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juniorgman187 · 3 years

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Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected.

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere.

See, I stand corrected.

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me.

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve.

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us.

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form.

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?”

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be.

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature.

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.”

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured.

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.”

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood.

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel.

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride.

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth.

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.”

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily.

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?”

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair.

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course).

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others.

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy.

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms.

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos.

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment.

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously.

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times.

“Penny?”

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?”

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together.

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom.

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal.

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this?

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof.

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat.

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance.

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me.

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way.

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.”

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival.

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug.

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer.

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?”

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish.

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another.

That is if he’d let me.

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room.

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted.

That was the last time I would see Spencer.

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this.

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day.

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about.

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion.

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers.

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.”

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.”

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense.

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.”

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.”

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it.

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically.

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position.

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet.

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could.

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out.

. . .

Icarus.

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen.

I flew too close.

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name.

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried.

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.”

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant.

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!”

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -”

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.”

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated.

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU.

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it.

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.”

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade.

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted.

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it.

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me.

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart.

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year.

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it.

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back.

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself.

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me.

Not by Spencer.

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him.

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was.

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out.

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.”

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?”

“Do you know how hard it was for me?”

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him.

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!”

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.”

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me.

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement.

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards.

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.”

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine.

“(Y/n), wait!”

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave.

I was free.

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head.

Spencer’s desk is completely empty.

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more.

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos.

What I read when I turned it over was as follows.

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how.

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you.

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now.

He was still here.

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation.

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car.

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him.

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone.

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else.

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph.

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised.

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 3 years

Text

Rivalry

requested by @micapearls (ed hearing jon full body laugh for the first time)

Ever since he first met Jonathan Crane, Edward has had an unshakable fixation on eliciting any type of emotional expression from the other man. To the untrained eye it would appear Jonathan was unable to experience any human emotions beyond displeasure and annoyance. Jonathan doesn’t cry, he doesn’t shout when they argue, he doesn’t allow any facial expression to inadvertently cross his stoic features. Over time, Edward has been able to get a better feel for the subtle cues that indicate his partner’s emotional state, but Jonathan still makes an effort to hold his feelings and opinions close to his chest. Edward wants so badly to break him of this habit. He’s lost count of the amount of meaningless arguments he’d blown out of proportion in the hopes of making Jonathan visibly angry. But perhaps that’s just trauma reenactment.

It was after one such failed attempt to goad Jonathan into an argument that Edward finally got what he was looking for. He had unsuccessfully tried to get a rise out of the other man, throwing out the cruelest, most spiteful things he could think of. Things he didn’t mean, things he doesn’t want Jonathan to think he meant. Unfortunately, this only resulted in Jonathan disappearing off into the lab, leaving Edward to sulk alone in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, staring absently at the television when Jonathan finally reappears from the basement, his expression as austere and unreadable as ever.

“I’m having a drink,” the older man announces, breezing past Edward and into the kitchen. He removes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and holds it up for Edward to see. “Do you want one?”

Edward doesn’t particularly care for whiskey but he can recognize a peace offering when he sees one. He nods wordlessly, sliding to one end of the sofa to make room for Jonathan to sit if he wanted to.

Jonathan pours the two drinks, bringing them into the living room and handing one to Edward. He accepts. Takes a small sip, trying to ignore the unpleasant taste.

“What are you watching?” Jonathan asks as he sits down a respectful distance away from Edward.

“News,” he says. “I’m looking at it more than I’m really watching it.”

Jonathan studies the screen for a few moments, sipping his own drink steadily. “Turn up the volume,” he says abruptly.

Edward obliges, directing his own attention to the TV as well. The reporter onscreen is standing in front of the Gotham University campus. There are cop cars and officers crowded around the building, many of them with heavy tactical gear and weapons.

“Shit, I hope whatever this is doesn’t screw up the heist I had planned for next weekend,” Edward mutters as he puts his drink down on the table.

“…As you can see the police are behind me attempting to negotiate the release of the thirteen hostages currently being held on the University grounds.” The camera cuts away from the reporter to show a closer shot of the police officers at the scene. Edward can make out commissioner Gordon speaking into a walkie-talkie at the front of the group. Bullock stands beside him, looking generally burly and gruff but otherwise not contributing much. “The location and condition of the hostages is unclear; all we know is that those thirteen students and faculty members are trapped somewhere in the Joker’s sadistic maze. More updates on the way as we continue to document the most recent criminal exploits of Gotham’s most fearsome criminal.”

“Ouch,” Jonathan says dryly. “Seems unfair that I’m not the most fearsome criminal in this city but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Edward, in the meantime, is too busy trying to navigate the mixture of anger, surprise, and jealousy that has begun burning in his chest to even register Jonathan’s comment. “He—I feel like I’m having a stroke, I mean, did that reporter say what I think she said?” he splutters, standing up from the couch to gesticulate wildly at the screen.

“What’s your problem?” Jonathan asks. “Joker does something like this every week, you can’t be surprised at this point.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps, ignoring the heat he can feel rising into his face and ears. “I was going to do a sadistic maze at the university. Me! That fucking clown stole my idea! I mean, am I the only person with any goddamn integrity in this vile city?” He collapses back onto the couch, throwing his arms up. “I had the whole thing planned out, all the pieces built and ready to be set up and he just swoops in with his dollar store makeup and awful dye job and ruins everything like he always does. I mean, do you know how hard it is to build a maze from scratch and make it appear with fully functional traps and people in it before the cops show up? It’s not easy, I’ll say that. And it’s not cheap either!”

Jonathan watches Edward’s hysterical monologue in silence, takes a few moments to digest the entirety of the rant, and then bursts out laughing.

Edward’s jaw drops. Usually when Jonathan laughs it’s little more than a sharp exhale or the hint of a smile. But this laugh is a loud, unrestrained cackle, so raspy in places it almost sounds like a wheeze. It’s the first time he’s ever seen his partner seem genuinely tickled by something and he can’t even enjoy it because it’s at his own expense. He can’t tell if he’s more shocked to see his partner’s entire body wracked with laughter, or more indignant that he’s being laughed at in the first place. He snaps his mouth shut, his face screwing up into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“It absolutely is. Your whole thing with the Joker is hilarious.”

