Is this bait? Yes. Will i use it as an excuse to post the guys with tourettic!reader? Fuck yes.
Soap is always willing to go out in public with you. His easy confidence makes it hard to feel ashamed of your tics, and he's perfected the "fuck off, asshole" look for anyone who tries to bother you. He's also surprisingly good at predicting your tics. Even if all your drinks are put in your special cup specifically so they won't spill, he's always catching it anyway. "Good trainin' aye? Keeps me on mah toes." Is his response after literally vaulting a shopping cart to catch your phone.
Ghost is a bit stubborn and emotionally constipated, but he's your best choice for days with violent tics. Mostly because you could stab this man and all he does is let out a muffled 'oof'. So you can slap and punch at him without guilt because he literally doesn't feel it half the time. "Huh? Why would I be upset at you tapping me? I live with Johnny." Also if you start to punch or hurt yourself he's always placing a hand between your hands and your skin to soften the blow. Somehow does it without looking??
Price is there to prevent tic attacks. No, he doesn't care about your shitty sleep schedule, you're not getting caffeine. If he senses you already feel overwhelmed he's sending you to his office so you can either nap or relax on the shitty couch he's got tucked into the corner. More often than not you're wearing his jacket around base because you left yours at home and he refuses to let you be cold. "No need to suffer more than necessary, kid." Is what he always says when you try to deny the jacket and just deal with the tics.
Gaz is there for after the tic attacks because sometimes theyre unavoidable. Depending on how you feel later he's got a bath and your favourite bath bombs ready, but if you just want to sleep he's also got heating pads for your sore muscles and Tylenol for the headaches. He's definitely the best when it comes to dealing with your shitty mood. He doesnt push you to feel better or cheer up because he knows the reality isnt fun. "Take your time, kid. No ones watching." So he dims the lights and tosses on a comfort movie for you before settling down himself, content to let you feel how you feel without interruption.
Summary: Ever since your ex-wife left you because you became "too much" you've kept everyone at a distance so why is this R2 you're keeping things casual with getting under your skin?
word count: 4.2K
Warnings: chronic pain flare, disability, mobility/health struggles, nausea, medication mention, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, past relationship trauma, argument/miscommunication, jealousy, self-worth issues, implied sex/casual hookup dynamic, hurt/comfort.
Authors note: This kind of started out as an idea for my The Pitt OC, but I really wanted to write about these two so here it is in x reader format!
You'd already been awake a few hours when Trinity woke up in your bed. You were over in the kitchen area of your studio apartment. Typing away on your laptop. Updating some of your documents for work tomorrow.
"Oh you're awake." Trinity spoke. Normally she'd have slipped out before you were up.
"I was in a lot of pain. It woke me up so I decided to get some work done." You told her, not really looking up.
"Oh...well then I guess I'm gonna get dressed and go. I have to meet with someone." She says getting up from the bed.
"That was fast." You deadpanned.
"Not like that. Baran asked to meet up to discuss some things about the ED." Your eye physically twitched. You had stopped typing for a moment.
"Okay."
"Is it?" Trinity asks, walking over in nothing but one of your old band shirts.
"I said it is." Her arms wrapped around you from behind.
"Its okay of its not...or if it makes you jealous." She spoke softly, sending a shiver through you.
"Im not going to repeat myself Trinity." There was a bite to your voice. Your walls are going up and she knew it.
Trinity’s smile faltered just slightly at the tone.
Not enough that most people would notice it.
But she’d spent enough mornings tangled in your sheets by now to recognize the difference between your sharp edges and your hurt ones.
Her chin rested against your shoulder anyway, stubborn about it.
“You get this wrinkle right here when you’re pissed,” she murmured, brushing her thumb between your brows. “Usually means I should start apologizing.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Mm.” She didn’t sound convinced.
You stared at the spreadsheet on your screen without actually reading it anymore. The cursor blinked accusingly in the middle of a half-finished sentence.
Behind you, Trinity shifted carefully, mindful of your body in that instinctive way she’d gotten lately. One hand stayed light against your waist instead of squeezing. The other rubbed slowly over your shoulder.
“You know,” she said softly, “most people would just say ‘yeah okay have fun.’”
“Most people aren’t me.”
“That’s true.” A tiny grin ghosted across her voice. “You’re meaner.”
That got the barest twitch at the corner of your mouth.
Trinity caught it immediately.
“There she is.”
You sighed through your nose, shoulders tight. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Manage me.”
Her arms loosened instantly.
Not offended. Not dramatic. Just enough space to show you she heard the boundary.
“You think that’s what I’m doing?”
You swallowed.
Your ex-wife used to talk to you like this too near the end. Gentle voice. Careful hands. Like every emotion you had needed to be diffused before it became inconvenient.
You hated how fast your mind went there.
