Reader who ends up regressed and suddenly unable to tell the twins apart. Saddled up on their papa’s hip, Grace lightly bounces them. Paci in mouth, they look across at their uncle—Colt. Making grabby hands. Regressed enough that if he looks like papa, he must be papa. Letting out small grunt-like noises as they wiggle out of Grace’s grasp to get to Colt.
Colt laughs, “hello, little wiggle worm.” Finding Reader’s behavior cute, he entertains it. Mimicking his twin brother, he props Reader on his hip. “Want your uncle, huh?” But Reader sees Grace. Repeating what they had just done. Now insistent on being held by their papa again. Not caring that the behavior was contradictory or indecisive. Handed back and forth between the twins a few more times before the confusion hurt their regressed mindset.
“I know, I know. It’s confusing having two caregivers who look the exact same. Don’t have to choose, can be held by both of us,” Grace consoled. The twins going over the couch so the little could sit between them. Colt offering Dez his plushie that oddly resembled Rocky. Grace had purposefully bought it because of that aspect.
Jean-Claude lying down on the rug in front of the tv. Inside, they were kept safe away from the rain pelting harshly on the windows.
Reader gasps when they see Langdon wearing a Pittsburgh Penguin’s hat while walking into work. He still feels a bit shaky, with it being his first day back. Wishing to avoid an argument so early in the shift. They give him the side eye, grumbling, “can’t believe you’re a Penguin’s fan.” Langdon’s eyes widened, as he maneuvers his way through the halls to his locker.
As Langdon goes to remove the hat, he decides to play it cool. Act like nothing had changed as Reader couldn’t have possibly known about his addiction to benzodiazepines. “Been a fan for years. Shouldn’t be too much a surprise, why wouldn’t I support the home team? Didn’t know you were into hockey, Reader.”
“It’s a new development,” they shrug. Not that many people asked their opinion when it came to sports. Assuming it wasn’t Reader’s thing. “My little brother said I had to get into sports. So I picked out some teams. Didn’t think we’d win the cup—lo and behold, we didn’t. No shocker there.” Langdon’s just glad the interaction’s going well so far. Shaking it from his mind that no one had called or texted him while he’d been gone.
“Eh, still sucks, maybe next year. What teams?” Continuing the conversation as he places his bag in the locker, grabbing the main essentials. Missing how Reader grimaces. “Oh, you know, Detroit Red Wings…Flyers.” Watching his reaction as they just revealed they root for the Penguins’ biggest rival.
“The Flyers? You?” He asked if he had heard them right, head snapping in their direction. “Why’d you pick them?” Having an inkling it’d be something ridiculous. Mean, this was the same person who picked the Ravens as their football team just cause of the connection to Edgar Allan Poe. “Saw some clips of Gritty, thought they were hilarious. Wasn’t meant seriously at first but the team grew on me as I watched more games.”
“Can’t believe you have joke picks for sports teams.” Like the time they thought it’d be funny to root for the Toronto Blue Jays because it was the one Canadian baseball team in the league. The joke ruined when they found out that it was one of the five teams that got the most funding. “Guessing you like how chaotic that orange hash brown is.”
“Yup,” looking at the clock, they realized they had meandered enough. “Should probably get back to charting. Catch you later, traitor.” While Reader uses the word traitor lightheartedly, it still stings. A stab to the heart but Langdon reminds himself that they don’t know the real reason he’d been gone. That they were on friendly terms. Now, he just had to find a way to get through the rest of his shift.
The discovery of Frank’s addiction triggers/brings up some of Reader’s childhood trauma
x gn! reader // ao3 link 🔗
Reader who had been friends with Frank since medical school. Who had noticed the change in his behavior during his R4 year. Never having time to ask him, they chalked it up to being a rough patch with his wife. Trouble in paradise.
But one night before Pitfest, he landed at their door. Not wanting anyone from work to see him as he couldn’t have them knowing. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about why he was there. Acting like he’d been kicked to the doghouse. Reader eventually found out. The erratic behavior—how on edge he was. As if he was walking a tight wire. Finding a half empty bottle of pills in his bag.
Reader sternly told him to leave. Which set him off. “I can’t stay here!? What do you mean, Reader? I’m your friend!” All of it reminded them of when they were a kid. Seeing their mom call every morgue and emergency center in the city. Asking if their sibling was there. Spending the whole night in the car because of it. Then again, they had come from a family of addicts. It somehow managed to heavily sink its claws into a set few of their family members.
“Frank, please don’t do this. Don’t make it worse.” Their tone soft and pleading. Hating how he used their friendship against them.
“No! Tell me precisely what I did to deserve your ire right now!” His face red with how he was shouting at them. Causing Reader’s ears to ring. “You’re an addict, Frank. One who needs help. I know damn well you got a temporary prescription when you injured your back.” It had been enough time that the prescription would’ve ran out.