“It is not! He’s completely destroying my reputation, my career in this town. I mean, now I can never do that heist I had planned because the Joker already did it and everyone’s already accusing me of ripping off his costume and gimmick. If I even mention that I had the same idea, then people are going to try and accuse me of stealing his fucking intellectual property too.” He gets up again, pacing almost frantically around the room. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to do something with a school, I mean, I’m the one whose whole aesthetic and MO has to do with knowledge and learning. He should go terrorize a fucking comedy club or something, leave the higher education to those of us whose brain cells haven’t been fried by a vat of acid.” He glares at Jonathan who is still doubled over with laughter. “Stop laughing at me, I’m serious.”

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, though it does nothing to soothe his amusement. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit, you sound ridiculous right now.”

“I fail to see how this is ridiculous.”

“You’re demanding artistic integrity from a man who dresses like a clown and kills people for fun.” Jonathan manages to stifle his laughter a bit, but Edward knows he’s never going to let him live this down. “Besides, neither of you went to college so I don’t see how you have more of a right to a university based maze heist than him.”

He rolls his eyes. Jonathan loves to point out that Edward never went to college because it’s the only real accomplishment he has that Edward couldn’t easily replicate. Just because Jonathan suffered through nine years of higher education that would have driven Edward into a murderous rage doesn’t mean he’s better than him. “A maze is a type of puzzle is it not? Last time I checked I was the prince of puzzles which, in my eyes, makes me more entitled to use mazes in my traps. I also think it makes me sound cooler. I mean, ‘clown prince of crime’? How pathetic is that.”

“They’re both pathetic,” Jonathan says. “I don’t know why people keep trying to call us princes like we’re not all broke psychopaths.”

“I’m not broke.”

“But you don’t deny being a psychopath?”

Edward continues to glower at the other man who is still fighting against a smile. “I can’t believe you’re not on my side right now.”

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean, you have to admit your costume color schemes are remarkably similar.”

“They are not! My preferred color scheme is green and purple, his is purple and green, okay, they’re distinctly different!”

“Edward,” he says, using that tone he always takes when Edward is acting irrational, “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously?”

“Not in the slightest,” he insists, knowing that this is arguably a stupid thing to care about. “You’ll never know what it’s like to always play second fiddle to everyone’s favorite costumed criminal. At least people are scared of you. Everyone just thinks I’m some kind of joke thief.”

“Well, maybe you need to give them something to be scared of. Show them you mean business.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you propose I do that in a way that is both on brand and not derivative of the Joker’s own crime sprees?”

Jonathan’s smile changes, becoming less humorous and more devious. Edward can see the familiar gleam in his eye that indicates the Scarecrow’s mind is hard at work. There’s the Jonathan he’s used to. “I bet I could give you a few ideas,” he says slyly, finishing the rest of his drink in a single swallow. “If you don’t have any qualms about torturing people.”

Despite the fact that he’s still annoyed with Jonathan for making fun of him, Edward can’t help but flash a smile back at the other man. There’s just something about those clever, sinister eyes that always draw him right back in. “What did you have in mind?”

#i know this was a long road to walk to fulfill the prompt but I hope u enjoy #scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #batman #dc #my writing #joker #just a reference tho bc he's stinky

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hailing-stars · 3 years

Text

@febuwhump day 20: betrayal don’t say clown

summary

“You’d be dramatic too if you were about to get your teeth stolen and ripped from your mouth,” says Peter, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Uh, ripped is not exactly what happens, and no I wouldn’t,” says Tony. “And I didn’t. As you constantly like to remind me, I’m a dinosaur. I’ve already had the privilege of having my wisdom teeth taken out.”

Peter huffs and digs his back further into the seat, as if he wants to disappear into it. “But do I really need to get it done today?”

“Do you want to be in pain when they start growing in?”

“No but-”

“Then yes.”

Tony tricks Peter into actually attending his appointment to get his wisdom teeth removed, after him bailing several times.

Tony feels a sharp pang of guilt as he turns the car into the parking lot of an oral surgeon’s office. Peter’s face is still buried in his phone, so he’s got a little time before the gremlin discovers his fate and tries pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

But it isn’t long enough.

He parks the car, and Peter jerks head up from his phone. His eyes go wide as he reads the letters printed across the giant, glass double doors. “This is betrayal, Mr. Stark. Betrayal of the highest order.”

“Dramatic, much?” asks Tony, shutting off the car.

“You’d be dramatic too if you were about to get your teeth ripped from your mouth and stolen,” says Peter, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Peter huffs and digs his back further into the seat, as if he wants to disappear into it. “But do I really need to get it done today?”

“Do you want to be in pain when they start growing in?”

“No but-”

“Then yes.”

“They probably don’t even have an aesthetic strong enough to put me under.”

“They don’t,” says Tony. “Which is why I rented out the office today and paid the Avengers medical staff to assist. They have the good stuff Brucie invented.”

“Okay, but I have school -”

“-May’s already told the school you’ll be out a couple days.”

“You guys are awful,” says Peter. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and Tony knows that means Peter’s out of his excuses and arguments. All he has left is whining and pouting. “You could’ve given me a heads up.”

“Sure,” says Tony. “And then you would have conveniently disappeared and missed your appointment, like the last three times.”

“I see your point,” says Peter. “But to be fair the last time was a real emergency. The lizard guy almost destroyed me and MJ’s favorite coffee place.”

“Why does every person who fights you have a ridiculous name?”

“I’m called Spider-Man. I’m kind of asking for something ridiculous.”

“That explains it,” says Tony, with a nod of his head. In full agreement.

The conversation stalls, and Peter looks truly miserable. Another pang of guilt ripples through Tony, though he knows it isn’t logical. It’s better for Peter to get this over with, rather than wait, but there’s something written across the boy’s face that gives him pause.

“Okay, let’s talk about it,” says Tony. “Why all the avoidance?”

“I dunno,” says Peter.

“Perfectly natural to be afraid -”starts Tony.

“-I’m not afraid,” says Peter. “I just don’t wanna be out of commission for days while I recover. It’s so boring.”

“You’ll likely be medicated so I don’t see you having enough coherency to be bored.”

“That’s worse,” mutters Peter.

“If it makes you feel any better,” says Tony. “You’ll probably be healed up and ready to hit the skies as Spider-Man by morning, with your healing factor.”