“I think,” you said slowly, “that this is casual. And casual means I don’t get jealous when the girl I’m sleeping with runs off to see someone else in the morning.”
Trinity went quiet behind you. She stepped away from the chair and started gathering her clothes from around the apartment.
You tried to go back to typing, but you couldn’t focus. Your pain had settled deep into your joints overnight, leaving you exhausted and raw. Usually you were better at keeping the walls up when you felt like this.
Usually people didn’t stay long enough to notice the cracks.
Trinity disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, then came back dressed in yesterday’s clothes. She walked over to the kitchenette quietly, opening cabinets like she already knew where things were.
You frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Making coffee.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
The coffee pot clicked on.
You watched her move around your tiny apartment with annoying familiarity. Pulling down mugs. Finding the coffee grounds. Opening the fridge without asking.
Domestic.
Dangerously domestic.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking back.
“I’m trying to figure out why you’re still here.”
That finally made her turn.
There was something unexpectedly open in her expression now. Softer than her usual smirk.
“Because,” she said simply, “you were hurting before I even said Baran’s name.”
Your throat tightened. Trinity walked back over slowly until she stood beside your chair again.
“You don’t have to date me,” she said. “You don’t have to promise me anything. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care about you just because someone else taught you that caring always comes with conditions.”
You looked away first.
“You know Baran’s divorced.”
“I know.”
“You could go for her. I’ve seen how she looks at you and how you light up at her praise.”
“And she’s like fifteen years older than me.”
“And I’m almost ten years older,” you reminded her, finally looking up from your laptop with a raised eyebrow.
Trinity blinked.
Then huffed out a laugh.
“Okay, first of all, you are way hotter than Baran.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“It was a point.”
You rolled your eyes despite yourself, but Trinity caught the way your mouth threatened to turn upward.
“There,” she said immediately, pointing at you. “That face. I’m winning.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet you keep letting me stay over.”
Your lips pressed together again, trying not to react to that one.
Trinity softened a little after a second.
“For real though,” she said more quietly, “you know I don’t care about the age difference, right?”
Something vulnerable flickered across your expression before you could stop it. Because it wasn’t really about the number. It was about history. About being left behind for someone easier. Healthier. Less complicated. Less tired.
“You don’t need someone with so much baggage, Trinity.”
Trinity seemed to read enough of that off your face that her teasing faded completely.
“You know what I actually think this is?”
"Tell me oh wise one. What do you think this actually is?"
Trinity’s grin came back immediately at the oh wise one.
“There she is,” she murmured. “Mean and sarcastic. My favorite version of you.”
You snorted softly and leaned back in your chair just enough to look at her properly.
“Well? Enlighten me.”
Trinity shifted her weight against the counter, arms folding loosely over her chest. For once, she didn’t immediately go for a joke.
“I think,” she said slowly, “you decided a long time ago that needing people is humiliating.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
Your expression flattened automatically.
Trinity noticed.
“And I think,” she continued carefully, “that every time someone gets close enough to matter, you start looking for proof they’re gonna leave anyway.”
“That’s psychobabble.”
“You literally just got jealous over me getting coffee with my boss and you’re a psychiatrist!”
“She’s not your boss.”
“She signs my evaluations,” Trinity deadpanned.
That dragged a reluctant breath of laughter out of you.
Trinity smiled a little at the sound before stepping closer again, slower this time, giving you plenty of room to shut her out.
“You know what else I think?”
You raised an eyebrow. “You think a lot for someone who just woke up.”
“I’m serious.”
That softened something in your chest despite yourself.
Trinity rested a hand lightly on the back of your chair.
“I think you’re used to people seeing your disability before they see you.” Her voice had gone quieter now. “And when they finally realize pain doesn’t magically go away? When things get hard? They leave.”
You went very still.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Not completely.
Your ex-wife had loved you when you were still “manageable.” Back when the bad days were occasional instead of constant. Before mobility aids became normal. Before exhaustion started carving pieces out of you.
Trinity’s eyes searched your face carefully.
“So now you keep everything casual because if nobody’s allowed to matter,” she said softly, “then nobody gets the chance to abandon you.”
The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.
You stared at her for a long moment before looking away first.
“You can leave now, Trinity.”
The softness vanished from your voice completely.
Cold.
Sharp enough to cut.
Trinity blinked at the sudden shift. “Hey I didn’t-”
“I mean it.”
She straightened slowly from where she’d crouched beside your chair, confusion flickering across her face before frustration started creeping in around the edges.
“You’re seriously kicking me out because I said something true?”
Your jaw clenched.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you know me.”
Trinity scoffed softly, incredulous. “I am getting to know you, that’s literally the problem.”
“I said leave.” Your voice cracked like a whip this time. “Now.”
That finally shut the room up.
