#I should’ve taken pictures after they were fired

[i-llbehere]

[miryum]

The Canary and the Robin (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary: You find Jason being tortured by the Joker and decided to take him in, imperfections and all. If he happens to be your soulmate, so be it

Warnings: I know reader acts like a white person in a horror movie but bear with me, OOC Talia, descriptions of torture, Joker hurting Jason, descriptions of flashbacks of torture, allusions to sexual assault from the Joker unto Jason but not descriptive at all, panic attack, ignore locations and timelines, timer soulmates once they turn 8, swearing, a lotta angst (literally starts out with Jason’s funeral), but happy ending, hurt/comfort, Jason doesn’t have guns or an autopsy scar in this cause he’s Robin still and lemme tell you it’s so unnatural for me to write him without those, perspective switching, conscious wording (so everything is written like that for a reason), Jason’s awful parents and their drinking and harassment (just descriptions on them yelling and drinking and smoking), spoilers to Great Gatsby, kinda open ended, but also not at all? if that makes sense, lemme know if I missed anything

Word Count: 12k so grab some snacks and tissues

Canary in a coal mine is a common term meant to describe something that’s unusually sensitive to conditions that make it a useful early indicator of negatively changing circumstances.

Jason’s funeral was on May 16th, just eight months after he had been taken by the Joker. Alfred had chosen daisies, lilacs, and lotuses for the flowers, but Bruce brought a bouquet of hyacinths to lay on his son’s casket. As much as Bruce Wayne liked to flaunt his wealth, these hyacinths were hand pulled from his own gardens. Roots and dirts still clung to the end of the stems when Jason’s coffin was lowered into the ground. 

Dick had come in from Bludhaven. When he had heard the news, his timer stopped and reversed itself until it added a year and a half onto his time. He had just gotten a brother and had been learning how to be a role model when his brother was dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. It wasn’t fair, Dick kept repeating to himself. A teenager shouldn’t be targeted just because he eagerly trailed on Batman’s heels, snarky comebacks and smirks ready to fire.

There was a public funeral where paparazzi clicked away at their cameras and Bruce stood stoically in the front row, clearing his throat at the podium when he had to make a eulogy. There was then a private funeral where the casket was actually lowered beneath a gladiolus bush. There were no eulogies for none of the family could bring themselves to say much. It was just Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara. Selina Kyle showed up that night in Bruce’s room and Dick pretended not to hear Bruce’s sobs. Alfred stood in the doorway of Jason’s old room, feather duster in hand. After a couple of minutes, he hung his head and walked off, closing the door behind him. Nothing was cleaned.

The next day, tabloids displayed the pictures of Bruce Wayne standing by a casket. Bruce stopped investing in any companies that did. His own stock dropped, but Bruce wasn’t answering his financial advisor’s calls. He wasn’t answering any calls. 

It was late one night and Dick couldn’t sleep. He had been wanting to return to Bludhaven, but whenever he opened his suitcase, he couldn’t bring himself to pack. He found Alfred in the kitchen, pouring some hot tea. “I figured you would join me one night,” Alfred commented without looking back. 

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “Your sixth sense is never wrong, Alfred.” 

Alfred slid a cup over to Dick who took it thankfully, not caring that the tea burnt his tongue. Perhaps it was what he deserved for not being there to help Jason. “I should’ve-”

“Mister Grayson,” Alfred cut him off. “The Joker was ten steps ahead of Batman. Not even the powerful Nightwing could’ve helped. And you could not have flown to Africa in time.” 

“It was closed casket,” Dick whispered out. “I didn’t even get to see my little brother before he was gone.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. 

“It was closed casket because Master Wayne couldn’t find Master Jason’s…” Alfred exhaled and corrected himself, “He couldn’t find Master Jason.”

Dick’s head lifted and his hands clenched around his cup. “What?” he breathed out. Desperation filled his voice, “but Alfie, he could still be out there! Jason could be alive!” Alfred simply gave him a stern look and Dick’s stomach bubbled with nausea. “Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His jaw tensed and after a moment, he decided, “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven tomorrow.”

“Safe travels,” is all Alfred said.

It was then that Bruce woke from a nightmare of his dead son screaming out for him.

~~~~

You hadn’t meant to be passing by Arkham Asylum. It wasn’t something one did intentionally; in fact, many people went out of their way to avoid it. But it seemed as if fate wasn’t on your side today, for when your car broke down right outside Arkham Asylum, you didn’t notice the watch on your wrist ticking down quicker and quicker. You swore to yourself and took the mace out of your glove compartment before sliding your keys in between your fingers. Arkham Asylum had been practically abandoned for years, but perhaps there was a janitor or receptionist who could help you get service. Then you could call a mechanic and get the hell out of there. 

The gates to Arkham had rust creeping up the edges and the lock clanged sharply against its chains. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a receptionist in the building… But perhaps there would be a phone you could use. In order for the gates to creak open, you had to force your bodyweight against the metal and try to shove the lock out of the way, praying you didn’t get tetanus in the process. 

The door to Arkham, however, swung open without a sound. It seemed as if someone had been regularly visiting the Asylum, even if there was no one to visit – or love – in the building. “Hello?” you stage whispered, phone flashlight on, and finger on the button on your mace. 

There was clearly a reason why the public wasn’t exposed to Arkham. All reports were classified and no photographers were allowed in. Wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, you stared around at Arkham Asylum. The halls were long and dark, meant to cause paranoia and confusion. It was certainly working on you. The only light peeking through was from the grime covered windows and your flashlight. The ceiling was crumbling slightly and you were pretty sure Arkham had been under construction when it had been abandoned; otherwise, how could you explain all the dust, debris, and graffiti? You didn’t even want to think of the disease-carrying rodents that were surely scurrying underneath your feet. 

“Is anything here? That can help me?” Your voice echoed down the cell block, vibrating off the metal bars and old bunks. 

You reeled back when your foot kicked a pebble, sending it ricocheting off your sneaker. After the pebble settled some yards away, you took in a steadying breath. You heard a faint sound, one that didn’t sound at all like a pebble. “Hello?” you asked again. Shadows danced around as you shone your flashlight down the hall, messing with your mind. 

When you strained your ears, it sounded as if a faint wail could be heard. Your brows furrowed with worry and instinctively, you started towards it. Your watch ticked down faster as disquietude and anxiety rippled through you like snakes, biting and twisting in your veins. Your flashlight bounced over empty, desolate cells as your pace quickened and the screams got louder. You contemplated calling the police, but when you checked your phone, you didn’t have any service. And who knew if the police would help or not? Arkham was a place only the brave or stupid went; right now, you were pretty sure you were the latter. 

The screams took you deeper and deeper into the Asylum and you prayed that you would be able to find your way out. If you ever got out… your mind immediately thought. 

It wasn’t long before the blood curdling howls shook you to your bones. They seemed to be coming from a cell, yet when you pointed your flashlight towards it, heart thumping at what you might find, there was nothing. But the screams were there. You weren’t making them up. Where the hell were they coming from– oh.

A shiver ran up your spine when you noticed the comical trapdoor in the corner of the cell. You wondered if the Arkham architects intentionally put it there when they were designing this horror house, or if an inmate had scraped a hidden passageway with a spoon they stole from the cafeteria. 

Nonetheless, when you pried open the door, a wall of whimpers and cries from torture hit you full force. You shook your head, steeling yourself, before swallowing down the queasiness. The goosebumps on your arms were full-time residents now. 

Your feet carried you down the dirt steps of the trapdoor. Your mind wasn’t particularly your own. Your brain was foggy. Your body felt like a child had taken your hand and was leading you down the steps. Later in your life, when you thought back to that moment, you knew the universe had been guiding you. But even if you didn’t make it out of Arkham Asylum, you knew your life was going to drastically change. The nonexistent hand squeezed yours in comfort as your heart jumped and pounded when the faint light at the bottom of the stairs grew brighter. 

A small chamber resided under Arkham Asylum, as you found out that day. In the chamber were two people. One held a crowbar dripping with blood. His back was turned to you, but any citizen of Gotham would recognise that pastel green and purple suit anywhere. The Joker was alive. 

But the second person caught your eye. He was strung up from the ceiling, crusty, brown chains trapping him midair. The red outfit he was wearing was being held together by tatters, but you didn’t know if the outfit was originally red or covered with blood. A black and yellow cape was clinging onto the victim’s back, burnt and torn. A green utility belt had been thrown in the corner, its pockets overturned and emptied. 

And your timer buzzed against your wrist.

You didn’t register it at first, but after a moment of incessant buzzing, you tore your horrified stare away from the ruined man and to your wrist. A crude joke bounced into your head: so either my soulmate is the Joker or someone who wronged him… Either way, not ideal. 

The Joker stood proud and tall, shoulders thrown back and grin wide. “Come on, Robby,” he taunted. “You and I both know these little excursions of ours go better when you make noise. How I love to make you sing…”

It was then you registered the Robin symbol on the man’s breast. You slowly pieced everything together, realising that the person in front of you was the presumably dead Robin. You couldn’t help the little, amazed curse word that slipped out from between your lips. 

The Joker slid out a syringe from his pocket and slunk up beside Robin, injecting the green serum into his neck. Joker chuckled as he pressed the liquid further into Robin’s neck, whispering into his ear, “now, now, you mustn’t leave me, Robby. But whatever would you leave for? Now that the Bats has forgotten you.” Joker was mercilessly teasing the sidekick, spit flicking onto his cheek. Robin whimpered, a parched and cracked noise from the back of his throat. 

“Louder, Robby, louder!” The Joker coaxed in a cooing voice. You grimaced and wanted to crawl out of your skin at his voice. Once you realised your mace wasn’t going to do you any good, your eyes darted around the small torture dungeon. Eventually, they landed on a discarded, bent pipe that had a disturbing red colour coated on. You willed yourself not to think of what the substance was. 

Even though Robin’s limp, swinging body was facing towards you, you doubted he could see you. With the drugs running through his veins, his vision would surely be blurred and his mind muddled.

It was just your luck when, as you were inching towards the pipe, your phone decided to work and began buzzing loudly, indicating a call from your friend, Talia. The Joker whirled around, crowbar in hand and you squealed, grabbing the pipe. Before the Joker could react, his eyes widening in shock, you swung the pipe at his head. With the clang of metal against skull, the Joker collapsed, unconscious. You stared down at him, disbelief flooding your body. Oh my god, I just killed the Joker. Or, at the very least, gave him a good concussion. Your hands shook as a little pool of blood seeped out from Joker’s head. You dropped the pipe and it clattered to the dirt floor. A little groan that escaped Robin and your still-ringing phone brought you back to Earth. 

“Shit, shit, I gotta get outta here,” you muttered, looking around frantically. Your phone kept ringing and with a swear, you brought it to your ear. “What?” you growled out. 

“Wow, what has your panties in a twist?” Talia asked back snarkily. 

You held your phone between your shoulder and your head as you hurried towards Robin. “Nothing, nothing, sorry,” you muttered as you attempted to free him from the chains. “Why’re you calling?”

“Why are you so stressed? You sound like you just ran a marathon,” Talia said through the phone. You could envision her checking her nails while doing so. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You finally got Robin’s wrists to slip from the chains and he fell down onto you. You grunted under his weight. Apparently, just because he had been starved and tortured for months didn’t mean he had lost his superhero muscle. 

Talia paused for a moment and you could practically hear the gears in her brian turning. “Do you need me to help hide a body?” she asked suddenly. 

You laughed nervously as you shifted Robin to your shoulder and began dragging him towards the steps. “No?” you finally answered. “Though if you wanted to meet me by Arkham Asylum with your working car and a cure for an almost dead superhero, that would be great.”

“I will be there in twenty minutes.”

