipped the radio back into his cargo pocket and shrugged at you. “Well, I guess we just wait. At least we have a few minutes alone together until they show up.”

Looking around at the tight space you were now trapped in, you took a step closer, pressed your palms against Rick’s back, and leaned against him as you whispered, “Rick…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ah hell, darlin’,” Rick muttered. “Now why’d you have to say somethin’ like that?”

Suddenly, the sprinkler heads on the ceiling sprang to life, and a mysterious liquid sprayed down on you. It was clear like water but had an oily consistency and a bitter, acidic smell to it. Rick spun around, grabbed your arm, and pulled you tight against his chest trying to use his large form to shield you from as much of it as possible but it was of little use. Soon, you were both drenched from head to toe.

It lasted for less than a minute before the sprinklers turned off once again. Lifting your head from where you had buried it in Rick’s chest, you glanced around before muttering, “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get outta here before we find out.” Rick turned back to the metal door and began examining it for any sort of weak point or hidden switch.

From behind him, he heard you audibly shiver and he glanced back to see you rubbing your hands over your still dripping arms trying to warm yourself up. He wished he had something to give you but he doubted his soaked tact jacket would provide you any warmth. Either the extraction team needed to hurry up or he needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible.

However, just as he began to turn back to the door, there was a burst of static from above you, and a voice called out from a hidden speaker, “So, this must be the current iteration of Task Force X. Welcome!” You and Rick exchanged a nervous glance as the voice continued. “I had a feeling Waller would track me down eventually, and it looks like I was right. Good thing I took precautions.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rick called out as his eyes scanned the ceiling trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

“She didn’t tell you? She just sent you out on a mission without briefing you on what you were walking into?” The voice scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Well, let me introduce myself. I used to be one of the head research and developers at ARGUS before Waller got everything she wanted from me and tried to have me arrested despite the fact everything I did was under her orders. You see, I’m the guy who developed the technology that made the nanite bombs possible, including that one currently residing in your girlfriend’s head.”

You gasped as your eyes grew wide and your hand flew to the side of your neck, your finger tracing the small bump just under your skin that Rick knew was there. His eyes met yours and he knew you were both thinking the same thing: If this maniac invented the bombs then chances were….

Rick glared up at the ceiling and roared, “Now listen here you bastard—”

“I can’t detonate it if that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice calmly interrupted. “Waller is smart enough to change the frequency for every mission which means I, unfortunately, can’t access them. However, I had a feeling she would kick me to the curb once she had my technology so I neglected to tell her about the one flaw in my design. The unintended way to weaponize them. The one I just set in motion.”

A chill ran down Rick’s spine. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do!”

“Rick…” Your fingers dug into his arm as you reached for him, your shivering intensifying—but whether that was from cold or fear, Rick didn’t know.

“The bombs are not the only thing injected into the subjects,” the voice continued. “A small amount of a typically harmless chemical surrounds it to help the body not reject the foreign object or start breaking it down. I say ‘typically harmless’ because it only becomes toxic when mixed with another rare compound….the same compound that was just released from the sprinkler system moments ago.”

“What did you do to me?” you asked, addressing the voice directly for the first time. “What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, not just you, my dear. Those sprinklers went off all over the building so I’m sorry to say your entire team is about to suffer the same fate as you…except for the Colonel that is. Or did Waller implant a bomb into you as well? It wouldn’t surprise me if she did.”

“Shut the fuck up and just tell us how to stop this!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need Waller to pay for what she did to me and show her she was wrong for ever doubting my abilities. And the best way to do that is by eliminating part of her precious Task Force X. I am sorry you had to be a casualty of our war but just like any game of chess, pawns get sacrificed. I would hurry up and say your goodbyes if I were you. The toxin forming in her blood should begin to take effect any time now and her body will destroy itself before your backup arrives. But Colonel….tell Waller I said hello.”

The speaker crackled out, leaving the two of you standing in a horrified silence. Rick’s mind was spinning with everything he had just heard. What the voice said couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. After all, Waller would have known about it.

“Rick?”

Waller was the one who came up with Task Force X and she oversaw every single detail as it came to fruition. She couldn’t have overlooked something like this….could she?

“Rick.”

But then again, what if she had? She wasn’t a scientist and wouldn’t understand all the uses of the different chemicals they were using with the technology. So what if the voice wasn’t lying and you only had a few minutes before—

“Rick!”