Trinity stared at you for a few long seconds.
You could actually watch the moment her expression closed off.
Not completely.
But enough.
She grabbed her jacket off the back of the couch harder than necessary.
“Whatever,” she muttered, anger bleeding into her voice now because hurt and anger always looked a little similar on her. “You’re pissed because I’m right.”
You didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because if you opened your mouth right now, something ugly and vulnerable would probably crawl out of it.
Trinity shoved her arms into the sleeves of her jacket.
“I’m still gonna be around though Y/N,” she said tightly. “I’m not disappearing, so just…” She laughed once without humor. “Text me when you wanna hook up again, I guess.”
The words landed like a punch. Because suddenly she sounded exactly like what you’d been trying to make this. Casual, easy, nothing important.And for some reason hearing her say it made you feel sick. Trinity hesitated at the door for half a second like she was waiting for you to stop her.
You didn’t.
So she left.
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the cheap frames on your wall.
Silence flooded the apartment afterward.
Heavy.
Immediate.
Your breathing felt uneven suddenly.
“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands came up to cover your face as your elbows rested on the desk.
Pain still burned through your body, hot and relentless beneath your skin, but it barely registered now over the ache opening up in your chest.
Because Trinity had been right.That was the worst part, it wasn’t the jealousy or the argument. It’s the fact she’d seen straight through you in a way nobody had in a very long time.
And instead of letting her or letting someone care about you without conditions…you’d shoved her out the second it got real. Your fingers curled against your forehead.
“Good job,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “Really fucking nailed that one.”
The apartment still smelled like her shampoo.
Her coffee sat untouched on the counter.
And somewhere beneath all the anger and panic and instinctive self-protection was a horrible creeping realization that you might’ve just blown up the only genuinely good thing you’d let yourself have in years.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹
It took you a week to text her. A full week of typing messages out and deleting them. A full week of staring at your phone after shifts, wondering if Trinity was angry enough to ignore you now. Wondering if maybe she should.
In the end, the message you finally sent was painfully simple.
you busy tonight?
Trinity responded four minutes later.
depends. you gonna kick me out again?
You stared at that one for a long time before replying.
No. I promise.
Another pause.
Then:
okay. i’ll come by after shift
And somehow that almost made you throw your phone across the room from nerves alone.
By the time evening rolled around though, your body had other plans. One minute you’d been trying to clean your apartment, the next your joints felt like someone had poured molten glass into them. Nausea rolled through you hard enough you barely made it to the bathroom the first time.
You got yourself set up in bed, barely made it really.
You took your meds, hoping they’d help soon enough to still be able to do things with Trinity. You crawled into bed in one of your oversized sleep shirts, and told yourself you’d rest for twenty minutes before texting Trinity not to come. Instead, you passed out completely.
The knock at the door never woke you, but the sound of it opening did. Your eyes cracked open blearily to the sound of footsteps moving through your apartment. For one disoriented second panic flashed through you before your brain caught up.
Trinity.
“...shit,” you croaked. Your throat felt dry. You pushed yourself up slightly, immediately regretting it as pain flared through your spine, the room spinning a bit.
From the other room, Trinity froze. Then she appeared in the doorway a second later.
The tension that had been sitting between you both all week was obvious immediately. You could see it in the way she stopped short instead of walking in fully.
She looked exhausted from her shift. Backpack still slung over one shoulder. Hair down from the way she’d keep it up at work. Hoodie half unzipped.
But the second she actually saw you, her expression changed.
“Oh.” Not annoyance, concern; real, immediate concern. “You’re not feeling well.”
“I’m fine,” you mumbled automatically.
Trinity’s eyebrows shot up.
“You look like death warmed over.”
“Wow. Charming.”
“You invited me over and then I had to sneak in.”
“How?”
“You gave me the code like three months ago.”
Right.
You closed your eyes briefly. “Forgot.”
Trinity stood there another second, watching you carefully. You hated that she could probably already tell.
The heating pad cord sticking out and keeping your lower back in a pleasant state. The untouched water on the nightstand. The trash can beside the bed just in case the nausea came back.
A flare up, a bad one. Suddenly embarrassment burned hotter than the pain did.
Because this,this was exactly why you kept people at arm’s length. You looked away from her. “You don’t have to stay.” The words came out quieter this time. Your voice almost cracking. Like you were expecting her to leave just like your ex. You were just hurt and tired. You’d been through this song and dance before.
Trinity didn’t answer immediately.
You heard the soft thud of her bag hitting the floor instead. Then her footsteps crossed the apartment toward the bed. When the mattress dipped beside you, you still couldn’t look. You knew she was studying your face with that same frustratingly perceptive expression. Then a hand under your chin, soft, helping guide you to meet her gaze.
“You took meds already?”
You nodded once.
“Nausea?”
Another nod.