Relief washes across Peter’s face, but it’s there only seconds before it’s replaced by another perplexing frown. This time it’s better. This time Tony doesn’t have to pry to get his answers.

“...You’re gonna stay here?” asks Peter. “While I’m… out?”

“Yep,” says Tony. “Pepper made me bring a bunch of SI stuff I’ve been neglecting.”

Peter swallows. “And you’ll be there? When they knock me out?”

“Knocking you out is a harsh way to put it,” says Tony, with a frown. “But yeah, if you want me there.”

“It’s just - I dunno, what if I don’t wake up for another five years?” asks Peter. “And the world passes me by again?”

“I’d never let that happen,” he tells him immediately, and with confidence he doesn’t understand.

Tony’s seen enough tragedy in his lifetime to doubt he’d have control over a situation like that, but the words had come automatically, and they seem to smooth the worry creases on Peter’s face.

“Ready?” he asks him.

“Yeah,” sighes Peter. He grips the door handle and pops it open. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Tony follows through with his promise. He’s there when the medical staff inserts the needle into Peter’s arm. He holds his hand, tells him he’ll see him in a few hours, and watches as Peter’s scared, lost eyes slip shut.

His anxieties catch him by surprise. Seeing Peter lose consciousness like that brings him back to Titan, and although he allows staff to shuffle him out of the operation room, his fears beg him to stay, as if holding onto Peter's hand will keep him from dissolving back into dust.

Tony doesn’t concentrate on the work Pepper had given him.

His mind terrorizes him with illogical fears and his leg starts bouncing.

There isn’t a sturdy thought for his mind to dwell on, so it’s like his mind is swimming through varied traumatizing outcomes to Peter’s very common procedure. He’s like that the entire time they’re extracting the kid’s wisdom tooth, and he’s mentally berating himself about forcing Peter to go through with it.

And then the nurse pops her head out of the door. Tells him that it’s fine. That he should go on back to the operation room, because Peter’s about to wake up.

Tony holds his hand again, and Peter’s eyes flutter open. They’re dazed and confused, but still hold that soulful Peter Parker look inside them, so Tony breathes.

Something inside him snaps back into place. Something’s been corrected and healed.

“Hey, kid, you’re back,” he says. He squeezes his hand.

“‘Ony.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t like it,” says Peter.

He wrangles around in the dentist chair, and Tony puts a hand on his chest. It’s enough to stop him, at least while Tony takes instructions from the oral surgeon, and collects Peter’s super special painkillers.

“Okay, ready to go?”

Peter slowly nods his head, and Tony wraps an arm around his back, helping him to sit up without the help of the dentist chair. Tony helps him swing his legs over the stand of the chair, and does most of the work transferring him to a wheelchair provided by the staff.

It’s the same once they get outside and it’s time for Peter to leave the wheelchair and climb into the car.

Tony offers his arm, and Peter uses it as a guide and as a way of lifting himself from the chair. Tony doesn’t let him go, keeping his hands firmly locked on his arms until he’s sitting in the passenger’s side seat, looking every bit like the lost Golden Retriever puppy he’d once tried convincing Tony to home.

He takes the wheelchair back inside and quickly zips back to his vehicle, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“You left me,” Peter accuses, as Tony sits behind the wheel.

Tony starts the engine and switches the air on. “I wasn’t even gone a minute.”

“Felt like an eternityyyy,” says Peter. He lets his head rest against the window. “Don’t like feeling this floaty. Like I’m in IT and the clown’s got me.”

“Don’t say clown.”

“Clown,” says Peter, defiant even in his drugged state. “You’ll float too, Tony.”

“Okay, clearly it was a mistake to let you watch that movie.”

“Maybe they should’ve stolen Pennywise’s teeth,” says Peter. “Dentists could’ve ended that movie before it started.”

Tony laughs, and the smile’s still on his face while he watches Peter try and fail to insert the end of the seatbelt into the connector. After a couple more misses, Tony takes over and buckles him in.

“Can’t even stop making movie references when you’re dopey, you fiend.”

Peter lets out a noise that’s between a growl and a whine.

“Which is good,” says Tony. “We can watch lots of movies while your gums stitch themselves back together.”

“Yeeesssss,” says Peter. “I love movies.”

“I know, kid.”

“We gotta watch IT.”

“Okay, veto,” says Tony. Knowing the type of villains Spider-Man attracted, Tony’s convinced it isn’t long before his kid is facing off against a serial killing monster clown. He doesn’t want to tempt the fates. “How about something nicer-”

“Ohh, the one with the dinosaurs,” says Peter. “What’s it called…” He trailed off, lost in thought, and Tony imagines those drugs must be strong if the kid’s forgetting movie facts. “Jurassic Park!”

An image pops into his head of Peter fighting an actual dinosaur, and he begins to wonder if fatherhood was going to ruin movies for him. Damn kids.

“I want a red balloon,” says Peter, out of nowhere.

“Pete,” says Tony, with a breath. “Please move on from IT.”

“But I’m floaty.”

“How about a sit-com,” offers Tony. “Nothing bad ever happens in a sit-com.”

Tony wishes life were that way, that he could move his family inside of a bubble that he controlled and where nothing could touch them.

“Okay,” he agrees. “As long as I can still have a balloon. I went to the dentist. I deserve a balloon.”

“Fine, but it’s not going to be red,” says Tony. He lets himself be consumed by hatred for this fictional clown for stealing his signature color.

He pulls the car out of the parking lot, and just before he turns onto the street and joins traffic, he notices Peter’s eyes fluttering closed.

“Tony,” says Peter, voice quiet and dazed. “Thanks for being here, you know, when I came back.”

He doesn’t know whether Peter means after his surgery, or after he was stitched back together from dust. He decides he must mean both.

“Of course, Pete,” says Tony. “Thanks for coming back.”

Peter flashes him a grin, before nodding off, and warmth fills Tony’s chest. So live isn’t a sit-com, but in that moment, everything was great and for now, it’s enough.

#febuwhumpday20 #irondad #my fic #irondad fic

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dercolaris · 3 years

Text

What safe means

Hey guys, I am back! Two weeks in hospital and as soon as I'm home, I'm already writing again. I’m a bit addicted or something. We’re starting with Scriddler (what a suprise!), hopefully not to clonky for the first story after such a long break. I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to @shin-arei for correcting it.