~~~~

“How did this happen?” Talia demanded, more curiosity in her voice than malice and anxiety. You were in her passenger seat, staring at the wounded Robin who was laid in the back. Talia weaved through traffic with ease, headed towards the Yuyan Building.

“I don’t know!” you cried out, panic infusing itself into your blood. It felt similar to the way the Joker had infused serum into Robin. You clutched at the seatbelt, hoping it would take some of your dread. “My car just stopped working and then I was just going into Arkham Asylum like an idiot and I found the dead Robin! He was supposed to be dead, right? It was all over the news!”

“And then Batman got another Robin,” Talia added, almost bitterly. You shot her a confused look and she glanced over at you. Her eyes flickered down to your wrist before you yelled at her to focus on the road again. “You are a rational person, Y/n,” Talia began as the car screeched to a halt outside an imposing, ornate building. You stared up at it as Talia got out of the car. You scrambled to help her with Robin. The two of you each had one of his arms over your shoulders, his feet scraping along the ground, head lolling to the side, as you carried him in. “I do not think you would go into Arkham Asylum without something else guiding you,” Talia continued. “Do not think I did not notice your stopped timer. He is your soulmate, is he not?”

You nodded, not trusting your words. You were worried you would start crying if you actually had a moment to process all of the day’s events. “Will your dad help?” you asked finally, voice wavering.

Talia chuckled dryly, eyes narrowing on a fixed point ahead of you. She led you and Robin deeper into Yuyan Building. “If it gets on Batman’s good side? Absolutely.”

“I’ll take him after you’re done healing him,” you added quickly. “I’ll take him back home and care for him if you and your dad help me this one time.” You realised it sounded like you were begging for help. Briefly, you wondered what had happened in such a short time to make you care so much for Robin. Part of you decided it was what any rational, kind human being would do – help someone who was badly hurt – but another part of you knew that wasn’t the case. You felt tied to this boy you didn’t even know the name of. Whether it was through your soulmate bond or not, you knew you were connected to Robin. You felt his pain and terror. Even though he was unconscious, you could feel his resistance tugging against you. He didn’t want to go with you. He was scared of what you might do to him. His emotions dug into you and you felt a whimper crawling up your throat, begging for escape. 

It was then you steeled yourself and decided one thing: you weren’t going to let your soulmate die. 

Yuyan Building held deeper secrets, you realised. Talia directed you down long hallways and steep stairwells and you felt bad for the custodians who had to clean up Robin’s trail of blood. It was long minutes, full of you groaning under Robin’s weight and Talia looking unaffected, before Talia stopped at a large, ominous door. 

You couldn’t look Ra’s in the eye as he slung Robin into the Lazarus Pit. You could only watch the bubbling green liquid as Robin slowly sunk to the bottom. Agonising minutes ticked by, halted only by Ra’s and Talia whispers to each other. 

You hugged yourself tightly after five minutes passed and you called anxiously to Talia, “do- does he need help? Is he hurting? Why is it taking so long?”

“He had a lot of injuries, Y/n,” Talia reassured you, coming to place a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “He will be okay.”

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

~~~~

Jason’s eyes burned. Green was all that he could see. He tried to breathe in, but the only thing that filled his lungs was the green surrounding him. When the liquid filled his lungs and he coughed out, bubbles trailed up to the surface like a safety rope guiding the way. 

Jason stretched a hand out in front of him, muscles aching at disuse. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to run away, would we, Robby?” The Joker’s voice called after him as Jason kicked his feet futilely. “Not our little prince!” 

A flitting feeling coursed through Jason: curiosity and concern, but he was too weak to form a thought. His arm, reaching out towards the bubbles that led him upward, didn’t look like his own. He remembered the scars criss-crossing along it and he remembered the dirt and grime infecting cuts and burns, even digging its way underneath his nails, but he didn’t remember looking so… strong. Since when did he have the muscles and veins that looked like years of exercise had paid off? Batman had kept him fit – Robin needed to be able to hold his own, but he didn’t quite remember it working so well. 

His hand finally breached the top of the green waves, grasping up towards breathable air and safety. 

Green. Like the Joker. Another one of his charades. A playing card, to show Jason he wasn’t free yet. He was never free.

Everything was disillusioning. His vision veered sideways before becoming foggy and nausea crashed through Jason, like the waves in which he was trying to fight against.

“Stop struggling!” he heard someone cry out, “you’re making your own waves! You have to swim.”

He saw someone reaching out towards him and without a second thought, Jason extended his bandaged hand, clinging onto the buoy in the storm. Their hand was soft and comforting and dragged him out of the water. Jason allowed himself to be dragged. He didn’t have the energy to fight the Joker. He had given up much too long ago. 

“What did you do to him?” someone asked once Jason fell to the ground. The world spun around him and he couldn’t recognise whomever was speaking. He gasped in desperate air, filling his deprived lungs. 

“Take in a good, deep breath, Robby. Smell that blood? It’s yours. A reminder that Bats isn’t gonna come save you. Doesn’t it smell delicious?” The Joker hissed at him, inhaling himself. He cackled and licked his lips. “You’re a sweet little bird, aren’t you?”

“Why does he look like that?” the same voice asked. Jason heard a small thud over the ringing in his ears. 

“The Lazarus Pit not only receives, but it returns, ten times stronger,” a deep voice explained. “It takes what it has been given, and it blossoms it into its full potential. What it needs to become.”

Jason flinched away from the hands that rested on him. The hands retreated and Jason wondered what new tactic the Joker was trying. The Joker never retreated.

The voices were getting more frantic and his heartbeat seemed amplified. As Jason was slowly lifted up, he passed out.