“Pain scale.”
You gave her a flat look. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, humor me.”
“Trinity.”
She reached over and brushed your hair carefully back from your forehead anyway. The touch was gentle enough it made your chest ache.
“Baby,” she said softly, “what number?”
Your breath caught a little at the word. Not because she seemed to notice she’d said it, but because she didn’t. Like it had just slipped out naturally.
“…Eight,” you admitted finally.
Trinity exhaled quietly through her nose.
“Okay.” She glanced around the room once before looking back at you. “Did you eat anything?”
You hesitated too long.
“Oh my god.”
“I was gonna…”
“You invited me over while actively dying.”
“I wasn’t dying when I invited you.”
“Debatable.”
Despite yourself, a weak laugh escaped you.
Trinity’s face softened instantly at the sound, like she’d been waiting for proof you were still in there underneath the pain and pride and shame.
“I’m gonna make you toast,” she said, already standing again.
“You don’t have to take care of me.” She paused halfway to the kitchenette. Then looked back at you.
“I know.” Her voice was very quiet now. “I’m doing it anyway.”
You watched Trinity move around your tiny kitchenette in a strange sort of silence. Opening cabinets, finding the bread, filling a glass with fresh water like she already knew your routines.
It felt…weird…not bad. Just unfamiliar in a way that made your skin feel too tight.
Your ex-wife used to sigh when your flares got bad. Not always intentionally cruel about it. Sometimes just tired. Frustrated. Burnt out from the repetition of it all.
Another appointment. Another medication. Another ruined plan. Eventually she’d stopped asking what you needed altogether.
But Trinity had already asked three times in under ten minutes.
You swallowed hard and looked away when she glanced back toward the bed.
“You don’t have to hover.”
“I’m literally making toast.”
“You’re hovering emotionally.” You point out, tilting your head slightly.
That snorted a laugh out of her.
“God, you are impossible when you feel like shit.”
“I’m impossible all of the time.” You pulled the blanket higher over your stomach. “You worked all day.”
“So?”
“So now you’re here stuck playing doctor with me.”
The words came out sharper than you intended. Trinity slowed and took in your expression.
“My ex used to hate this part,” you admitted quietly before you could stop yourself. “The flares. The meds. Me cancelling things.” Your jaw tightened. “Said she already spent enough time taking care of people at work. She didn’t wanna come home and do it too.”
The apartment went still. Trinity set the butter knife down carefully. Then turned toward you fully. For once, there wasn’t a trace of teasing in her face.
“That’s what you think this is?” she asked softly.
You immediately regretted saying anything at all.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
You looked away stubbornly, but Trinity crossed the room anyway, carrying the plate over before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed again.
“You think I’m here because I have to be.”
“I think you’ve already spent twelve hours getting puked on and yelled at by patients,” you muttered. “I don’t exactly make a great after-work activity.” You mumbled out, looking down and playing with the edge of the blanket.
Something flickered across Trinity’s expression then.
Hurt.
Not offended hurt. The kind that came from hearing someone talk about themselves like they were fundamentally difficult to love.
She handed you the plate.
Your hands shook a little while taking it.
“Look at me for a second.”
You didn’t want to.
Which was exactly why she waited instead of pushing.
Eventually your eyes lifted to hers.
“I am here,” Trinity said carefully, “because I wanted to come here.”
Your throat tightened.
“I answered your text in four minutes,” she continued. “I spent the whole week wondering if you were gonna talk to me again.” A tiny huff of laughter escaped her. “I almost didn’t come tonight because I thought maybe you changed your mind.”
Guilt twisted low in your stomach.
Trinity leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe.
“You know what I see right now?” she asked quietly.
You stared down at the toast in your lap. “A disaster?”
“I see someone who’s hurting.” Her voice softened. “And who’s so used to handling it alone that being cared for feels embarrassing.”
Your eyes burned suddenly. You looked away before she could notice. Except of course she noticed.
“You don’t have to perform being okay around me,” she said. “You don’t have to earn softness.”
A shaky breath left you.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” she said gently. “It’s easy for you to believe you’re only worth loving when you’re easy.”
Silence settled between you after that.
Trinity reached over eventually and tugged the blanket a little higher around your legs when she noticed you shiver.
The movement was so absentmindedly caring it almost hurt worse than the flare itself.
And for the first time in a very long time, you let someone take care of you without immediately pushing them away.
You managed a few bites before your hands started betraying you.
Tiny tremors.
The kind that got worse when your pain spiked or when you had forgotten to eat all day. You tried to hide it at first by adjusting your grip on the plate, but Trinity noticed immediately because apparently nothing escaped her attention when it came to you.
“Here,” she murmured softly. Her hand settled against your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. It was so soft, so gentle. It was as if she wanted to do something, anything to make it better.