Song: https://youtu.be/ZfWRZJmzuBU

A small beam of light flickered almost smoothly over the rough walls, illuminating the room with a glaring, fake glow. Edward blinked slightly and tried to ignore the loud hum of the car in the street in front of the old house. As quickly as the halogen spotlight had lit the room, just as quickly it had disappeared into the darkness of the night again. What remained was a pleasant warmth in the small bedroom. The tinkerer rubbed his arching forehead, which was still wet, and felt with the flat of his hand over the white bed sheet, clawing lightly into the damp fabric. His heart was beating fairly steadily after the unexpectedly intense activity, but absolute chaos broke out in his mind after he was calmed down enough. The raven-haired man tried to ignore the nagging thoughts, searched with his fingers for the thin summer quilt on his thighs. He pulled it up to his shoulders with a flowing movement and stared at the grey wallpaper. The sweat slowly dried up due to the milder temperatures during the summer night. The Riddler took a deep breath, smelled that special blend of roasted coffee beans and a hint of Benzeneselenol again. A slight rustling behind him made him flinch a little. Was Jonathan already asleep? Probably. Edward stiffened a little and carefully looked over his shoulder, staring at the former psychiatrist's messy, brown hair. He didn't move or make any really loud noises. The tinkerer slowly turned his head back, staring again at the innumerable cracks in the mouldy wall. This whole evening was basically a huge riddle for the younger man with a never-ending spiral of cheap attempts at explanations. The inventor grumbled cautiously, then suddenly stopped. Had he actually just compared the night to a riddle? The raven-haired man smiled barely noticeably at the unintentionally fitting choice of words for the unusual situation and licked his salty-tasting lips. And what now? The rogue felt a slight throb on his strained forehead. To make matters worse, the bed began to shake when a presumably heavily laden truck drove past the unstable house. Much heavier than the load of the vehicle were probably only the thoughts of the Riddler at that moment. The faint ticking of the old wall clock in the dusty hall allowed the strange assumption that time itself would pass more slowly than usual. His blue eyes fixed one of the innumerable points on the wall. He had to somehow put what was happening in a logical context, but how? Edward frowned and pulled his knees up slightly, wrapping his arms around his calves. Actually, it could be summed up to literally one important point: he had a sexual intercourse with Jonathan Crane that night.

That was a fact that definitely could not be changed in his careful deliberation any more. Still, the chain of events that led to the unexpected 'climax' raised an endless number of unanswered questions. The tinkerer stroked some scars on his shin. It had started with a common plan, which - as always - got completely out of hand after a very short time. Scarecrow was a very stubborn figure of the underground and you could rarely change his mind, even if the professor was absolutely wrong with his statements and he would run straight into an avoidable catastrophe. The former psychiatrist's pride often prevented him from actually seeing mistakes and apologizing adequately for his bigotry. The raven-haired man sagged a little more on the bed, lowered his forehead to his drawn knees. Unfortunately, this was one of the few behaviour patterns in which the two criminals looked almost like twins. Even the inventor found it incredibly difficult to admit that he was not perfect. This was in strong contrast to his own feelings. Edward bit his lip lightly. The constant overcompensation of his non-existent self-esteem shot completely at odds with the image that he desperately wanted to convey to society: he, the one and only Edward Nygma, was the top of human ingenuity and mentally superior to all of the imbeciles around him. If anyone dared to say the opposite, this person was a fool or a simpleton. The reality was of course different. The Riddler was breathing a little slower than before. It seemed so absurd. He waged an almost endless fight with himself, which he could never win because the raven-haired man was not convinced of his own demeanour. A shimmering costume did not enhance a soul that was broken several times. The glittering fabric only hid the most obvious injuries in the torn mind.

And then there was Jonathan Crane. The older one probably saw through his shell when they first met. The brown-haired man analysed every little movement around him and brought it to an extremely painful point with astonishing precision when he had found enough 'evidence' for his thesis. The professor was not a man of many words. It was all the more impressive or even more terrifying to see how he managed to completely overthrow a normally stable framework of convictions with just one simple sentence. Edward gently shook his head. That still didn't explain why he'd ended up in bed with the dark man of all people. As always, his inner voice seemed to know better. This way of seeing through and breaking a human mind was simply remarkable. So remarkable that at some point the tinkerer felt a real attraction in Jonathan's vicinity. The Master of Fear was like a polarizing magnet, which initially pushed everything away until he gradually opened. The force changed suddenly and an infinitely strong suction was created, from which at a certain point there was simply no more escape. The Riddler began to shiver slightly. Why did he worry so much about this one night? It was just sex. No more and no less. They had released the very high pressure between them together and in the morning would pretend nothing had happened. A sharp stab went through his heart. Just sex. Presumably he was of no use for anything else. At that moment, self-doubts took over again. Nobody lasted long at his side and it was only a matter of time before someone tried to successfully push him out of the life. Sooner or later his name spread an unwanted chaos - not only because as a criminal he had the reputation of attracting as much attention as possible and had to stage himself again and again to keep his image. His world was a very fragile object that could break like glass at any time and who was willing to endure these constantly changing emotional states? Edward felt the first tears flow from his eyes. This loneliness ate away at him and knowing that he might have bridged this one night with purely physical love only made it worse in the end. Jonathan would kindly expel him from his apartment tomorrow. Just like everyone else before. The younger one had no hope that the professor was different from all the countless disappointments in his life. A low sob came from his dry throat. Still, there was this minimal possibility that the former psychiatrist might really take him for who he was: loud, disorganized, highly dramatic and far too insecure to make important decisions himself.