~~~~

The next time Jason woke up, the first thing he noticed was the clock. There was a digital clock on a small table beside him, green numbers staring unblinkingly up at him. Green as in the Joker. Clock as in a bomb. Does he want me to defuse the bomb? Or is it all a trick? The Joker never let me see any clocks. Time was a valuable construct, one the Joker used to his advantage. If Jason didn’t know how much time had passed, the Joker could stretch the days and the torture. 

It took Jason a moment to blink the sleep from his mind. Then, he let his eyes flick around the room as his body stayed perfectly still. It was a tactic he learned from Batman – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and if the Joker didn’t know he was awake quite yet, there would be less time for torture.

The former Robin was in a room. He didn’t recognise it and that scared Jason more than he would ever admit. There was a dresser opposite him with pictures on it. He couldn’t quite make out who was in the pictures, but it didn’t quite matter yet. A closet door was closed and next to it stood a tall mirror that had a blanket thrown over it. A small bookshelf sat beside him and when Jason had the mental capacity, he couldn’t help but feel the pull to read the titles. It smelled better than anything in a long time. Instead of urine and festering skin, this place smelled like lavender and vanilla. 

It was only then Jason realised he was laying on a bed. And there were no restraints tying him down to it. 

What new tactic was this? What scheme was the Joker pulling? What game did he want Jason to play? What was the objective? The trick Jason had to uncover to live another day? 

Green and purple and yellow whirled around Jason and he gripped his head, begging the colours to stop. Carnival music played loudly in his ears, that same damn tune for the past thirty six hours. 

Strapped to a chair, there was nowhere to escape the Joker’s mind games. Jason had been sedated more times than he could count and dragged to new locations where the Joker found new ways to torment him. Today’s lucky special was the Joker’s old hideout at the abandoned carnival. 

It wasn’t long before the Joker’s voice rang out from within hidden speakers. “Show me those street smarts, Robby! Play with me. Maybe I’ll let you go…” he jeered and inveigled. 

The spinning stopped and Jason planted his feet on the ground. His head dipped and his mouth hung open, eyes crossed and half-lidded. The Joker stood before him, leaning on his crowbar. “Ah, ah, ah,” the Joker tsked. “You're losing your touch, Robby.” The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth, lips curling up in a tantalising grin before lifting the crowbar back. 

Jason didn’t hear anything before he blacked out.

It had seemed that he had blacked out in real life too, for the time had advanced three hours and the sun had sunk in the sky. Next to the clock was a tall glass of water and a small plate of crackers. Two pills of unassuming tylenol sat nearby.

Someone had been in here, Jason realised. The thought made his skin crawl and he quickly flung off the sheets, not used to the feeling of cotton. After a quick analysis of his body, even though his skin was already wrecked and flayed, there weren't the telltale nail marks on his thighs that the Joker had been there in his sleep. The only thing out of the ordinary were the bandages and cleaned wounds. His armour was nowhere to be seen and he had been stuffed into pyjama pants and a shirt that seemed a bit tight. 

Panic flashed through his spine and Jason flung his legs over the mattress. He promptly collapsed and his knees ached at the impact. It took a moment of forcing his lungs open and letting oxygen flow through his system once more until he was able to crawl pathetically towards the covered mirror. His fingers twisted around the sheet and dragged it downward, letting it pool on the floor and around his legs. 

Staring back at him wasn’t his face. It was the face of someone who had lived ten more years and seen fifty more years of battle. 

Jason promptly swung his fist at the glass, shattering the mirror and letting the shards rain down. But he could still see his reflection. Jason forced his eyes away from the unfamiliar face and the scars he could feel burning into his skin.

Just a trick of the Joker. That’s all it ever was. He was never free and never more would believe so. Everything was consumed by that pale skin, green hair, and purple nails. Everything was a mind game followed by excruciating pain. 

His gaze drifted back to the water and crackers. It could be tainted. But the Joker also needed him alive to continue their games. There was always a grace period for Jason to heal before the next session began. 

He limped back to the bed, downed the water, not daring to touch the pills, and fell back onto the pillow. He shifted and adjusted the pillow. It felt uncomfortable. He threw it to the other side of the room before rubbing at his aching wrists. His skin there was red and irritated, not used to being out of chains. That was unusual, when Jason truly thought about it. The Joker knew how powerful Jason was. Jason had even managed to escape his chains once, back when he was healthy and convinced Batman would come and rescue him. But a bullet to the malnourished stomach was enough to stop anyone. 

He kept massaging his hands until his fingers skirted over the bare skin of the inside left wrist. It felt like something should be there. Something was missing. 

“Well well well,” Joker’s voice crooned in his ear. The man’s fingers curled around Jason's wrist. Long fingers tapped a tune on the proud watch that sat on Jason’s skin, ticking like a heartbeat. “Does our little Robby have a soulmate?” 

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

“But who on earth could love you?” The Joker questioned deridingly.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

The Joker giggled – a high pitched, ugly sound that would haunt Jason’s nightmare’s for years to come. “Oh… and have you met your true love yet?” 

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

The psychopath’s nails embedded crescents into Robin's skin as he forced his wrist around. “No no no,” the Joker tsked as he watched the clock inch down towards zero. “You haven’t met them yet… what?” He turned back towards Jason, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You think they’re gonna come save you, Robby?” A burst of laughter bubbled from the murderer. “Never,” he hissed in Jason’s ear, making the boy cringe away, his chains swinging with him. 

A sob crawled its way up Jason’s lungs as the Joker grabbed his chains, steadying him, before licking a stripe up Jason’s cheek, leaving behind saliva and horrid breath. The Joker then licked his lips, relishing in the taste of Robin’s blood and tears. 

“You really think you deserve anyone?” The Joker whispered in his ear, more serious than Jason had ever seen him. His fist clenched around Jason’s watch and the boy let out a whimper. “You don’t.” The glass cracked under the Joker’s force. “Deserve shit.” He ripped the soulmate watch from Jason and threw it to the ground. The delicate watch sprang open and the timer stopped in its tracks. 