He whirled around to see you slumped against the far wall, your eyes wide as you wiped your fingers under your nose and watched them come away bloody, a bright smear still left on your face as more began to trickle out of your nose.

“No….”

He closed the distance between you in two long strides and took your face between his large hands. Your body was shaking slightly as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and your voice broke as you said, “Rick, I can feel it. It’s already happening. Oh God—” you frantically grabbed onto his wrists as his hands still cupped your face “—I’m scared. I’m not ready to die. Not now. Not when I’ve found—” The rest of your words were lost as you broke down sobbing.

Rick pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Resting his chin on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles across your back, he whispered, “It’s okay, darlin’. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here and get you help, you hear me? I can’t lose you either so I need you to fight. Fight and just hold on, for as long as you can. We’re gonna get outta here…together.”

He felt you nod into his chest and gently moved you away to look at you. Red-tinted tears trailed down your cheeks and more blood was smeared under your nose. Rick glanced down and saw some of it had wiped off on his jacket, but it didn’t matter. He bent down and pressed his lips furiously against yours—trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood coating your lips— then turned back towards the exit door.

He had already searched every inch of it for some sort of switch but maybe he could pry it open. Rick tried to get his fingernails to dig into the seam where the two doors met, but the seal was just too strong. Maybe if he could find something to wedge between them….

As he quickly scanned the room for something—anything—he could use, he saw you clutch your chest as you began to cough. It started out small, like just clearing your throat. However, within what seemed like seconds, it had evolved into a wheezy, rattling hack that wracked your entire body. Rick watched helplessly as fresh blood sprayed across the floor as a particularly deep cough forced you to double over.

As it subsided and you looked up at him, he inhaled sharply as he saw blood now not only trickling from your nose but from your eyes and mouth too. You tried to say something—it seemed like his name—however, from your rasping gasps, it was clear you weren’t getting enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak.

“No…” Rick couldn’t believe he was being forced to stand here and watch you die with no way to save you. “No!”

Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rick smashed his fist into the metal door. Logically deep down he knew there was no way he would ever be able to punch his way through it, but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he wound back and drove his other fist into the door.

Over and over again, he pounded at the metal, ignoring the pain as he felt his skin split and bones crack. The door was now smeared with the blood from his ruined knuckles but it was nothing compared to the blood that was spilling from you just behind him. Hearing you struggling and in pain yet knowing he was helpless to stop it was too much for him and he increased the strength of each blow.

It was only when he saw you collapse to the floor as your body began thrashing and convulsing that Rick abandoned his fruitless attempts at breaking through the door and he dropped to his knees beside you. Pulling your writhing body into his lap, he held you tightly against him and pressed his lips against your ear, muttering empty promises that everything was going to be alright.

As you continued to seize, blood began to flow more steadily from your eyes, nose, and mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your back arched and your entire body went rigid. You seemed to hold that pose for a moment, the entire room suddenly dead silent. Then, slowly and with one extended exhale, your body relaxed against his and your head lolled to the side.

Ice spread through Rick’s veins as he stared at your motionless form. No. This couldn’t be happenin’. Not to you. Please God, not you.

He gently took your face between his hands and turned it so he could see you better. Several trails of blood streaked down your face and though your eyes were mostly closed, he could just make out the dulled, faded color beneath your lids. And though you were lying on his chest, all he felt was an unnatural stillness—no heartbeat, no intake of breath. You were gone.

Tears began to stream down Rick’s cheeks as he buried his face in the top of your head. And though he knew you couldn’t hear him, he softly whispered, “Please, darlin’, come back to me. I need you and I love you and I can’t do this without you. So, please….come back.”

And that’s how Waller’s extraction team found the two of you moments later: Colonel Rick Flag with tears in his eyes as he clung to the limp body of one of the Belle Reve inmates.

Since that moment, Rick had been going on some sort of autopilot, letting himself be shuffled from place to place and doing what he was told. But now that his official statement had been taken and he had been released, there was only one place he needed to be. So, taking the hospital elevator up to the third floor, he stepped out onto the intensive care unit and followed the signs towards his destination.

When he reached the end of the hall, Rick stared through the window into the hospital room, his forehead pressed against the glass as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He could barely see your face past the countless machines and equipment hooked up to you in an effort to keep you alive.

By the time Waller’s extraction team had shown up and somehow managed to revive you, the poison had done its job and destroyed or seriously damaged most of your internal organs. It was a miracle the doctors were able to keep you alive this long, even if machines now controlled every aspect of your life support. The rest of the Task Force who had been in a different area of the building hadn’t been so lucky. The two of you were the only survivors—if you could call it that.