“I don’t need help!” Flat out denying that he had a problem despite the fact he’d come to depend on them to get through the workday. That he was now stealing them from patients. “I can’t do this! I cant—I can’t watch this happen again.” Reader chokes, storming up to the front door and opening it. Having almost lost their sibling to their alcoholism, they mentally couldn’t stomach witnessing someone hit rock bottom again. As bad as a friend that might make them. “Addict or not, get out of my fucking house.”
Frank paused his stomping right before the door, “you’re not going to tell, are you?” The small part of Reader that’s still clinging onto their friendship despite it being now shattered is the one that ends up speaking. “…no.” Nodding, Frank finally leaves, not without slamming the door on the way out.
Reader slides down to the floor. Back against the door, they bring their knees to their chest. Chest heaving as they finally let themselves cry. When the duo are working the same shift a week later, everyone can tell something had happened. But both Frank, and Reader remain tight lipped whenever anyone prods.
McKay catches Reader going into work with a flare up, causing them to use their crutches. Later Dana finds out and to end it off, Parker helps them to their car.
Cw - implied burnout, & working through disability/flare up
Ao3 link 🔗
McKay grimaced when she saw Reader walking into work with those forearm crutches of theirs. They didn’t use them everyday. Only when their scoliosis was flaring up and making it difficult to walk. It wasn’t that they couldn’t walk. Struggling to get momentum, they end up with stiffened hips. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working,” Reader answers like it’s oblivious. “I know you work here. I meant why are you still showing up to work when you’re having a flare up?” McKay clarified, repeating the question. Using her disappointed mom voice. Not even the one she used for patients.
“It’s too early in the year to be using up all my sick days. I’ll be fine,” Reader brushed off, continuing to their locker. “And don’t you dare try to give me the easy cases just to coddle me.” Still being stubborn as a mule. They knew they weren’t invincible, even with the painkillers they’d taken before their shift.
McKay watched as they awkwardly managed to get their bag off their shoulder and into the locker. “I understand that, truly. But you also have personal days and PTO. You don’t have to ration your time off.” Trying to emphasize the importance of work-life balance. Especially with their ailments. McKay knew Reader wouldn’t listen if she said fuck sick days, take the time off.
“Look, I appreciate the concern. I do. But I have bills to pay and I need the shifts. I know I’m disabled and that this is a bad decision. To work through it but it’s my decision.” Giving her a pleading look that screamed not to tell Dana. “Okay, fine. But take as many breaks as you can. Better not be working a double.”
“Was supposed to be but I switched my schedule around. Definitely can’t work a double right now.” Reader closed their locker, stretching their back to get all the cracks out. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” McKay retorted before returning to work herself. Keeping an eye on Reader whenever they crossed paths.
Eventually Dana did catch on. Took her halfway through their shift. “So it’s a crutches day?” Reader stopped in their track, flexing their hands to make sure the blood wasn’t pooling there. Wishing to avoid cramps as they kinda still needed their hands to function. “Uh, yes.” Thinking they were about to be scolded, but Dana was used to dealing with strong-headed doctors. “Alrighty. So it is. Just don’t overdo it. Can’t have the cogs spitting you out that easily.” Surprised, they eventually get the energy to continue walking.
As the hours progress, Reader keeps reminding themself it’s just a few more, then they can go home. Take a nice, hot soak in the tub. Then cold-conk it into bed after some tv dinner microwave meal they were guaranteed to still have in the fridge. But the pain was admittedly getting worse. Having to take a break to massage their lower back. Getting a few more cracks from their back and hips. “Oof, that was a good one,” they say to themselves before grabbing the crutches. Those in the break room look at Reader as if they’d grown a second head.
Reader lets out a relieved sigh when their shift finally ends. The night shift slowly trickling in as they get ready to leave. It’s Parker that notices them on the way out. “They actually let you work today?” She dryly remarks. Closing their locker, Parker stops them from putting their bag on. “Reluctantly, but yes. Don’t worry, I’m heading straight home.”
“Good, now get your crutches. I’m helping you get to your car.” Giving Reader a stern look when they go to argue. “Don’t even try to argue with me. It’s the least I can do.” Reader huffs but starts to make their way out the hospital sliding doors, Parker carrying their bag for them. “Really not gonna let me open my own door?”
“Nope, now get in.” Parker takes their crutches from them. Going around to the other side, she places them in the passenger seat. The handles of the forearm crutches facing towards the driver’s seat for easy reach. Closing the door, Parker watches Reader buckle their seat belt. “Text the groupchat when you get home, okay?” She begins to walk back inside.