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel. 

~~~~

A loud thump yanked Jason out of sleep. A sharp feminine yelp followed and Jason was instantly on his feet, no matter the spots that danced in his vision. 

A small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Alfred chastised him for not staying in bed and letting his body heal. “Master Jason, how are you supposed to fight crime if you can’t even walk straight?”

Nevertheless, Jason pushed open the door, raggedly breathing and clutching his side. He was sure he looked like a serial killer of some sort, blood staining through his bandages and hair sloppily matted to his forehead from sweat. 

A girl stared at him from across the room. She was smaller than him, was what Jason noticed first. He then noticed her eyes. They were a striking colour and seemed to bore into him, knowing his every want and desire. They were cautious, yet Jason thought he imagined excitement running deep within the girl. 

“Who’re you?” Jason mumbled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe. 

The girl took a breath and said, “I’m Y/n.” A blanket was curled around her feet, much like the blanket that Jason had snatched from the mirror hours earlier. Her hair was a bit messy and Jason categorised a pillow propped up against the armrest of the couch. 

“How’re you—” Jason cut himself off and shook his head. “What’re your… Who…” he struggled to find a question that encapsulated everything while not giving too much away about himself. 

Y/n took a step closer, almost as if he was a wild animal that she didn’t want to startle. It didn’t work; Jason stumbled back over his feet and back into the bedroom. Y/n didn’t follow. “I was at Arkham Asylum three days ago and found you.”

“What were you doing there?” Jason demanded, his words slurred. 

“My car broke down,” Y/n explained easily, though Jason didn’t believe her one bit. “I was looking for help and… found you instead. I had to call a friend for help.”

Jason was done with pleasantries. Alfred had frowned upon swearing, and the boy had quickly learned not to use the words he had heard on the street or the insults villains spat at Batman once they were in handcuffs. But he wasn’t standing next to Batman in bright spandex anymore. He was bleeding through someone else’s clothes and he wasn’t in his own body and there was a girl who was wearing a dark green sweatshirt and green reminded him of the Joker. “Bullshit,” he growled out. His voice didn’t have that prepubescent squeak to it anymore and his veined hand reached up to massage his throat. 

Y/n’s brows stitched together and she stared up at him, slipping the cuffs of her sweater over her hands. “No. It’s not bullshit. I promise,” she said, her voice saccharine. “Look, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days, trying to sleep off that poison the Joker put in you, I’m sure.”

Jason flinched back so hard that he stepped back onto the glass shards from the mirror. It cut into his heel and he winced, blood already leaking from the wound. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/n exclaimed, crouching down and then standing back up quickly. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to help you with that? Why don’t you sit on the bed and I’ll grab some bandaids.” Y/n hurried away out of the bedroom and Jason stood still. 

Help. 

Help you. 

“You’re gonna help me win back Batman, Robby,” the Joker whispered in his ear, spit flicking on his face. “You are vital. You will be his downfall.”

Help.

Help me.

Y/n came back, shaking Jason out of the parallels. “You’re not on the bed,” she commented. Jason’s feet automatically moved towards the bed — he knew better than to argue with the Joker, but then he remembered he wasn’t with the Joker. This was a girl who looked like one strong look would have her cowering beneath him, especially if he actually had the physique he saw in the now-broken mirror. 

“Who are you,” he repeated his question from earlier, turning back to look at her. 

“Y/n,” the girl reiterated, head tilting slightly. 

“No.” Jason shook his head. “Who are you. Who do you work for?”

Y/n’s brows scrunched together in confusion and she said, “well, my boss is named Marlene, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t see how that’s particularly relevant.”

Jason’s chest rose and fell and he brought his hand up to claw at it. “Liar,” he hissed out. “You… you liar!” A yell curled its way up through him and his nails scratched at his throat, trying to tear this unfamiliar voice from him. Who was he? This wasn’t Jason Todd, the broken boy from Crime Alley. This was someone much more dangerous and unpredictable. Batman had always taught Jason how to analyse plans and choose the one with the highest success rate. But this was a different Jason. This Jason was a tornado, sweeping through every emotion he didn’t know how to handle. 

He saw green. And that only reminded him of the years spent under the Asylum.

Jason tore the sheets from the bed. He shoved things off the bedside table and consequently the lamp fell, its bulb shattering and then flickering out. The room was plunged into darkness. The only source of light was from the barely rising sun, peeking its rays into the window and bathing the edges of the room with pink and orange and yellow. 

The light danced across Y/n’s face as she stared around at the damage Jason was inflicting. Pity and guilt ran rampant on her face and she didn’t stop him.

Jason moved throughout the room, the only things he spared being the dresser and the bookshelf. 

After some time, he collapsed onto the floor, heaving in breaths. It wasn't long before he slowly leaned back to lay down. Y/n carefully sat down next to him, staying a good couple feet away. "I know you don't trust me," she said. She slipped her sleeve down her wrist, tucking in her hands. The outline of a watch pressed against the fabric and Jason stared at it numbly and unthinking. "But my name is Y/n. I work at the Gotham Gazette. My boss's name is Marlene. She's pretty nice and I'm up for a raise soon. I've lived in Gotham my whole life, even while my brother moved away the first chance he got. I've contemplated leaving for a long time, but I could never bring myself to do it." She pointed to a picture that sat on her dresser – one of the only things Jason hadn't destroyed. "That's him. My brother."

Jason didn't move his head to look. His green vision began to fade. 

“When I was growing up I had a fish. His name was Captain Sparkles,” Y/n kept on talking. “He was pretty cool and lived a long time for a fish. Two years, if you’re interested. I’m going to Gotham University and studying English so I can hopefully move up the line of command at the Gazette. My parents are chill and are empty nesters with two dogs out in the countryside. My dad always pledged never to get a dog, but now I’m pretty sure they’re ahead of me in the will.” She chuckled and tugged at her hair. 

Jason turned on his side away from her and he missed her eyes trailing after him sadly. Y/n swallowed and blinked away the sting of impending tears. 

“I have a little routine going,” Y/n continues, her voice cracking slightly. “You know, wake up, go to class — I’m a sophomore — come home and do homework. When I don’t have class, I go to work.” The girl wraps her arms around her knees and tucks her chin in. “What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that I don’t work for the Joker.”

Jason flinched and cradled his head in his hands. Everything Y/n was telling him seemed true; she didn’t seem like an agent of the Joker, but his mind screamed at him to not trust anybody. Each syllable she spoke seemed like a reminder of how normal he was supposed to be. Day in and day out, when the Joker was pushing Jason’s limits, pulling him to the brink of death, Jason had wished to be normal. To not have met Batman that fateful day. To not have accepted the Robin pedestal. To go to high school and college and live in a dorm and get drunk and then regret it the next day. 

What he would give to be normal. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/n muttered. “I didn't mean to say his name. I know it must be triggering.” She exhaled and was silent for a moment. “I’ll go,” she eventually whispered. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Jason heard her stand and move to the door. No! Please don’t go. I- I can’t be alone. I don’t know how to be alone. But the words didn’t come. 

The door clicked shut behind Y/n. Tears made their way down Jason’s face and his body shook with the effort to keep silent. 

I would rather you torture me than make me be alone, he thought. My thoughts are more dangerous than any weapon.

~~~~

For all of Jason’s life, soulmates had always been in his realm of knowledge. Like bombs. He had heard the word in the news, playing with whatever he had scavenged off the street, his mom smoking on the couch behind him, TV blaring. 

But children are oblivious and it wasn’t until later in his life that he figured out what the words meant. ‘Bombs’ became synonymous with Gotham City and ‘soulmate’ became a word Jason held close to his heart. 

Everyone had a soulmate and it was common for the kids on the playground to compare their numbers ticking down. Younger children, who had yet to get their timer, gazed wistfully at older kids’ watches. Rumours of someone’s timer speeding up or slowing down blistered around the jungle gym and it chilled young Jason’s blood with the thought of not getting to meet his soulmate soon enough. 

But besides those insignificant bouts of worry, Jason was very proud of his soulmate. He would be running around the playground and when he heard someone bragging about how soon they would meet their soulmate, Jason would stop the game of tag and go over to compare numbers. 

Not everyone was as lucky as him, however. Some kids would be teased because their timer estimated that they wouldn’t meet the love of their life until they were on the brink of death. While Jason never stood up for the victim, he would never be the one to bully them. His own mom had smashed her timer when she met Jason’s deadbeat dad, wanting to defy the universe and choose her own lover. It had only led to jail time, alcohol, and negligence. Sometimes, late at night, Jason would wonder what happened to his mom’s true soulmate. Were they still out there with a paused timer, wondering who didn’t think them good enough? Did they also think they could find answers at the bottom of a bottle or did they pick themselves up and reroute their life?

What would’ve his life been like if he had two parents who loved each other and were destined to be together? 

But whenever Jason was feeling down, or he got a bad grade (which didn’t happen often), or he was beaten up in the alleyways of Gotham, or his mom smashed a bottle by his head and screamed at him, he would cast his eyes down to his soulmate timer and just remember that someone out there was for him. That someone was fated to love him. And very early on, from the moment he realised what having a soulmate actually meant, Jason decided that he would wait for however long it took and go through whatever it meant to find them. 

“Whose clothes are these?” Jason whispered, his voice cracked and desolate the next time Y/n came into the room to offer him the little food he could stomach. 

“My brother’s,” she answered easily, setting down the plate of toast and some other easy food. “I thought they would be a bit big on you, but then the Lazarus Pit made you ginormous, so they’re a bit tight now. Sorry.”

“Lazarus Pit?” Jason pushed himself to sit up, muscles groaning in protest. 

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Y/n admitted. “But once I got you out of Arkham, I brought you to my friend Talia. She has some… powerful connections to some influential people and was able to help heal you in the Lazarus Pit. I just didn’t know how much it would alter you.”

“That explains a lot,” Jason admitted dryly, thinking of his new physique, emotions, and tinted vision when he had gotten mad. 

Y/n leaned against her dresser. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to help, but I needed to. You were going to die and I need…” she trailed off and her eyes flicked down to her wrist.

“You need what?” 

“I couldn’t let someone die,” Y/n finally decided on. 

Jason accepted her answer. He felt a small tug at his chest, almost as if something wasn’t right and he wanted to correct it. “What’s…” His eyes trailed to her lap where she held her hands. His jaw twitched and he shook his head. “Never mind.” 

“You can ask me anything,” Y/n offered, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Jason’s eyes widened when he saw her smile and his heart fluttered. Jason decided that, even if he didn’t trust Y/n yet, he would do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face. 

“No, I have nothing– I’m good– no–” 

“Spit it out, Robby. What do you want to tell your darling Joker? What are your… worries? Your concerns? Your dear Uncle Ace?” The Joker circled around an exhausted Jason. “Trust me. You can tell me anything…” His speech was slow and intoxicating. Alluring, was the word Jason would use to describe it. It was tugging him in. Jason’s eyes slipped down into sleep just as another needle pierced its way into his skin, courtesy of the Joker. 

Jason dug his nails into the palm of his hand over and over, fingers twitching over his cuticles. His face started to heat up and he swallowed roughly, blinking slowly. “I’m okay,” he mumbled out, even though Y/n didn’t ask. 

“Do you need me to leave?” she offered. 

Jason dragged his head back and forth, attempting to shake it. Eventually, it lolled back and banged against the wall. “Sorry, what?”

Y/n stood up on instinct. “Robin?” 

The title sent lightening up Jason’s spine and his gaze snapped up to stare at her, fuming. “Don’t- don’t call me that!” he screamed out. “I’m not! Stop it!”