The tinkerer didn't like to say it out loud, but forbidden feelings had long been involved when he met the sinister man. The desire was so dragging that he made up some absurd lies just to finally be able to see Scarecrow again. Jonathan was humanly difficult to reach when it was not about his work and every small step towards a friendly basis was worth jumping out of pure joy. This also included completely unimportant, superficial arguments. The brown-haired man never shared his views with other villains because he felt it was a waste of time. Only Edward had this unique privilege to fight him mentally. So was it reprehensible to think about whether they might have a future together? The younger one relaxed a little. It made no sense to philosophize about it at the moment. He would have to wait until morning, which would most likely keep him awake for the entire night. The tinkerer moved his hips a little, feeling the tell-tale wet stain on the bed sheet. He surely had to apologize in the morning for the dried, white remains of his endless lust. Jonathan had insisted on wearing a condom during intercourse, which the younger one had basically not expected otherwise from the Master of Fear. The professor might be many things, but there was one thing he wasn't: reckless. It was also more or less known in the underground that the Riddler had phases in which he frequently changed his nocturnal company in bed. A small smile fell on his lips. Joker had been hit more than once in his ugly face for his often stupid comments about this behaviour of the other rouge and none of the other criminals had ever thought of defending the clown against the Riddler. Presumably half of the villains weren't interested in the black-haired man's private life or they just enjoyed watching the mad prince suffer. Joker was even more hated than the Dark Knight himself and that should mean something. Nevertheless, these completely exaggerated statements hit the younger man again and again at his sore spot. His ego. Was that why Jonathan had preferred to sleep with him in a sheltered way? What was the likelihood that the former psychiatrist would even label him as a male whore, like Joker or sometimes even Twoface? Ridiculous. It was so ridiculous. Why was the inventor thinking about it right now? Probably the older one just wanted to make sure that they both felt good the first time and that there weren't any nasty surprises in the morning.

Perhaps the professor had a well-kept secret that the tinkerer did not know yet. Edward closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't imagine that Scarecrow had ever had anything like a committed relationship with anyone at all. Jonathan had been noticeably insecure that night. He seemed familiar with the theory of intercourse, but the practice was still visibly different from the myriad tips in the factual textbooks in his library. The gaunt man had once casually mentioned that he had grown up in a very religious environment. So there was a good chance that the explanation beyond the fact of the reproductive instinct never took place. So how was the grim psychiatrist supposed to know that sex was fun, that it relaxed the body, loosened internal blockages and ultimately calmed troubled minds? The Riddler consciously wanted to exclude the romantic aspect for himself for many people. Physical love was one thing and after all these years he had become convinced that he would never get beyond it. An old sock will find an old shoe. Just not in his case. The Riddler did not know what to do now. According to the beating clock in the corridor, it was just two in the morning, so at least four hours before the elder would wake up from his peaceful slumber. Far too much time to think or more, to overthink. Before Edward could decide on anything, he felt the previously rigid body move behind him. Jonathan snuggled down close to his body, the bare skin rubbing lightly against each other. The tinkerer held his breath abruptly. After a while, the brown-haired man's thin arm wrapped itself around his trembling abdomen, gently pulling him against the bony chest of the former psychiatrist. The thin man's cool breath brushed his sensitive neck. Small bite marks adorned the reddened skin. The younger one slowly broke out of his stiffness and began to breathe again, his hand carefully placed on the narrow wrist above his kidney. He flushed slightly and felt the professor's scarred chest rise and fall evenly. This led the inventor to slowly close his eyes. He concentrated entirely on the man behind him, shuddering again and again when his breath brushed the hair on the back of his neck. The older man's bony fingers caressed the pale skin gently, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation. Out of nowhere Edward heard the scratchy voice of the Master of Fear: "Please try to sleep, Edward. You are not alone and I will also be there tomorrow when you wake up. You can trust me. I'm not leaving.” That was all the younger one needed. Someone or better something in his head flicked a switch that otherwise could only be thrown through physical satisfaction. The tiredness overwhelmed him, as well as the strange warmth and the feeling of being safe. He no longer noticed how Jonathan breathed a gentle kiss on the back of his head, just wandered into a relaxed and long-awaited sleep.

#DC #Batman #Jonathan Crane #Edward Nygma #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #Scarecrow #Riddler #Pre-Arkham

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dyketectivecomics · 4 years

Text

Little Miss Moonbeam

Ch 2 - Good Intentions

(Read on ao3 or below!)

Summary: Zatanna and Diana unpack some things together. Tensions continue to build with our main trio.

...

Diana’s hand gripped the door handle as the magician took a harsh turn. The desert air was dry, but considerably cooler now that the sun had vanished beyond the horizon. She was grateful she had the foresight to braid her hair back beforehand, the wind whipping around them with a fury she hadn’t seen in quite some time.

The porsche did not strike the amazon as the best option, but she soon learned, Zatanna wanted nothing more than the speed it provided. Though the flashiness of the vehicle didn’t seem to hurt, either.

“I swear, every cop is a moron,” the magician grumbled, pushing her shades on top of her head, “First that one idiot assuming the worst. Then all that damn time wasted trying to confirm statements. Not a single one taking initiative to check traffic cameras until I asked-”

“You know when to trust your instincts,” Diana interjected, “You’ve learned to listen to your intuition.”

Zatanna gave a derisive snort. “Helps when you’ve got some clairvoyance in your tool belt.”

“And you’re not worried... How it looks now that you’ve disappeared just as quickly-”

“Didn’t you know, Di?” the magician smiled knowingly, an ironic gesture rather than something that came from a place of genuine happiness, “Cops can’t do shit about missing persons cases.”

Diana side-eyed the mystic, noticing her clenched jaw, the stronger grip on the wheel.

“You speak from experience,” she ventured, “Because of your father.”

Her knuckles were nearly white from how hard she gripped the wheel. The magician seemed to catch herself, taking a deep breath and purposefully loosening that grip.

“It brought up a lot of bad memories,” she admitted carefully. “But I can’t worry about that now. Not when…” She shook her head, and wiped a hand at her face. “We need to focus on what we know. Their vehicle needed maintenance, and that gave us confirmation of what type of car they’re in-”

“The waitress at the diner was able to give us better descriptions of the women,” Diana reminded her, “They’re memorable, Zee. They won’t get far.”

Zatanna’s grip tightened again before she accelerated. “They better pray they don’t.”

Diana hummed, a thoughtful sound, turning her eyes away from the road and to the clear skies above them. It was like an inky sea of navy, freckled with an array of constellations. She could name every one without a second thought, but tried to enjoy their natural beauty alone. It had only been a few days ago, afterall, that she was out there among them.

The magician broke this introspection with another thought.

“There was something about their whole… demeanor, though,” she sighed, “In the security footage. They so familiar but- Oh god dammit!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Raven ran away,” Zatanna laughed, “She doesn’t want to be found.”

The amazon smiled, the pieces clicking into place. “She doesn’t want us to know who she’s with. She messed with that footage with her magic.”