After a fight with Bruce, Dick's ends up living on the street. This way of life leads to him and Slade Wilson crossing paths in which Slade entertains the idea of Dick living with him
Ao3 link 🔗
When Dick first leaves home after a horrific fight with Bruce, he tries to make do on the streets. Bouncing from alley way to alley way and a long string of couches later, finally finds a comfortable bed. Not some discolored, flea infested mattress. But one that is properly made up; bedsheet, duvet, and all. Looking around the room, he could tell that the place wasn't truly abandoned. It belonged to someone. But they weren't here right now and Dick was too exhausted to care. He'd just make sure to be gone before they arrived. Dropping his bag onto the floor, he flopped onto the bedspread. Quickly reduced to snores.
Unfortunately he's not gone by the time Slade Wilson arrives. Heavy stomps pausing when they see the lithe frame sprawled out on his bed. One gleefully taking up space, like they hadn't a good night's sleep in forever. Which was true; Dick could never relax with all the things that went a-muck during the nights in Gotham. Plus the micro naps up on the edge of buildings didn't count. Always running from some new threat. Whether it be some villain or Gotham's homeless population. Slade doesn't wake Dick up, thinking he could scare him once he was awake.
"Shit! I—I didn't mean to sleep for so long," Dick tries to half-heartedly apologize but Slade holds his hand up. A pausing motion, telling the younger man to stop. "It's not wise to trespass, could get you for breaking and entering." Slade didn't really give a shit that Dick decided to nap in his bed.
"No! Don't do that, can—can earn my keep." He didn't need Commissioner Gordon turning up here; finding Bruce Wayne's charge miles away from home. "Earn your keep? Don't recall offering you a place to stay. But I am now. See if you can back up your words." Not that it really mattered as it was a safe house.
And with that, Dick managed to scrape by. Slade didn't make it easy—rather he'd routinely go out of his way to make things harder for him. Leaving messes for the younger man to see how he'd react. Even then, Dick was desperate and didn't let it discourage him. Living with Slade was better than living on the streets. Becoming a live-in housekeeper of sorts. Being the one responsible for the chores; washing the dishes, taking out the trash, vacuuming, etc.
There was one aspect this vague arrangement that Dick insisted he'd never get used to. It was that the older man was a prolific chain smoker. Not caring where he smoked, the tiny apartment reeked of cigarette smoke. Dick had started experiencing headaches from it. Having enough, he gathered up the courage to confront Slade about it.
“C’mon, how would you know that you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?” Slade asked after coaxing Dick to sit on the bed they shared together. Taking a drag off the burning bud, Slade blew the smoke into Dick’s face. The younger man was hit by the warmth of it first. The smell just as nauseating as ever. But it made him lose the gathered up courage.
“Open up for me,” Slade gruffed out. Scruffing Dick by the nape of his neck, Slade blew another hit directly into his mouth. Dick pushed the older man off of him, coughing. “Yup, still hate it.”
Slade plucked the cigarette back into his mouth after tapping the ash into a nearby tray. “Eh, you’ll learn to like it.”
Ao3 link 🔗 // pt. 2 to dressed in white linen sheets // tw - kidnapping & drugging
Reader kidnaps Jason and is trying to convince him to stay
“I’m sorry, but you gave me no choice,” was all Jason heard before feeling the pinprick of a needle in his neck. He had made their work difficult, thinking many times they’d found his home just for it to be another safe house. He was good at changing up his routine any time they got close to catching him. It was Jason’s attachment to his family that was the key. Following him to the manor, they studied all the security measures Bruce had set up. The worn journal that rested heavy in their pocket held the how-to guide they’d come up with. It was as Jason was leaving that Reader had captured him. Coming up behind him, they caught him before his body hit the ground. Carrying him away, Reader left behind his motorcycle. As if daring his family to try and take him back. They’d find a way to be stuck to Jason’s side, even if it costed them their life.
Jason woke up a couple hours later. Feeling disoriented, like a freight train had hit him. Taking in his surroundings, he immediately noticed the rope that held his arms and legs strictly to the steel chair. “You’re awake!” Reader beams, happily clapping their hands together. “You’re a strong guy, couldn’t have you easily breaking out, now could we?” They rhetorically ask, watching Jason thrash in the bonds. He didn’t know why he felt so sluggish. Had to be whatever it was that they injected him with. Good to know his jacket actually was penetrable. Their happiness dissipated into confusion.
Remembering what they had done that originally made Jason flee. “…I didn’t mean to scare you. Too soon, I know. But I thought it was the perfect gift.” He flinches when they brush his fringe away from his sweaty forehead.