Dearest Robin. How Batman will miss his little protégé. 

Robby… 

Robby… 

Robin!

“Let me go!” Jason shrieked. He wiped his hands on his shirt before reaching up and pulling at his hair. Everything felt wrong. “Why won’t you let me go?! Just give up,” he pleaded desperately. His eyes, wide and frantic, swept around the room until they settled on the shards of the mirror he had smashed.

His body was a graveyard.

It was only then that Jason truly comprehended how imperfect he was. 

Scars trailed down his arms and legs and he could even see a smattering of them peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Each scar and bruise was a reminder of each thing the Joker had done to him. 

Each scar is an adventure, Batman’s voice resonated in his head. An image of Batman patching up young Robin’s bloody nose flicked through Jason’s mind.

Each scar is a reminder you were never there for me, Jason thought bitterly. Each scar is a reminder that I’ll never be free of him. I’ll always be tied to the Joker. And that’s what terrifies me the most. That’s what makes me hate you, Batman. 

“Okay, okay,” Y/n surrendered, holding her hands up. “I’ll leave. But I can’t let you go. It’s not safe yet.”

It was then that Jason drove his fist into the wall. Y/n made a little squeak of surprise and seemed to flinch. 

She quickly left and Jason didn’t have time to feel bad before he crumpled onto the bed in exhaustion, bits of plaster now on the floor and sheets.

~~~~

Time after time again, the Joker visited him. The Clown Prince of Crime had grown bored with the relentless torture. There had been new tactics — he had to keep it interesting, of course — but even waterboarding hadn’t quelled the ache that the Joker felt after the boy had grown used to the whipping of chains against his skin, leaving the boy bruised and internally bleeding.

So it was time to pull out all the stops. The Joker strolled into the makeshift dungeon. Robin didn’t even look up at this point. “You look grim,” the Joker stated, pouting theatrically, even though his audience was a despairing one. He strolled over to the table where he kept all his instruments. “Which one, which one?” the Joker sang, running his fingers over the knives, corkscrews, ropes, and other devices to land on a pitcher of water. 

Jason inhaled and exhaled slowly. The Joker poured a generous amount of water into a glass before lifting it to Jason’s lips and tilting it back. “There you go…” the Joker cooed, caressing Jason’s cheek. “Drink it all up like a good little boy.”

Jason’s chapped lips searched hungrily for the water, not caring what the Joker’s motive was. He was too thirsty to wonder.

It was only the first in a long line of drugs. 

“I don’t know what to do, Talia,” a lilting, frustrated voice came from the other room, stirring Jason awake. He was sure that whenever he heard Y/n’s voice, he would snap to attention, ready to throw himself to his knees and execute whatever she commanded. 

Woah. Where did that dedication come from? 

Even when Jason assumed the title of Robin, there was never such blind complaisantness to what Batman ordered. He would always have some street-kid spunk in him.

So why was he feeling so utterly protective over Y/n? It had to be the fact that she saved him from the hellhole the Joker had carefully curated and manipulated. Didn’t it?

Or was it something else?

“No, I’ve been trying to do all my work online, and it’s been working, but I can only go so long before I have to go into the office or go to lectures.” Y/n listened to her friend for a long minute on the phone and Jason strained to hear them. “No, but I feel responsible – that’s the wrong word – but protective of him.” There was a pattering of feet as if Y/n was pacing. “This is kinda a big deal. There are movies and books written about this connection and yet, mine is huddled in my room, sleeping off drugs and the evidence of torture!” Her voice cracked up at the end and Jason physically stood up. 

Bile rose up in his throat and Jason’s knees slammed to the ground, pain shooting up his bones and reverberating in his muscles. He cursed under his breath and pressed his head to the cool hardwood, trying to overcome his nausea.

Stars swirled in his vision and laughs echoed in his head. Jason mumbled words of encouragement to himself, but they were distorted and ugly. Like the Joker. Oh, how Jason dreaded the thought of becoming him. His forearms hit the floor and instead of the Joker’s words stabbing at his brain, it was a static frame of white noise, blocking out everything. Vision was the first thing to go, eyes squeezing out the late afternoon light. The second thing to leave Jason, as everything does, was time. Was it minutes or hours he sat on the floor before the door burst open? 

Words were muted and Jason nodded when Y/n asked if she could touch him. Warm palms encased his jawline, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “He’s not here,” Y/n whispered. “I’m here. Robi- no, tell me your name. Please.”

“Jason. My name is Jason.” Somehow, Y/n had eroded away his concern and distrust, replacing it with ease and invulnerability. He would never have thought it possible in such a short time, even without his history with the Joker. 

Y/n exhaled a small laugh and a bright smile came to her face. Jason looked up at her, brain still buzzing. “What? What’s funny about that?” he managed to get out. 

“Oh, no no no,” Y/n was quick to reassure him. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was rude of me. I’m sorry.” One of her hands guided down to rest on his back, rubbing soft circles. In his anxious stupor, Jason curled up in front of her, instinctively resting his head on her lap. If he could see her face, he would’ve seen Y/n’s eyebrows shoot up with hopefulness. However, he definitely heard her intake of breath. “It’s a very nice name.”

“How- how does your boyfriend feel about me staying here?” Jason finally asked after a minute of him slowing his breathing. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Y/n said, sounding amused. 

“But you have a soulmate timer,” Jason pointed out. 

Y/n tilted her head, curiously. She didn’t think he had noticed that. One of her hands moved to Jason’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. She ran her fingers through the white stripe which she had come to find very attractive. Tension left the boy’s shoulders and he tucked his head into her lap. “Everyone does,” Y/n replied. “It doesn’t mean I’ve found my soulmate yet.”

“Have you?”

“Yes…”

“Oh.”

Jason laid in her lap for a long minute and eventually asked her, “is he nice to you?”

Y/n laughed lightly, sighing a bit before saying, “he’s still getting to know me. He’s a very reserved and tentative person and we only met a little while ago. However, he’s been opening up pretty quickly and I’m very proud of him.” Her fingers tapped against Jason’s hair, curling the strands around her fingers before lightly scratching at his scalp with her nails. She noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when she did that. Tucking that information away for later, Y/n added, “he’s gone through a lot in the past and I just want to make him feel safe.” 

Deep in his bones, Jason could almost feel her sadness and dedication. He wasn’t sure what magic had given him the power to be so in tune with this girl, but he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from him. Not even her soulmate. 

Turning the conversation away from something that would surely wound him if he pried any deeper, Jason declared quietly, “I’m going to install some deadbolts and locks on your front door and windows soon.”

“Pardon?” 

“It’s not safe for you to help me.” It never is for anyone. I’m a poison, infecting everyone I touch. “I want to make sure you’re safe before I leave.”

“Leave?” Y/n exclaimed, staring down at him. “No, you’re not ready to go yet.” A part of her was worried she was being selfish, wanting her soulmate as close to her as possible, but one look at the bandages she had just replaced the night before said otherwise. There was less blood than there had been days prior, but Jason was not in any condition to leave bed, much less leave the apartment. 

“You can’t keep housing me forever, Y/n,” Jason muttered. “And I’ll be damned if I’m the reason you get hurt.” His head was still in her lap, but he couldn’t meet her eye. It was imperative that he play with the seams in his shirt. 

Otherwise she might see him beginning to cry.

“Please leave,” he begged, voice breaking pitifully. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to argue, gently slipping out from her place underneath Jason and resting his head softly on the ground before closing the door behind her. 

The nightmares were worse that night. ~~~~

True to his word, Jason ventured out into the apartment the next day like a zoo animal inspecting its new habitat. He crouched his shoulders, bowing his head in an attempt to diminish his size. He still wasn’t used to being so large and accidentally bumped into the kitchen counter and a lamp. 

He was able to install the majority of the new locks and deadbolts until he slid the deadbolt of the front door closed. It whined and creaked beneath his fingers and his mind flashed back to when

Jason awoke slowly. A small groan left his lips, but he stayed still. It was a tactic he learned from Bruce – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and it was quite possible that he was one movement away from death. He had to be careful. 

But this wasn’t Africa. This wasn’t where Jason was desperately searching for his mother when Batman ran into the warehouse, seconds before the Joker let loose a bomb. 

That’s all Jason could remember. 

Blood was sticking his hair to his head and Jason clutched his side. It ached from bruised or broken ribs that pressed to his skin. However long he had been unconscious, it had been quite a while. His body was already malnourished and crying out for medical care. 

Jason attempted to crawl to a standing position, but when his ankles and wrists caught against metal, restraining him, he knew something else was at play. 

The whine and creak of a deadbolt unlocking caused him to turn his head towards a door he hadn’t noticed. A man in a pinstripe suit stepped through, a long crowbar in hand. Jason didn’t need the upturned red lips to know who was there. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Robby,” the Joker coaxed as Jason stared up at him, pure terror gripping his veins. He had never been so close to the Joker without Bruce. Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? The Joker squatted down to Jason’s level, running a gloved hand over the boy’s bloody hair. Jason flinched away, but it didn’t deter the Joker. “You and your Uncle Ace are going to have some real fun.” 

“Where is he?” Jason sobbed, scared when he didn’t feel the blood on his hair. Why wasn’t he bleeding? What was the Joker’s new game?

“Where is who?” An unfamiliar voice asked despairingly. 

“Bru— Batman,” Jason corrected himself in his stupor. “B-Batman.”

Y/n stuttered, “I don’t know Batman. I’m sorry.”

Jason groaned in pain before a hysterical laugh bubbled from him. He clutched his stomach, on all fours, eyes wide and clouding over with green. Must he always be connected to the Joker? If he could eradicate that damn colour, he would. His fingers ghosted over the place that the Joker threatened to brand him. 

“Maybe I’ll make it permanent on our five year anniversary,” the Joker hummed, knife gently poking into Jason’s cheek. The faded scar of last month’s ‘J’ was what prompted the Joker to re-carve it into the boy. Blood dribbled down Jason’s cheek, joining his salty tears. It didn’t hurt, the wound being surface level, but just the thought of more things tied to the Joker made him gasp for air, crying softly. 

“So you’ll always be reminded of who was the one to beat you. The Clown Prince of Crime!”

Y/n had barely noticed the ‘J’ until Jason dug his nail into his cheek, tracing the scar. The path was imprinted into his memory. 

The skin turned red at the irritation and Y/n caught Jason’s wrist the next time he moved up to trace it again. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Jason muttered things under his breath at her, but he didn’t pull away from her hold. “He branded me,” he finally spit out. “And it’s only because you found me that he didn’t carve it into my skull,” he said sarcastically, malice in his voice. His eyes blazed a fervent green and he shook his head. “But at least I knew what was coming. At least I knew that a month had passed when he redrew his initials.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but Jason spoke before she could. “I… I’m worried,” he began slowly. “I’m becoming more of the Joker than I am Batman. I was supposed to look up to Batman, but what if he and the Joker are one and the same? Both hurt me. One abandoned me and the other took that for granted.”

“He didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sure,” Y/n whispered. “No one would ever willingly abandon you.”

Jason grumbled out, groaning at her words. His lips twitched downwards and his biceps flexed. “No one? Everyone did!” he screamed out. “My parents, Batman, Alfred, Dick! Everyone abandoned me!”

Y/n ignored the last name Jason listed off, before murmuring, “I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” Jason whispered after a moment. “But you will.”