You swallowed hard around the strange tightness in your throat and kept eating while she sat beside you, warm and steady against the mattress. Every so often she’d help in small ways without making a thing out of it. Moving the water closer when your reach faltered. Taking the plate before it became too heavy for your wrists. Adjusting the heating pad on your back.
Tiny acts of care so casual they almost undid you. The meds were finally taking the sharpest edge off the pain by the time you spoke again.
“We can’t do our usual, so…” Your eyes stayed fixed on the blanket in your lap. “You don’t have to stay late.”
The room went silent for half a second. Then Trinity turned toward you fully.
“You trying to get rid of me just because we can’t have sex?” she asked incredulously. “You think that’s why I stay around?”
Your face heated immediately. “I didn’t mean…I just…”
She paused suddenly, considering.
“Well,” she admitted, “that thing you do with your tongue is incredible.”
You let out a horrified noise while she burst into laughter.
“Oh my god, your face right now.”
“Trinity.”
“I’m being honest!”
“You’re the worst.”
“Mm. And yet you invited me back.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitched. Trinity’s expression softened almost immediately at the sight of it. Then she leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently against yours.
“But seriously,” she said quieter now, “I love spending time with you. I like being here.” Her fingers brushed lightly against your arm. “We can just lay here and veg out. I don’t care.”
Something warm and dangerous unfurled low in your chest at the words. Because she sounded sincere. Not trapped or obligated. Like she genuinely wanted this. Wanted you.
“H…” You cleared your throat softly. “How about a movie?”
Trinity brightened instantly.
“Okay. But it has to be your all-time favorite.”
You groaned. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“You’ll judge me.” You whined out.
“I already sleep with you. The judgment stage has passed.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it anymore. Trinity shifted closer while you reached shakily for the remote, until her thigh pressed warm against yours beneath the blankets.
Comfortable. Easy. The kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex at all and somehow that scared you more than anything else. The movie had barely been on ten minutes before you realized Trinity had slowly migrated closer. At first it was small things. Her knee brushing yours beneath the blankets. Her shoulder bumping against your arm whenever she laughed quietly at something onscreen. Then somewhere along the way she’d ended up fully pressed against your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You became acutely aware of it all at once. The warmth of her. The steady rise and fall of her breathing. The way one of her hands rested lazily against your stomach beneath the blanket, absentmindedly tracing tiny patterns through the fabric of your shirt.
Your chest tightened strangely. Not panic…not exactly. Just…awareness.
You shifted slightly against the pillows and immediately regretted it when pain tugged through your hips.
Trinity noticed instantly.
“Sorry,” she murmured, already trying to pull away. “Am I squishing you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
You hesitated a second too long.
Trinity started moving anyway, but before she could fully pull back, your arm was around her, tugging her back against you. It hurt a little, but it didn’t matter to you. The movement surprised both of you.
You swallowed hard.
“I just…” Your voice came out quieter than intended. “You’re okay. I promise”
Trinity went very still beside you.
Then softer than before, “Yeah?”
You nodded once, eyes fixed stubbornly on the TV instead of her face.
Because admitting you liked this felt weirdly intimate. More intimate than sex had ever been between you two. Trinity settled back carefully after a second, slower this time, making sure not to put weight on the parts of you that hurt. Her head ended up tucked near your shoulder.
You could feel the faint brush of her hair against your jaw.
Neither of you spoke for a little while after that.
The movie played quietly in the background while the rain tapped softly against your apartment windows.
And somewhere in the middle of all that warmth and exhaustion and lingering ache, you realized something deeply unsettling: you couldn’t remember the last time another person’s presence made you feel better instead of trapped.
Trinity’s thumb brushed once across your stomach absentmindedly.
“You literally attached yourself to me like a barnacle.”
“Mm.” You could hear the grin in her voice without looking. “And yet you pulled me back in.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because she was right.
Again.
Instead of answering, you let your head tilt carefully until it rested against hers. The smile Trinity gave at that was small.
Tiny request for twin reader with damian mabye they were seperated at birth aka talia gave bruce twin reader and kept damian but win reader has some kind of disability like walking with crutches and as soon as damian moves in he goes into protective brother mode and always tries to help twin reader
“I’m your protector.”
Damian Al ghul-Wayne x Disabled! Twinreader
Summary: separated from birth, Damian finds out you are disabled from walking. Knowing that you are his blood sibling, he can’t help but be protective over you
After Talia revealed to Damian he had a twin (brother/sister) that she gave away to his father all because you were disabled. He felt anger towards his mother and a little bit of betrayal.
How could she keep such a secret from him and the fact she just gave you away made him feel…protective.