~*~*~*~*~

Harley fondly recalled the look on Pam’s face now to be all too similar to the one she made when the clown had first driven their rental car up to the hotel to pick her up. It was the same face that she’d seen a million times before. When she accidentally tripped an alarm during a heist. When she picked the wrong target to put under their feminine wiles for a night on the town. When she picked something positively ridiculous for disguises, or even for leisure.

It was a face that she decided to interpret as ’I’m a little disappointed, but I love you’.

It was all in that contrast of how her eyes seemed even more tired of Harley’s antics than usual, but that little quirk of her mouth into something that was trying so desperately to not be a smile or smirk. Something that outright melted as the botanist took a deep breath, and sighed.

This time, however, it had been brought on by a simple confession. Also regarding that same rental car.

“I, uhhhh, locked the keys in the car.”

Now, had this been one of their usual go-tos, a convertible of one kind or another, this kind of confession may not have been nearly so damning. This rental car, however, was one of the few times that the former psychologist had decided to go against their usual tastes. As soon as Ivy relented on road-tripping back to Gotham, all bets were off. Harley had her heart and her mind set on the perfect car for such a trip.

A Volkswagen Type 2 Bus, in nothing less than cherry red.

(‘To match you, Red!’)

Ivy had complained initially about there being too much room, and how they didn’t need all of the extra space. Right up until Harley gently reminded her of all the souvenirs they had planned on collecting along the way, as well as hitchhikers they needed to sucker into helping them keep up appearances.

That particular problem seemed to vanish, however, the moment that they serendipitously ran into Zatanna’s ward, and had decided to take her under their care.

Yet here they were, not even beginning their trip, and running into trouble!

“Harley-” Oh no, it was starting. The former psychiatrist immediately started shaking her head and waving her hands before herself. Ready to go on the defensive.

“Oh, please don’t start, Red. Can we berate me on the road? After we fix this? Please-”

“Hey, I can-” Raven failed to interrupt them as they continued on.

“We haven’t even been married an hour. I’m not going to fight you, Harls. And I’m not mad-”

“Just disappointed! An’ you know that’s always a million times worse!”

“Uh, I can-” the girl tried to interrupt once more, before Ivy cut her off.

“You know I love you, Harley-”

“Guys-”

“Pam-a-love, I can see that not-so-cute ’but’ coming from a mile away. An’ I don’t like the looksa’ it-”

“-But-”

“La-la-la!” Harley covered her ears with her hands immediately and sang until she felt a small finger jab into her side. “Ow!”

She looked down to see Raven holding the keys up, a small cartoon bear dangling angrily on the keychain.

“Can we go now?” she asked as she shoved the keys towards the rogues. “Mom and Dad made me work on small-scale portals by fetching keys just like this. Now can we please get this show on the road?”

Ivy snatched the keys from her hands as Harley snickered, “That phrase something you pick up from your mom, I take it?”

She smiled wider as the girl’s face went flush with embarrassment, and threw an arm over the kid’s shoulders. “It’s clever, though. The quip, and the trick. Keep this up, and we might make a sidekick outta you yet!”

“We don’t need sidekicks,” the botanist sighed as she started the car, “I am not adding child endangerment to my rap sheet any time soon.”

“What do you call fighting Batgirl and Robin, then?” Raven said.

“Oh-ho! She’s got us there, Red!” Harley laughed, “A little Ray-Ray of sunshine, we got here. Say, kid, you want the first pick of the radio? There’s one station here in Vegas…”

As she listed off a few suggestions and made enough small talk on her own to account for her companions’ near-silence, Harley had the sneaking suspicion that this would be a long start to a memorable trip.

~*~*~*~*~

“How is that even possible?” Diana asked.

“Could be a glamour spell she’s placed over them. It’s always easier to make slight changes than to give someone an entirely new face. The effect is… like when you’re watching a show but can’t quite place where you’ve seen the actor before. But…”

“But?”

Zatanna sighed, her left hand lifting off the wheel as she rested her elbow against the door, head resting against her fist now.

“I never taught her those kinds of spells. And I thought John and I had an understanding. It’s why I didn’t want her to go back to him after the tour is over.”

“So your fight-”

“It wasn’t just about him,” she said, shaking her head. “There was… a lot that was brought up. But it wasn’t just about John. I’ve told her before that our relationship is complicated-”

Diana laughed, a scoffing sound, as she shook her own head this time.

“But have you ever asked her about it before, Zatanna? How can you be sure she understands?”

The magician grew very quiet.

~*~*~*~*~

“Harleen Frances Isley-Quinzel, don’t you dare hit that tumbleweed.”

“But Red, it’s right in the middle of the road!”

The tween wondered for a moment if all adults who were in love were cursed to argue with one another, or if she was just unlucky enough to be surrounded, time and time again, by such couples.

“You wouldn’t hit a deer-”

Then again, perhaps that was just more evidence for this curse she believed she could be carrying. She was two for two, so far.

“Well duh, a deer would fuc- fudge up the car.”

Raven rolled her eyes at the Sirens’ antics. Barely self-censoring themselves had proved not nearly an impossible challenge, just one that they had to be careful to keep up.

“And I’ll fudge you up if-”

Though to the layperson it would appear that their voices held all of the venom and contempt one would expect from two peers forced to get along with one another, Raven could feel that undercurrent of concern they held for each other. Which, unlike Constantine and Zatanna on their best days, made for a relationship that stood a much better chance at standing the test of time. Considering their marriage less than 48 hours ago, she hoped that this would continue to be the case. She was growing rather fond of these rogues, after all.

She focused her powers on scooting the tumbleweed discreetly off the road long before Harley had the chance to hit it, or barely miss it by getting them into an accident.

“There. Crisis averted,” she huffed before reaching forward for the dial on the radio once more. Pam swatted at her hands before turning back to her wife to continue their argument. Raven gave the botanist her most scathing glare before sticking her tongue out at the rogue.

“I don’t care if there’s a whole damn line of tumbleweeds across the highway,” she growled lowly, “You will stop for them.”

“I can move them, Pam,” the empath groaned in the backseat, running her hands over her face in exasperation, “Besides, it’s not like we’re running into them every two miles. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Harley let out a bark of a laugh as Ivy’s face went flush at the tween’s words. The chlorophyll running through her veins gave her face the lightest of green tinges underneath the spray of freckles on her face.