~~~~

A couple days later, Jason peeked out of Y/n’s room, one of her blankets in hand. “You deserve your room,” Jason mumbled when Y/n looked up from her book, astonished. 

“I– Jason, you need the most comfort,” Y/n said, gently closing her book. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“You need to get back to work soon,” he said, hugging the blanket close. “You said it yourself. I can’t be the reason that you’re putting your life on hold. You- you need to get back to normal.”

“You are my nor–” Y/n cut herself off before exhaling slowly. “Don’t worry about me,” she began. “I’ve slept on the couch many nights when I had papers to complete or binge-watched too many episodes of The Good Place.” 

Jason’s features softened slightly and he took a step forward. Y/n took the hint and scooted over on the couch, placing her book on the small coffee table she had. “What’re you reading?” he asked as Y/n turned on the television, opening up to the first episode of The Good Place. 

“The Great Gatsby, for one of my English classes,” Y/n said. 

“Really?” A smile slowly grew on Jason’s lips, something he hadn’t experienced in years. His muscles ached a bit from the disuse, but Jason was now addicted to the feeling. 

Y/n decided that she was now also addicted to the sight of Jason smiling. “Yeah. We’re covering the symbolism of water that spans throughout the book. In fact, in the first couple of pages, Fitzgerald references the White Star Line, which is a boat that sank on the same route as the Titanic. Gatsby, obviously, dies in the water, sinking, just as those boats did. Fitzgerald really is an excellent writer.”

Jason was pretty sure he was in love. Or maybe he still was on drugs. Whatever the feeling, it was nice and unexpected and new. 

“I do think you’ll like The Good Place,” Y/n continued. “I won’t spoil anything, but it has some pretty amazing underlying themes.”

“I’m sure,” Jason replied quietly, burrowing under the blanket. It didn’t quite manage to hide his large frame, but it managed to hide his quickening heart and blush that was slowly spreading. 

Just before the first episode started, Y/n quickly hurried to make some popcorn. She plunked the bowl in between the pair and then snatched some blanket away from Jason. “You run hot,” she explained when Jason shot her a bemused look. 

The Good Place was a wonderful show, as Jason soon learned, but what was more wonderful was when Y/n’s cheek pressed against his shoulder and her knees curled up and her eyes fluttered closed. When her breath slowed with sleep, subconsciously trusting him enough to be at her most vulnerable, that, Jason found out, was what was truly wonderful.

Bruce Wayne had never before seen a street rat more excited to see Batman, especially when that street kid was trying to steal from him. 

But what was particularly amusing was that the boy wasn’t particularly excited to see him, but more excited to show Batman his soulmate timer. 

“No! No, you don’t understand!” the boy cried ecstatically. “It just fast-forwarded! Meeting you means I get to meet my soulmate sooner!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerly shoving his wrist towards Batman’s cowl, showing the vigilante his timer. 

“Yes, very… exciting,” Bruce hummed out, not sure whether to laugh or reprimanded him for trying to steal the Batmobile’s tires. 

The boy laughed, a big grin covering his small features. “I wonder what they’re like. Have you met yours yet, Batman?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and a chuckle slipped through. “Yes, I have. It’s a wonderful thing.” 