He wants to know you are okay. He wants to make sure you are okay. So when he moved into his new room, he got a knock on his door. He opens it to see, you. You had crutches, smiling as your hand grip the crutches handle. “Brother! Oh my, we do look the same!” You were excited, happy. Damian immediately observed you, he sees you are pure of light. He was right to feel protective when you don’t know much of the words he is saying with his high vocabulary.
He draws and colors on your crutches, he likes to see the light in your eyes when he draws what you like on your crutches.
You both may be different, but his brotherly love is not. He’s always sitting by you, dinner, breakfast, lunch out of the manor, events, galas. He’s always there. Sure Bruce would try and tell Damian that you can protect yourself, maybe even that you can do things without his help. But you’re ten, just like him. So what did he do? Not listen to his father like he always do.
He’s happy to know you never wanted or tried to be Robin. His heart would break knowing that his precious half would try and fight. But that also meant you never learned how to protect yourself and fight mostly, making it worse for Damian to grasp.
Damian tried not to baby you much, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious at those random thoughts in the back of his head. “They’re gonna fall one day, what if no one is there to pick him up.” He would sometimes just sleep on a chair in your room incase you fall off your bed.
Damian would train Titus for whenever you fall and you can’t reach your crutches. He would have Titus use his body and guide you somewhere so you can get up.
“I’m your protector.” He would say when he sees you trying to get up and grab your crutches. But titus and him are already up and helping you. You laugh thinking he’s joking, but he’s not.
If you’re sick? Protectiveness levels are off the charts when he sees you cough and shake. Yeah he’s not going to school until you’re better. No way he’s leaving his sibling at home!
Would call pennyworth off his phone if you are homeschooled. Always checking up on you no matter what, it doesn’t matter if Alfred says you are okay. He wants to hear you say it.
If someone dared to make fun of you, he’s after them like the devil himself. If they dared to try and take your crutches, it’s gonna get wicked. Even god himself won’t be able to take Damian off the assailant.
Say you were also on the artistic route, he would absolutely treasure your art work. “It’s bad..” you said once, and Damian straight up lectured you about how art takes time and how beautiful your art work is to him no matter what.
I can see Jason saying it’s true the artwork looked terrible, and Damian just straight up chased him around angrily while you try to tell Damian it’s okay.
Titus adores you, and you adore Titus which makes Damian feel even better that Titus likes you. I mean who wouldn’t when literally you are the sunshine of the family.
Damian definitely have written letters to you when he was on “punishment” is what he called it when he had to go work with the titans. So when you visit him at the titans tower, he made sure most things were safe proof for you. Kory already knew you because of Dick. Kory tries to reason to Damian as he literally rips something apart because he deemed it as “unsafe.” But did he listen? No.
When beast boy playfully was play fighting with you, Damian was ready to cut Garfield’s head off. Only for you to wipe the floor of the green shapeshifter by using your crutch as a bat. Damian hid his sword with a smirk, maybe he doesn’t need to protect you much.
The explosion had been nasty. Your leg had been blown off and the rest of your body was heavily burned to the point you barely looked like yourself. After waking up in so much pain, you felt like screaming. They should've just let you die. You weren't yourself. You were a monster.
The prosthetic you were hastily given while they made you a custom one was.. horrible. You had to learn how to walk again - how to live again.
While on supervised rest, Simon had heard you beg in your dreams to let you die. The mumbled "please let me go let me die please I don't want to live like this" a repeated mantra that plagued your dreams.
Simon knew a thing or two about being mutilated, burned, scarred - and he would promise himself to take care of you.
When you finally got your fitted prosthetic leg, he held your hand - figuratively and literally - throughout the process of getting used to walking again. Then running, then jumping, then so on. He helped you fight again. He helped you use your leg as an advantage.
You couldn't feel it? Great. Kick the shit out of your enemy. He'll feel it.
He would massage your shoulders and neck in the quiet moments where you stare off into existence like you're not fully there. He would hold you when you sob about not being able to feel anymore. He was there when you had moments of PTSD when one of Johnny's explosives went off a little too close for comfort.
You learned a lot about Simon. About his past, about.. everything. It made him feel less unreachable and more human.
On the last day you were required to be under medical attention, Simon pressed a small but meaningful kiss to the crown of your head. He had murmured: "you did it, love." and then he left you alone with the gravity of your achievement.
Kyle
Fluff and rage-baiting
You were hard of hearing, which wasn't too bad for you in combat. You didn't need noise-cancelling headphones or stuff like that. You didn't flinch at explosions or gunfire or loud aircrafts overhead.
But it was a struggle in day-to-day life.
Kyle would try to get your attention while you munched on a sandwich in the corner of the mess hall, practically yelling his ass off and still you couldn't hear.
But what he didn't know, you had been given hearing aids from Johnny after he convinced the medical staff to order you some. That being said, you could hear Kyle perfectly fine and chose to ignore him.