Raven could barely stop her smile as she felt a trace of anger from the rogue as well, satisfied that she was getting on every last one of the botanist’s nerves.

“Oh man, that was good, kid!” Harley took one hand off the wheel to give a high-five to the empath, before focusing attention back on the road. “She got ya, pumpkin, no ifs, ands, or buts about it!”

“Keep your eyes on the road, Harls,” she snapped out before crossing arms over chest and huffing indignantly as she pouted at the window.

While occupied with her moping, Raven reached again for the dial, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach as she heard all-too-familiar opening chords and lines. She debated taking her seatbelt off completely in order to reach the dial, until she heard the clown let out a delighted squeal, beating her to the volume knob.

“Oh, I love this song!” she laughed before turning slightly back to address Raven, “Y’know, last time yer mom an’ I teamed up, this was her ringtone! Ain’t that nutty?”

“It is,” Raven grumbled, “Can we change the station, please?”

The botanist seemed to perk up in the front seat, sending Raven a knowing smirk as she reached for the volume herself, dialing it up impossibly louder.

“After this song, darling. I just adore it, too.”

~*~*~*~*~

“She knows-”

“Zatanna-”

“Where do you get off, Diana? Because if you have a point-”

“I am not blaming you, Zee,” the amazon clarified. “I say this, because I know your experience with motherhood is still so new-”

“And you’ve got a well to draw from-”

“I may not be a mother. But I was raised by many strong and courageous women. More than a few I would consider equal to the one I call my mother-” she claimed defensively.

She reached out to stop her momentum, as the car reached a screeching halt.

“And what? That’s more than you can say for me? Is that it?”

“You know that is not what I mean.”

“But how do you know?” Zatanna yelled. And Diana frowned, recognizing that the magician was taking her words, and twisting them.

“I didn’t even get to know Sindella,” she hissed. “But I knew my father. And he did the best that he damn well could. And I… I am trying, Diana.”

The magician took a shuddering breath, and composed herself, dabbing at her eyes and taking a few more deep breaths. Eventually she gripped the wheel again, staring straight ahead at the open road before them.

“I never asked for this. But I’m doing my best, regardless. Because I know she needs me.”

She released her grip from the wheel again, falling back into the seat in defeat.

“If I could know, truly know, exactly everything that I’ve said to upset her… I’d take it all back in a heartbeat. And I need her to know that. I need to know what… What went wrong.”

Diana nodded after a moment of thought.

“I just pray you’ll be ready to listen, Zatanna. Don’t hear what she has to say,” she rested a hand on the magician’s shoulder, “Listen to her.”

#little miss moonbeam #dc bombshells #randywritesfic #au: magic foster family #zatanna zatara #diana prince #harley quinn #poison ivy #rachel roth #harlivy #wondermagic #dianazee #might be the last compilation for awhile actually bc some of the upcoming stuff needs heavier editing #and also i wanna give some other projects some love again #so uh... y'all know how It Goes kfljds

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tirstyspngirl · 3 years

Text

Too Much to Take

Febuwhump Day 2: Mind Control @febuwhump

Fandom: Supernatural

Trigger Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mild descriptions of injuries

Tags: Whump, Hurt Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester takes care of Sam Winchester, Hallucifer (mentioned), Sam Winchester hates clowns, post Season 7 Episode 14: Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie, emotional hurt/comfort

Dean glanced back over at his sleeping brother, glad to see he was finally getting some semblance of rest. They’d gone back to the motel, Sam took a ridiculously long shower to remove the glitter, and Dean cleaned out as much of the vile substance as possible out of his baby. He thought about forcing Sam to do it, but the kid seemed miserable enough. No need for Dean to make it any worse.

As soon as the glitter was as gone as possible, they’d gathered their gear and booked it out of Kansas. Sam took a long time to settle, obviously still keyed up from fighting his biggest fear. Now he was curled up against the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window. Dean caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to Sam. Sam’s face was pinched and he was pressing his thumb into his palm. Dean sighed inwardly. His brother couldn’t seem to catch a break. Or any sleep.

Dean had been driving aimlessly up until that moment, the only goal being to get the hell out of Kansas. Seeing his brother constantly tormented made his heart ache. Not that he’d ever admit to such a girly notion, but it was true all the same. It was then that he decided they needed a well deserved break. He aimed the Impala towards the one place the brothers frequently talked about, but never seemed to make it to: the Grand Canyon.

They drove straight through the night. Sam continued to pretend to sleep, pressing his hand every so often. Dean pretended not to notice and pressed down the accelerator just a tiny bit harder. When they arrived in Cameron, Arizona, they booked a room at the Grand Canyon Motel and Dean dropped right into bed. The motel was a little nicer and busier than they normally chose, but it was close to the canyon and Dean was too tired to care much about it.

Despite the fact that Sam had been pretending to sleep and not actually sleeping, Sam didn’t follow Dean’s lead. Instead he left to grab coffee. As Dean slept, Sam researched more on Dick Roman. Not that he found any useful info, but Lucifer wouldn’t let him sleep much, so Sam didn’t even bother to try.

Dean woke in the early afternoon, Sam tapping away furiously at the keyboard. Coffee at the ready right in front of him. As Dean walked to the bathroom to shower he glanced at the trashcan already half full with empty coffee cups. He sighed, but kept his mouth shut. He knew there was nothing he could say to Sam that would do any good and he really didn’t want to start an argument.

When Dean was done with his shower they found the nearest diner for lunch. Dean scarfed down his double cheeseburger with extra onions as Sam picked at his grilled chicken salad. Dean tried to encourage his brother to eat, but Sam refused to eat more than a few bites.

“Are y’all done with your food?” The waitress asked as she walked up to the table. Sam jerked in surprise.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Dean said, scooting his plate towards her. Sam scooted over his plate without a word.

“You sure you’re done honey?” she asked Sam.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You should eat more if you’re planning on heading down to the Canyon. Gotta keep your strength up. Too many people have gone missing lately and all the recent sightings. Can’t be too careful.”

“Sightings of what?”

“Why the Mogollon monster of course.” She said, walking away with the dishes. “Be careful out there boys.” She called over her shoulder.

“So much for our vacation.” Dean sighed.