As the child kept rambling about his soulmate, Bruce knew that he had just found the next Robin. 

~~~~

Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed. She had a textbook in her lap and was mumbling out phrases for memorisation of an upcoming exam. A small smile couldn’t help but expand on Jason’s face as he listened to her mumbles. He paused from his work in the small kitchen, back muscles rippling as he reached for the marinara sauce. When he went to dump the pasta into the strainer, the pot clanged against the metal faucet. 

The Joker rattled his crowbar against Jason’s chains.

“Jay?” Y/n said softly, guiding him out of his memories before he could get too lost. “You can stop straining the pasta. All the water’s gone.” 

“What?” he choked out, turning his head so he could see her.

“The pasta.” Y/n shifted forward so her legs hung over the edge of the counter. “It’s okay. It’s been okay and it will continue to be okay. You- you can let go.” The euphemism wasn’t lost on Jason.

He let the pasta pan drop in the sink and faced Y/n, eyes shining with unshed tears. “No. That’s not what I meant.” Swallowing down the feeling, Jason continued, “what did you call me?”

“Jay,” Y/n whispered. 

The Joker paced around Jason after a few days without any torture. “It’s been too long, Robin,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it’s time to make you sing for your Uncle Jay.”

“Is that okay?” Y/n asked softly. 

Bruce shouted from the other room, “Jay! Come on! The gala’s starting soon.”

“Jason,” Y/n repeated. She reached out and touched his shoulder and the boy came to stand between her legs. Jason dropped his head on her shoulder, beginning to sob quietly. Immediately, Y/n brought her hand up to rest on his head and the other arm to curl around his back. “Don’t you dare,” she shook her head as Jason began mumbling his apologies. “It’s okay. I’m here.” 

And suddenly, everything was okay. Because Y/n was there. “Bruce called me Jay,” he murmured out. “An- and then he called himself Mr. Jay.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger-“

“No, it’s okay,” Jason looked at her, eyes shining with tears. “I like it when you do it. When you call me that.”

“You do?” Y/n asked, hands on either side of his face, cupping them closer and when her hands trailed to hold his neck and then one brushed back his hair oh this must be heaven, Jason thought, eyes fluttering shut. What he would give to live within her arms, always feeling safe and always feeling loved. She had that strange power over him and while Jason usually didn’t like people having power over him, he decided that when it came to Y/n, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice lilting up with an infliction of infectious love. 

Jason stood there, comfortable in her arms and secretly hoping that Y/n would never have to go to work and would always just stay here. Where he could just keep… holding her and touching her and making sure she was safe because if Y/n wasn’t safe, Jason was pretty sure he would go on a rampage. If Y/n wasn’t safe, if Jason wasn’t holding her, then it was only because the Joker had found him and ripped him away from the only thing he had ever loved. 

And that would’ve been the cruellest method of torture. 

No amount of chains would hold him back. No amount of drugs would make him forget Y/n. And no amount of hate would make him forget the amount of love he felt when Y/n held him close and he could hear her heart beating steadily. In that moment, Jason could pretend her heart beat for him. 

He knew his heart beat for her. Then his mind flashed back to it all.

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel. 

“Oh, picky picky picky,” the Joker teased. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Lemme go! Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!” His voice cracked and blood began to trickle down his arms as the chains rubbed against his irritated skin and broke the surface. But he would take the pain a thousand times over if it meant he could get to his watch. 

His soulmate. His love. It was all gone.

“Yes!” the Joker cried out, exclaiming loudly. His hands began to shake and a large grin spread on his maniacal face. “Yes! Emotion, Robby! This is what I want! Give me the fucking emotion! If I had known, I would’ve smashed that watch a long time ago.”

Jason lunges towards the Joker, face contorted with rage. “Don’t you fucking dare! Get- stay- no! No!” 

It was the most he had ever fought against the Joker. And the Joker adored it.

“You… you’re my…” Jason choked out, jaw tensing slightly as the dots began to connect.

He didn’t know when Y/n had begun to cry, but as tears streamed down her face and she nodded desperately, things seemed to all click into place. “It took you long enough,” she joked pathetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jason breathed out, his hands tightening on her thigh, a protective instinct washing over him. “Oh, no, no, no,” he shook his head and brought her head in his hands, brushing away the tears. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Y/n’s voice cracked. “I’m not unhappy, not in the slightest—” Jason was so sure of their bond that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might reject him or not love him due to his past. “—but I just never thought that you would- that I would-” She hiccuped and Jason’s eyes darted across her face, wanting to somehow help, but so unsure of himself.

Slowly, Jason sank to his knees. Y/n still sat above him, on the counter, staring down, baffled. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips were parted, but she had never seemed more beautiful. “What- what are you doing?” she murmured. 

“I’m showing you how much you affect me,” he answered simply. “Quite literally, you saved my life, Y/n. And if that’s the only way you touched my life, I would consider myself the luckiest man on Earth. If no one has told you those words before, then everyone else is a fool. If you allow me to stay around and cherish the best thing that’s ever happened to me, gladly, I will.” Y/n slowly slipped off the counter, standing before him. “But that’s a lot of ‘ifs’. And I’m not willing to potentially lose you over some ‘ifs’. I know I’ve made you uncertain and I’ve wrecked your apartment and I’m so sorry,” he chuckled dryly. Jason’s hands were shaking as he slowly slid them up Y/n’s legs. She shivered under his touch, backing up until she hit the counter behind her. Jason lifted his hands from her, giving her a moment if she needed, but one look in her eyes led his hands right back to her body. “You’re like a drug,” he whispered, pressing his face to the side of her thigh. 

“Drugs are very very bad,” Y/n managed to get out. 

“I know.” A small smirk appeared on his lips. His lips suddenly looked very kissable. “The Joker taught me that. If I could go back and kill him, I’d do it in an instant, but… I’d also thank him. And I’d thank Batman. And Nightwing. And my mom. And everyone else in my life because they all led me to you.” Y/n’s knees buckled and Jason helped ease her down so she was sitting in front of him. He choked on his tears slightly before saying, “so many people believe in equality in the universe. So if all of that is true, then perhaps every bad thing that ever happened to me was just leading up to you. You… are so good that the universe needed to even it all out.”

Y/n began shaking her head vehemently. “Then let me damn the universe,” she whispered. “Because clearly, it’s been unfair. You were gifted to me, Jason. It’s not fair that you went through so much shit while I lived a fairly light life.”

“Maybe I’m not good enough…”

“Don’t you dare suggest that,” Y/n cut him off sharply. 

“Then perhaps I took the hardship you were supposed to endure,” Jason offered the explanation. Before Y/n could argue, Jason said, “and I’d do it again.”

Y/n laughed lightly, drying her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need to,” Jason muttered, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle into Y/n’s neck. He slowly, as if testing the water, pressed a kiss to her skin. Feeling her inhale, Jason grinned and repeated the gesture, wondering if he would get the same reaction. He did. After a moment, he exhaled, his breath tickling Y/n. “I’m going to need time,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be the perfect soulmate you deserve right away.”

“I don’t expect you to be. You’re already perfect to me.”

“I’ll work on it,” Jason compromised. “I want to deserve you.”

“You do–”

“Y/n,” he pleaded desperately. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the best Jason Todd for you.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, Y/n nodded after a minute. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll get through it all together.”

“Maybe we should seal the deal with a kiss.”

A bubbling laugh filled Jason’s ears and he couldn’t help the large grin that came over him. “Hmm,” Y/n conceded. “Alright.”

And so they did.

“Mom, why’re we here?” A small hand gripped onto her mother’s. 

“I signed us up for a soup kitchen,” her mom explained. “It’s coming to the holidays and we should be doing something good for others. Gotham isn’t always the nicest place to live and we’re fortunate enough that we can help when needed.”

“Hmm,” the girl conceded. “Alright.” She puzzled a bit over the thought that some people weren’t as fortunate as they were, before asking slowly, “do we need to help them any more than usual?”

“What do you mean, Y/n?” the mom asked, checking the street names as they passed. The girl frowned, her hair in small pigtails. “Well… Should we have brought clothes? Or blankets? How… How much do they need help?” She struggled to find the right words.

“No, they’re not homeless,” her mom said. “They just need a bit of help bringing food into the family, you know?”

“Okay,” Y/n accepted the answer easily. 

“Just, hold my hand, will you?” the mom said, even though her daughter was already clutching her hand. “This isn’t the safest part of town, though nothing bad will happen. The sun is out, so there’s nothing to be worried about.” 

Out of nowhere, a small boy barrelled out of an alleyway, shouting at some other boys that were running behind him. He crashed into Y/n, who’s mom scooped her up on instinct. “Oh, I’m sorry!” the boy cried out, head whipping from the two females back to the people chasing him. The boys behind him carefully came to a slow once they saw an adult with her daughter. “Uh, where are you two ladies going?” The boy asked, eyes darting back and forth between the groups. Ultimately, he decided that a stranger was more safe than those kids, simply because she was a mom.

“To the food kitchen,” Y/n supplied before her mom could shush her. 

“I can show you the way!” The boy jumped at the opportunity, beginning to walk backwards away from the group of bigger boys. Y/n’s mom looked between the malnourished boy who was silently begging with his eyes to the group who had a smearing of blood on their knuckles.

“Okay…” she decided. “Show us the way.”

The young boy jumped up and began striding away, beaming with the safety of an adult. Y/n’s mom set her down carefully, gripping her hand tighter than before. “Stay close by,” she demanded. Y/n nodded. 

The boy had dark hair that was cropped slightly at the sides with a tuft of it that fell over his eyes. His eyes were blue and he wore a red hoodie that fell just a bit too long over his jeans. “Wow,” he chirped as the trio got farther away from the alleyway. “Thanks. Let’s just say I’m not exactly on those guy’s good sides.” He kept rambling, Y/n’s mom shooting him cautious looks every once in a while, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What’s your name?” he asked Y/n, skipping over to walk by her side.

“Y/n,” the girl replied. “Y/n L/n.”

“That’s a nice name,” the boy grinned. “How old are you?”

“I’m five.”

“I’m seven!” The boy placed a haughty hand to his chest. “But my birthday’s tomorrow.”

Y/n’s mom hummed. “Oh. Are you excited to get your soulmate timer?”

“Yeah!” The boy beamed up at the woman, turning a corner. “Super excited. But this is the soup kitchen. You know, my mom should be stopping by soon. But thanks!” He began jogging off, waving goodbye. 