One recruit in passing tapped your shoulder and pointed to Kyle, and you looked up and followed his gesture. There Kyle was, screaming his heart out at you, and you pretended you couldn't hear him.
"What?" you would yell back.
"I said, give me back my hoodie!" Kyle replied, hands cupping his mouth as if that would do anything.
"What??" You repeated, expertly hiding the smirk on your face with the sandwich.
Let's just say he ended up stomping over to you and dragging you by the ear like a grandma to make you give him his hoodie back.
Price
Hurt/comfort-ish
Suffering with fibromyalgia ruined your life. Constantly fatigued, always in pain, all of it with no relief.
Because it wasn't something that's "visible", it's often discounted as you being "too lazy" or "dramatic" when everything you experience is ten times worse than a bullet through your body.
So you've decided to just... shut up about it.
They can't see it, so why should you express the discomfort you're in. Everyone thinks you're lying, anyways.
But then Price confronts you. He's seen the way you wince when you think nobody's watching. How you massage your wrists and roll your shoulders for almost five minutes but to what looks like no avail. How you flinch at loud noises and how you constantly doze off in the corner of the rec room.
He himself suffers with chronic pain - albeit not the kind you're used to. As he gets older, the stereotypical "old man pain" places start to hurt. But he pushes through, because a captain can't be weak. Can't be vulnerable.
One day, he comes up to you and just... hugs you. He lets you feel seen without the words, without the explaining. He holds you tighter, a silent "I see you, you're so strong" in the gesture.
Johnny
fluff but stern fluff if that makes sense
You, with a heart disease, should NOT be participating in an energy drink chugging contest. As soon as he heard your voice amongst the clamoring of the recruits, Johnny rushed over and ripped the drink out of your hand.
"The fuck is wrong with ye?" he scolded with a glare that told all the recruits to scram. "You could die from this, ye know."
You, in return, roll your eyes. "I know my limits." You didn't. You just wanted to feel included - wanted to feel normal. Johnny looked you over once and shook his head. He pulled you closer and rested his head atop yours.
"It's my job to look after ye, and I can't do that if you're willingly throwing yourself into a state where your heart'll act up." Patting your shoulder, he let go of you. Upon seeing your pout, he smiled reassuringly.
"I'm not telling you to stop, love, I'm telling you to tone it down, aye?" Johnny then walked away after ruffling your hair.
I love your disabled reader stories, how would you feel writing a low vision/blind reader. Any driver you want for it, also maybe reader possibly having a guide dog. Keep up your amazing writing and have a lovely day.
Lowkey in the hospital rn (not ER, no worries) so this is a nice distraction :)
Drivers with Visually Impared Reader
M, Verstappen, Piastri, Tsunoda, Hamilton, Alonso
Max Verstappen
Whenever you and Max run into signs that don't have braille, he tweaks out
Even if you're kinda used to it, Max is always infuriated by the ableism of Europe and the Motorsports community
If you use a white cane he always gives anyone who walks on blind paths the nastiest stimk eye
If you have a guide dog, whenever it's off duty it's just the bestest friend with Max's pets
Racing is actually very hearing oriented, so he is very exited to teach you to sim race
He gets 3d models of the tracks and teaches you how to listen for how fast you're going
He loves being able to share his passions
There is nothing hotter to him than his boyfriend sim racing
Oscar Piastri
When you guys first get together Oscar wants to know what it's like to be blind, so he tries to walk around his apartment blindfolded
He doesn't even make it an hour, and aquires tons of bruises
He doesn't tell you he did that until you'd been dating for over a year, and says it really helped him understand what your life is like
He also learns the importance of dulled furniture
And he makes sure his mom's house is also disabled friendly
Which she does without question of course
Yuki Tsunoda
He puts 亀吉 on your service dog's back all the time
Part time service dog, full time taxi
Japan is actually pretty Blind-friendly, so he really likes taking you there
It makes him happy to see you not be treated like an other, instead just be treated like a person
Whenever you come to the paddock he gets really protective of you
Like he sticks by your side because he knows someone is gonna be rude, but maybe they won't if they know he's about to punch them
Lewis Hamilton
As soon as you decided to move in together Lewis spent an entire day making a 3d model of his apartment for you
It is perfectly to scale
He also makes sure that any corners of his furniture aren't sharp in case you bump into them when you're still getting used to the apartment
Whenever your service dog is off duty he will spend hours playing with it and Roscoe
He gets a customized service dog vest with Ferrari/Mercedes colors for when you're in the paddock
Even if you can't see it, he'll make sure that you still slay
Pierre Gasly
Whenever he's away for races, he record audio books for you
He says that his voice is better that the boring monotone ones
He loves having cuddle piles with Simba, your service dog, and you
All his pretty boys
He's very sweet with you, and loves going on walks with you, but if you run into someone being rude and getting in your way, he'll snap
He's very protective
He knows you can hold your own, but he also wants to take care of you
I'm thinking about reader, who is Pope's partner, who has had a sudden change in their physical ability. Maybe it was an accident or a progression of a preexisting degenerative disease or a particularly devastating flare up of a medical condition, but either way you needs to make some big adjustments to your life.