“Why would you think that? Reader, you murdered someone. I never asked you to do that.” Jason would never admit it but there was an underlying part of him that felt touched when he saw the Joker’s lifeless body on the table. That someone would do that for him. At the same time though, it had been overkill. The same dread he experienced then was stabbing him straight in the sternum in the current moment. Heart racing, it all screamed to Jason that he was in danger. That they’d potentially kill him if he ever upset them. “Oh, don’t tell me you all of a sudden have a moral code. The Joker was a dark cloud that followed you everywhere. Always brooding, figured I’d get rid of it.” Reader gets closer into his personal space. Sitting themself in his lap.
“We’re not getting together.” It was true that life felt a little lighter after the Joker died. Made patrolling Gotham a lot less chaotic. On the other hand, the trauma was still there. His body still remembered the smoke. Still remembered how he ended up crushed under the rubble. How he was now here, alive but his mother—the woman he died for hadn’t. Hell, being stuck in the metal chair like this was starting to trigger those memories. Barely able to keep said memories from flooding through. Something Reader wasn’t picking up on as they weren’t close. They were merely acquaintances when the inciting instant happened all those months ago.
“Why not?” They pouted.
“Because you killed someone,” Jason reiterates. No longer trying to fight the rope or break the chair. Instead, he decided to keep up the conversation so he—the more they chatted, the more time he had to find an escape route.
“Your kill count is higher than mine. How is that an issue?”
“You had his body all laid out like it was an art display. Sorry if that makes me question your psyche,” his tone sarcastic on the second sentence. “I’m not crazy. If you want a job done right, you do it yourself then.” Saying that if Jason wasn’t happy with the job they had done then he should’ve done it himself.
“I barely know you.”
“We have time. And I do know you—probably trying a find a way to escape right now. But I won’t let you get away so soon.” Back at the manor, Alfred had informed the rest of Jason’s family about his abandoned motorcycle.
Summary - König is touch starved and Valeria indulges him after finding out
More on the side of whump recovery. Like König used to be a whumpee in the past and it's now affecting his relationship with Valeria. Also finally got around to writing something for this rarepair of mine so yippee !!
Ao3 link
König isn't used to anyone treating him with such softness. Then again he always thought to himself; who would? He's 6'8" and has the build of a linebacker. A literal human battering ram. Adding in the sniper's hood, anyone in their right mind would flee the moment they spotted him. He'd seen such behavior time and time again in his line of work. So color him surprised when Valeria flips that notion on its head. Acting like she wasn't scared of him at all. But she wasn't acting—she truly wasn't scared of him. Like everyone else she''s close to, König gets a backhanded nickname. "Oso gordo," she calls him.
He didn't realize how touch starved he was until they started dating. While she wasn't the biggest pda person, Valeria doled out enough physical affection that people knew they were together. They just had to look closely is all. Playfully nudging his side with her hip. Brushing a hand along his upper back in passing. Easily slipping her hand in his at times. "...I don't bite, unless that's something you want," Valeria teased when she saw him freeze up. Relaxing a moment later. It didn't dull the almost buzzing he König felt beneath his skin. Ignited with every interaction. "So jumpy. You act as if I'm a piranha." He tries to relax, even as the questions flurry within his mind.
The colonel is cognizant of the fact that he's overthinking it. Questioning if it's all a trick. He tries to shy away but Valeria doesn't let him. Instead, she just amps the ante—Valeria assumes something akin to exposure therapy would help. Having zero clue how deeply ingrained in his psyche this went. Granted, he was glad she hadn't gone the opposite route. The days apart made the buzzing worse. But the embarrassment he felt was pure hellfire. An agonizing stinging that was worse than pins and needles. Still not putting together how this resulted from the social isolation he'd experienced over the years. Conversations usually kept to work-related topics.
Valeria notices how König hasn't gotten better over the months. Still tensing up like crazy. Unaware that any time their skin crosses paths, he loses all focus. Mentally locked in on where her skin meets his. Valeria eventually sits him down, thinking that he must not like her as much as he claimed to. Taking a deep breath, she asks him, "do you wanna break up?" Those words stab him right in the chest, he ends up coughing. Sputtering even. "No! What—what made you think that?"
"Every time I touch you, you pull away. Can't help but think that you've lost whatever it was you felt for me. Like you're not attracted to me," Valeria's behavior switches to being closed off. The very thing that König had been dreading since they'd gotten together. "Quite the opposite. It's more that my mind short circuits whenever you touch me. Should've told you sooner but I'm not used to touches that aren't violent."
After a bit more explaining, König was able to get the point across. That while he wasn't breaking up with her any time soon (unless Valeria wanted to) but this was a him problem. A "it's no you, it's me" problem. "I know you're a man of few words, but you definitely could've explained this all sooner, you daft man," sighing, she dropped her arms. Having held them, crossed over her chest. Eyes softening from the harsh glare she had been shooting the colonel's way. "You're lucky I'm willing to give you another shot."