____________________________________________________________________________

“So this Mogollon monster. It’s not usually spotted in this area, but it isn’t too far of a stretch to say it could have made its way out here. It’s been known to act extremely violent and its scream sounds like a woman in distress. It’s essentially the Arizona version of Bigfoot. No lore on how to kill it, so we’ll have to take several weapons with us when we go after it.” Sam said as Dean walked into the room in his Fed suit. “What‘d you find?”

“There have been 7 missing persons cases in the park in the past 4 months. No patterns connecting them that I can see right away. They found traces of body dragging. They assumed it was a mountain lion. Attacks by mountain lions aren’t super common though, so it’s definitely unlikely that’s what’s actually happening. Sounds like this moglin creature is our most likely suspect.”

“Mogollon, and yeah, seems like it. Did you get any info on the last sightings of any of these people. It’s a big park. We need to narrow down where to search.”

“Only on two of them. One was with his group of friends. He went missing overnight from the campground on the South rim. There weren't any signs of brute force near his tent, so my guess is he went to take a piss and was snatched.”

“And the other?”

“She was on a solo trip, but the night before she officially went missing, she checked in with her mother, said she was going to be on the Roaring Springs Trail. Then, when she didn’t check in that night like she was supposed to, her mom reported her missing.”

“You said they found some drag marks, where were those?”

“Out near the Cliff Springs Trail.”

“Ok. Let me pull up a map. See where those spots are and see if we can’t find a likely spot to find this thing.”

___________________________________________________________________________

“Ok, since we’re hiking in, we gotta be smart about what we take with us. I’m glad we’re getting to see this damn thing, but I do not want to die in this canyon.” Dean snorted as they dug through the trunk.

“Yeah. A decent amount of water for sure. We each have our sidearms. A machete each. A couple different mags, one silver, one iron. What else should we take? There is absolutely no lore on ways to kill it.”

“I say we take the bronze dagger and flare guns too and obviously some salt and lighter fluid. Honestly, I don’t want to take much more than that. Worst case scenario none of what we have with us works and we regroup, come back later with different stuff.”

Sam sighs at Dean’s response. “I really don’t want to have to come back out here again. I just want to kill this thing and be done with it.”

“Me too, Sammy. Me too.”

With that, Dean closes the trunk and they head down the trail towards their monster of the week. They hike for close to 3 hours before they hear sounds of movement nearby. Simultaneously, the boys stop, straining to hear where the sound may be coming from. With a quick hand gesture, the boys split, Dean moving to the left and Sam to the right, guns raised and ready to shoot.

The hairs raise on the back of Dean’s neck, alerting his hunter sixth sense to something nearby. He glances at Sam, only to see a hairy beast at least a foot taller than Sam and twice as buff right behind his brother.

“Sam! Look out!”

Sam spins around, only for a massive arm to swing, sending Sam flying into a nearby rock. Sam slumps sideways upon impact, clearly unconscious.

“Hey! Ugly!”

As soon as the furry beast turns toward Dean, he send 2 bullets into the monster’s chest and 2 into his head. The monster drops and Dean can hardly believe it. Was it seriously that easy to drop the damn thing? WIthout dropping his firearm, Dean walks over to the beast. Its brown eyes are staring up, unseeing and there is no rise to its chest. Dean kicks it for good measure, but when there is no reaction from it he knows it’s dead.

Dean scrambles to Sam’s side and shakes his brother’s shoulder, but Sam doesn’t respond. Quickly he checks for a pulse and sighs in relief when he feels it bounding along. Dean feels the back of Sam’s head only to find a decent bump already forming. If he doesn’t have a concussion, he’ll have a wicked headache at least. Dean takes the opportunity of Sam’s unconsciousness to feel along his ribcage as well. Unfortunately at least one rib is broken on the left side and 2 on the right. Dean pats down the rest of Sam’s body, thankful to find no other apparent injuries.

Sam still hasn’t woken up by this point, so Dean presses his knuckles into Sam’s sternum. Sam groans in response and Dean lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Come on, Sammy” he says as he digs his knuckles in harder. Sam blinks his eyes open. Almost immediately, Sam’s eyes dart behind Dean’s right shoulder and winces. Dean glances behind him, but doesn’t see anything over his shoulder. When Dean looks back at Sam, there are tears in Sam’s eyes and looks seconds away from a breakdown.

“Sam?” he asks tentatively. He keeps his voice soothing and low as if speaking to a frightened child or animal.

“I can’t take this anymore, Dean.”

“What?”

“It’s too much. The clowns from earlier this week, and Bobby dying, and Lucifer is screaming his head off behind you. Now it hurts to breathe and we’re 3 hours from the car, I have a splitting headache and I just can’t. I can’t do it.” The dam broke, and tears spilled out of Sam’s eyes.

“Oh Sammy.” Dean literally feels his heart breaking as he listens to Sam give up. But he can’t let him. “Look, I know it’s been really shitty lately. Losing Bobby was a serious blow. And I know those clowns hit you real hard, but we’re going to figure out how to get Lucifer out of your head and it will get better. I promise you. Everything just feels worse right now cause of that head injury. Pretty sure you got a good concussion going and I’m sure your head hurts something fierce. We’ll get you back to the motel, wrap up those ribs and get on some real nice pain meds. You can rest for as long as you need. I won’t look for any hunts until you’re back in tip top shape ok?”

Sam looked at Dean hesitantly. Dean couldn’t blame him. Lucifer was only getting worse and they had no idea how to make it go away. Plus they were at a stalemate in the Leviathan issue with no leads on where to even look. And a 3 hour hike sounded daunting to even Dean right now, and he didn’t have 3 broken ribs and a concussion. But Sam nodded anyway.

Dean cupped his hand on the back of Sam’s neck, offering him strength. “I’m gonna salt and burn this bitch real quick and then we’ll get you out of here. Ok sammy?”

Dean waited until he saw Sam’s nodded answer before turning back to the monster. He pulled out the small canister of salt and sprinkled it liberally over the entire beast.

“Damn Sammy, I thought you were a giant, but you got nothing on this dude.” Dean heard a small huff of laughter and took that as a good sign as he poured the lighter fluid on top of the salt layer. He opened a pack of matches and stuck one. He tossed it on the monster and turned away without looking back for any confirmation that the monster was burning. Sam was visibly attempting to get himself under control. As Dean turned back towards him, he steeled his expression and let Dean help him to his feet.

“Okay little brother. Let’s get you out of here.”

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday2 #spn #Deanwinchestertakescareorsamwinchester

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