If it required a hospital stay, Pope would by your side the whole time. He'd pay for a private room and bring you a sleep mask and ear plugs to block out all the lights and sounds for a much more enjoyable sleep. Maybe it affected your legs or your standing tolerance, and you would need equipment and mobility devices like a wheelchair or a walker. Pope would pay for that too. He'd connect with your occupational therapist and physical therapist and anyone involved in your rehab to ask what equipment was needed. And when you'd tell Pope that you'd pay him back, he'd tell you to forget it, you were taking on a huge physical and mental load right now, you didn't need to worry about the finances.
Pope would ensure the house you shared with him is accessible, and if it wasn't, Pope would make it so. He'd widen doorways to accommodate a wheelchair and change door handles if you didn't have the grip strength or dexterity to turn a knob. He'd put things on lower shelves and within reach. He'd get you all the bathroom equipment you'd need - a raised toilet seat with handles so you could transfer or not have to go down so low to go to the bathroom, and a shower chair or bench with grab bars on the walls - and he'd build a new counter so the mirror and sink were lower and your wheelchair could fit in the space underneath.
If necessary, Pope would rearrange the whole house so you could live on the main floor and he'd have a stair lift installed if possible. He'd want to make sure you could be as independent as you wanted in the house. Pope would build a ramp into the house too, so you didn't need to rely on him to come and go as you pleased. He'd buy a new, more accessible car that was lowered to the ground than his truck so you could self transfer.
Maybe the change in your physical ability affected your upper body and energy. Every task was laborious and left you exhausted, not to mention difficult. Pope would get you any kitchen gadget you needed to be able to cook - automatic can openers, and jar openers, and devices to help chop food, and adaptive utensils - and he'd research easy-to-make, low effort recipes so you'd be able to cook a full meal without being wiped out. He'd put a chair in the kitchen so you could sit at the stove while things cooked or boiled, and he'd pack the freezer with meals he'd pre-made that you could reheat whenever.
Pope would add grips to everything so you'd be able to grab it yourself and hold on. He'd look into hair care and hygiene products that come in accessible packaging so you could apply it yourself. He'd stock up on any hot or cold remedies you needed when your body ached or was stiff. Pope would always be there to rub your aching muscles and to drive you to medical appointments or outpatient rehab. He'd work out along side you, helping you to maintain or build your strength, and he'd always tell you how proud he was of you no matter how little exercise you'd done or small amount of weight you'd lifted. And on days where you were too tired, Pope would dote on you and carry you from room to room and wherever you wanted to go.
Some days were better than others and some days were downright painful and devastating and left you crying, but you knew you always had Pope. Pope would see that the world around you was largely inaccessible but he would do everything in his power to bridge those gaps where he could. And while that didn't solve everything, you couldn't deny it made life better.
this is dedicated to my reader @inky-starlight and any other readers who have a disability <3
having a bad bad symptom flare up. did you know that Conrad "husband material" Fisher is actually obsessed w taking care of you? well he is. here are some headcanons cause that's a lil easier for me rn:
connie knows every one of your symptoms, triggers, treatments
he knows what all your meds do (both prescribed and over the counter) and just when you need them
he knows how you like your tea and which ones help you depending on how you're feeling
he knows what electrolyte flavors you like, what snacks are easy for you to eat, what protein shakes go down easiest
conrad knows how to style your hair no matter what length or texture or style it is
if you wear protective styles he WILL learn to braid. have you seen his hands?? even on a bad day he'll get you nice and comfy, rolling you onto your back or side or stomach so he can make sure that your hair is healthy and groomed the way you like and that he's taking care of you
he knows how to do your whole skin care routine and doesn't mind doing it either
there is nothing and I mean NOTHINGGGG to small or personal for him to help you with
you could literally be shitting and sobbing and throwing up during an IBS or IBD or crohns disease flare up and he does not bat a goddamn eye
he'll rub oatmeal lotion and whatever creams you need when your eczema flares up. he'll mist the spots with cool water and layer you up with aloe to stop the itching and burning
he's LITERALLY qualified to care for you both as a boyfriend AND a med school resident. he can give you shots if you need them, check your blood sugar if that's an issue, if he COULD open you up and manually fix your body from the inside out, HE WOULD DO IT.
tldr conrad fucking LOVES his chronically ill and/or disabled partner. he loves you so fucking much he has several degrees in loving you properly. he sleeps well at night knowing he's RIGHT THERE to take care of you.
