Trans-Male Imagines

Patrick Stump - Prompt 11

a request off the prompt list from 1Focusgirl and AsunasDaughter- thanks! i really hope you don't mind that I combined your requests for the same prompt.

prompt 11 - "Hey, you're bleeding!"

trigger warnings- blood, fighting, transphobic/homophobic comments and actions, workplace abuse

NOTE- as ever, please be cautious reading these if any of the aforementioned things will affect you adversely. i don't want anyone to be negatively impacted by my works, and these are works of fiction.

You wince as you dab at the cuts on your face and neck with a washcloth, blood dribbling into the sink as you twist out the fabric. The lacerations fail to stop bleeding, however, and you throw the towel into the basin and sink onto the edge of the bathtub.

"What are you still doing here? Get out!" she screams, and you duck to avoid the inevitable swing. "I told you not to come back here until you decided you were normal!"

You blink hard. Salt falls into a cut on your cheekbone, but you hardly notice.

"Get out!"

You feel the blow as sharply as you had when in actually happened, and you crumple to the floor in a heap, bruised arms clutching at bruised ribs. Somewhere, you recognize the click of the door as it unlocks, and you curl yourself into an even tighter ball. Agony.

"Hello?" The call echoes. You bite your lip and pinched your wrist tight. "Hello?" Footsteps sound on the stairs.

It's Patrick.

"Love, are you here? I saw your car in the driveway." You hear him moving through the hallway. "Hello? (Y/N)?" His shadow stops outside the bathroom door.

"Hello? Are you dumb? I said get out!" Hit after hit rains down on your head, shoulders, torso. You make a reach for the door, but your vision goes fuzzy and you stumble as something cold and heavy strikes the side of your face. It shatters- it's the new vase from off the reception desk. You fall against the door-frame, and your ears ring.

"(Y/N)? Oh my God, what happened to you? Was it Jane again? C'mon, let's get you home," Anthony, another of the hotel staff that you work with, takes your hand and guides you out to the elevator. Jane's shadow looms on the wall as the doors slide shut.

"Please answer, I'm getting worried," Patrick calls out. You finally take in a large enough breath to answer.

"Patrick?" you manage to respond. "I- I need help." It's not even ten seconds before he's through the door to the bathroom and by your side. He reaches out to you, and you flinch back.

"(Y/N)... it's just me," he says gently, a concerned edge to his voice. "Hey, you're bleeding! What happened to you?"

"I- she-" You shut your eyes again.

Anthony ushers you to his car, shutting the door before getting in himself. He turns to you as he puts the car in drive.

"I'm sick of taking care of your shit, (Y/N). I respect you, and I think you're a good guy, but you need to stand up for yourself. I'm not always going to be here." His voice is a lot colder than usual.

"It's alright, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to. But- it was Jane again, right? Hun, I told you to quit months ago, why do you keep going back?" Patrick takes one of your hands in his, taking up the forgotten washcloth with the other.

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry but I feel so useless without a job a- and I know, I'm so sorry," you blurt, and you would give anything to take away the look of sorrow on Patrick's face. You cry out as he lifts the cloth to your face.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, it'll be okay soon," he says, his voice strained. "You don't need to be sorry, it's not your fault. She doesn't respect you for who you are, and that's her fault, and it's never yours, it never was, and it never will be. Okay? You don't deserve to come home from a place where people are supposed to be respected beaten, bruised, and bloody, and afraid. It's not your fault."

You nod shakily, and he gives you a small smile. Patrick drops the washcloth in the tub behind you, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He stands up and leads you to sit down on the bed.

"It's not your fault. You are a man, and you should be called one, and you shouldn't have to deal with being called anything except that. I'm so sorry this happened, and I promise that I'll try my best never to let it happen again." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I love you."

Your throat tightens, and you lean against his shoulder.

"I love you too."