The doctors had done everything they could to save you and now the rest was up to you. Rick had heard the full spectrum of possible prognoses ranging from you making a full recovery to you being incapable of cognitive thought or movement—and all of it was dependent on you waking up which was an uncertainty on its own.

But for now, you lay motionless in your hospital bed just as you had for the past twenty-four hours.

Fury boiled in his gut as Rick’s eyes landed on the pair of handcuffs chaining you to the bed. Did they seriously expect you to jump up and sneak out of the hospital? Your heart was struggling to beat without assistance and air was constantly having to be forced into your lungs yet they had to make sure you wouldn’t miraculously make a daring escape. It made Rick sick. As did the fact he wasn’t permitted to be in the room with you. All he wanted was to hold your hand or press a soft kiss to your forehead, but Waller made sure no one except for her and the doctors were allowed in. Just another one of her attempts to punish him.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, footsteps echoed off the tiles behind him growing louder and louder until Waller stepped into Rick’s peripheral vision. He ignored her, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on you, and Waller seemed to do the same.

For several minutes, they stood in complete silence, the sounds of your rasping breathing and the beeping of machines the only sound in the dim hallway. Finally, without turning, Rick asked, “Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, Flag, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know the chemicals in the nanites could be used like that?”

Waller was silent for a moment before she answered curtly, “No. We knew about the chemical surrounding the bombs of course, but we were not aware it could be turned into a weapon. Our lab is already researching alternatives.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my team would be thrilled to hear that if they weren’t all currently down in the morgue.”

“Mistakes happen, people die. But that’s why we formed Task Force X. Nobody cares when those dying are criminals.” Waller’s eyes shifted slightly from the window to Rick and back again. “With a few exceptions.”

Rick clenched his fist at her words then immediately regretted it as a sharp bolt of pain ran up his arm from his busted knuckles. He wanted nothing more than to make Waller feel the pain he was feeling. For her to understand how much he cared about you. But he knew nothing he did would make a difference. If anything, it would only make it worse.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he asked, “So…what happens now?”

Folding her arms over her chest, Waller said, “Despite my objections, the board determined you did nothing wrong on the mission. They said there was nothing you could have done differently to save your team and you are not responsible for their deaths and thus will not receive any formal reprimand or punishment. However–” Waller raised one eyebrow as she glared at Rick “–I have not forgotten your…indiscretion with her and it will not be overlooked.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t known about us since the very start. You’ve just been waitin’ for the moment it best suited your interests to bring it up,” Rick growled. “I don’t care what you do to me but when she’s better I want her released from Belle Reve. She only had thirty years left on her sentence—twenty after this mission. And this….this more than makes up for the rest of her time.”

“Possibly,” Waller said thoughtfully. “First, we have to wait and see if she even pulls through, then we can have that discussion. But until that happens, I expect you to do your job.” She slapped a file down on the ledge of the window. “Your next assignment. You leave tomorrow and you better be on the tarmac on time. Otherwise all of this–” she gestured to the hospital equipment surrounding them “–goes away. Do we understand each other?”

Rick clenched his jaw tightly as he just barely managed to hold back the slew of curses he wanted to direct at his boss but he knew that was exactly what she was hoping for. So instead, he gritted his teeth and in his most Southern twang said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The “fuck you” was loud and clear in his tone but Waller thankfully ignored it. Shooting him one last glare, she turned sharply and began marching back down the hall. However, Rick called after her, “And I want those cuffs taken off of her. Now.”

Without turning or breaking her stride, Waller replied, “When are you going to learn, Flag? You don’t call the shots around here. I do.” Then she turned down another hall and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, Rick gazed back at your unconscious form. Pressing his hand against the glass, he whispered, “It’ll be alright, darlin’, I promise you that. You don’t worry about anythin’ except gettin’ better and wakin’ up. You do that, and I’ll take care of the rest. And no matter what happens or how bad things are when you do wake up, I’ll be right by your side for all of it, Waller be damned. ‘Cause I love you, now and forever.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope you had heard his words and they helped rouse you from your sleep. But this wasn’t some feel-good movie or romance novel where his bedside pleas would make everything better and you would wake up to fall into his arms once again. No, this was real life and in real life, people didn’t get their happily-ever-afters.

At least…..not yet. As long as your heart was still beating—artificially or not— there was hope. And for now, hope was going to have to be enough.

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 7 months

Text

What Went Wrong

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.