“Wait! What’s your name?” Y/n called after him. 

“Jason! Jason Todd.”

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 8

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: angsty fluff, otherwise none? let me know if i missed something!

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 7 here

Tuesday's Gone masterlist

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Once the doctors gave you the green light, you and Emma were officially discharged. Emma was practically bouncing out of there, her tiny hand clutched around Russell’s like he was her personal superhero. She’d decided in about five seconds after she learned that he was her dad that he was her new favorite person.

Convincing Russell to let the hospital staff check him out had been a whole different saga. It took some serious persuasion, mostly from you and a lot from Emma – her best pout and puppy-dog eyes could probably end a world war if used correctly, so Russell didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t give much away about how the exam went, but the scowl on his face as he emerged from the exam room told you all you needed to know. Whatever they'd said, he wasn’t a fan.

You had a pretty good idea why.

You could still picture his body, covered in scars and marks, like a patchwork quilt made from bad decisions and even worse luck. Each scar told a different story – some small, some big, all of them like little chapters in a book he’d never let anyone read. It was like looking at a piece of modern art, if modern art was made from pain and survival instead of fancy paint strokes and pretentious meanings. There were burns that looked like they came from some kind of fire he’d never mentioned, cuts that hinted at fights he’d never bothered to explain, and old bruises that had long since faded but never really went away. When you thought back on it, you realized it should’ve been obvious he wasn’t who he said he was.

Construction worker, my ass, you thought.

But you were too busy buying the story, too busy being swept up in the charm and the confusion to notice the signs. Now, looking back, it was like one of those plot twists in a movie you didn’t see coming.

But you hadn’t known better. And now? Now, it didn’t really matter either.

Emma, hand firmly clutching Russell’s, skipped ahead of him, her energy almost back to normal. Almost. There were still a few hints of what she'd been through in the way she glanced around, the way her eyes would linger a second too long on a stranger. But it was getting better. She was healing, and so were you. In a weird way, it felt like a fresh start. Maybe this time, it wouldn’t all fall apart.

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You were back in Idaho Falls. 

It had been a couple of weeks since you’d clawed your way out of that nightmare you’d rather forget – and bury six feet deep. But your brain? Yeah, it had other plans. It was stuck on a loop, replaying the worst moments like a twisted director’s cut. Honestly, even Hitchcock would’ve taken a bow and said “Bravo!” The suspense, the drama, the way it all spiraled out of control… honestly, the whole thing could’ve been an Oscar-worthy thriller if it wasn’t your life.

And, okay, maybe you’d gotten a little paranoid about leaving Emma alone. Alright, maybe more than a little. But come on, who could blame you? You knew the danger was over, logically, but paranoia wasn’t exactly known for its rationality. Every time you even thought about giving Emma a little space, that nagging voice would whisper, What if? and boom, you were back in full-on protective mode.

As much as you hated to admit it, though, you weren’t navigating this tightrope of anxiety alone. Russell had been… well, there. A lot. Not living with you, though, and that, of course, confused the hell out of Emma.

“Why? Daddies are supposed to live with their families!” she’d declared, pouting like it was written in the stars, a law of the universe that no one could break.

But reality wasn’t so neat. There were years of unresolved baggage between you two, enough to make even the most optimistic couples’ counselor break out in a cold sweat and quietly back out of the room. Moving in together? That wasn’t just a leap – it was more like an Evel Knievel stunt. High risk, no safety net, and plenty of ways to crash and burn. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

Still, Russell had clearly decided that proximity was his job. He was there nearly every day, and on more than a few nights, too. 

“Just in case” he’d say. You didn’t know, but he loved staying there when the both of you were sound asleep. During those times, he felt an indescribable peace. 

And then there was his latest obsession: fixing everything. It started innocently enough – he noticed a cabinet door hanging loose and gave it a quick tune-up. Then he spotted the wobbly bathroom doorknob. Before long, the guy was like a one-man Home Depot commercial, patching up squeaks and quirks you hadn’t even realized were annoying you.

And at first, you didn’t even notice. But one day, you walked into the kitchen, and something felt... off. Not bad-off, just different. Quieter. 

The cupboards didn’t bang shut anymore, the sticky drawer slid like butter, and that creaky floorboard by the living room? Silent. It was like Russell had decided that if he couldn’t fix all your problems, he’d settle for conquering your house.

And the worst part? It was kind of working.

It wasn’t just Russell who practically set up camp in your life after everything that happened. Your family had decided to make sure you and Emma were okay by showing up unannounced on a daily basis. Whether it was Anna, your mom, or your dad, someone was always stopping by to “check in.” But you knew that was just code for “making sure you hadn’t completely lost your mind.”

You didn’t blame them, though. What had happened wasn’t the type of thing you could just shake off, no matter how much you wished you could.

Colter had stopped by, too, not long after you got out of the hospital. And in his typical Colter way, he’d brought Emma a new Veterinarian Barbie – the exact same one she’d been playing with when she was taken. The one you had to leave behind at the warehouse, the one that now felt like a twisted keepsake of that night. That Barbie had somehow turned into a symbol of everything that went wrong, but Colter had a way of turning it into something better, lighter. He was trying, really trying, to be there for his newly found niece, like he wanted to make up for lost time.

Speaking of that warehouse nightmare, Colter had filled you in on what went down once you and Russell split up. Apparently, when you went up to check the upper floor, Colter stayed behind to look for clues on the ground level. Then he heard a bunch of grunting, some fighting noises, and the moment he rushed upstairs... poof, you two were gone. His next step was to follow the muddy footprints – Ecca boots, of course – all the way to a back exit where the trail just... disappeared.

He quickly reached for his phone, trying to call either of you, without any success. He then – almost desperately, he opened the Locations app and tried to see where Russell’s phone was. 

That’s how he found the building in Springland where all three of you were trapped in. And that’s how he found out that James Rourke was probably behind it. 

Apparently, Rourke had been the big boss over at Horizon’s Idaho branch. He also learnt that he used to be Russell’s superior and after learning about his shady businesses with the help of Reenie, he knew Rourke was behind all of this.Turns out, Rourke was involved in some shady business dealings, which Colter pieced together with a little help from Reenie. So, not only did Colter find out that Rourke was behind everything, but he also had a handy Sheriff’s connection in the town. He might not have been thrilled about it, but at that point? He didn’t have time to be picky. It was his brother and niece at risk.

“I really can’t thank you enough, Colter” you said as you pulled an envelope from your pocket. Before you could add the obligatory it’s not much, Colter held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t even start with that” he said, nodding toward Emma, who was happily immersed in her new doll set. Russell, much to his apparent dismay, had been assigned the role of the dog for Barbie’s vet checkup.

A small smile tugged at Colter’s lips as he looked back at you, letting out a sigh. “She’s family… and so are you” he said simply. Then after a beat, he added with a wry shake of his head, “Though, I’ll admit, it’s still a little hard to wrap my head around.”

You held the envelope out anyway, giving him your best no-nonsense look. “Colter, seriously. Take it.”

He glanced at it like it was a snake about to bite him. “Nope. Not happening.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Alright, fine. If you’re gonna be stubborn, at least stay for dinner. That’s non-negotiable.”

Colter raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to argue with you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Yup” you said, tilting your chin up. “It’s the least we can do. Plus, Emma’s so excited to show you her other barbies. You wouldn’t want to break her heart, would you?”

Emma perked up from the floor, where she was busy trying to get Russell-as-dog to sit still. “It’s so cool! You gotta see it, Uncle Colter!”

Colter sighed, his shoulders relaxing in defeat. “Alright, alright. You win. Dinner it is.”

“Good choice” you said with a grin, slipping the envelope back into your pocket. “And just so you know, I make a mean lasagna.”

Russell, still stuck in his ridiculous dog pose, chimed in from the floor. “She’s right. It’s downright addictive.” He then glanced over at the doll set with a raised brow. “Wait a second. Is that… a dog in the kit? Why am I the dog when there’s a perfectly good toy for the job?”

Emma giggled mischievously and scrambled to block his view, clutching the box like a tiny defense lawyer. “No, there isn’t!” she insisted, her grin giving her away entirely.

“Oh, really?” Russell said, narrowing his eyes like he was about to cross-examine a witness. “Then what’s that little plastic furball right there?” He reached for the set, but Emma squealed, pulling it out of reach and scurrying behind Colter for safety.

“It’s not a dog!” she said, clutching the box like it held national secrets. “It’s… it’s a cat in disguise!”

Russell dropped his hands dramatically. “A cat in disguise. Well, excuse me for not being on the cutting edge of veterinary espionage.”

Colter chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the absurd scene before him. “Kid’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Tell me about it” Russell muttered, going back to his dog duties with a theatrical groan. Emma just beamed, clearly victorious in her completely made-up argument.

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The cold drink in your hand grounded you in the peace of the moment. It was quiet. The only sound in the room was the beers’ sizzling from their glasses. Across the room, your Tiffany lamp bathed the room in a warm glow, making everything feel a little softer. Dreamier.

Next to you, Russell sat on the couch, staring down at his beer like it might give him answers. He’d gone quiet, which wasn’t exactly new. These late-night moments always seemed to pull him deep into his own thoughts.

Dinner with Colter had gone surprisingly well. Actually, better than well. Great, if you measured it in Shaw-family terms. He’d looked awkward at first, but Emma had done her thing. She had a talent for making people feel like they belonged. She’d taken one look at him and decided to get to know “the guy with Daddy’s face but short hair.” By the end of the night, she’d even wrangled a promise out of him to come back soon. 

Whether he actually would? You wouldn’t bet on it. He didn’t exactly radiate family guy energy.

Not that you could blame him. In these quiet moments, Russell had told you bits and pieces about their family: how their dad raised them, why he and his brother weren’t exactly close, and even that he had a sister. That last part had been news to you, and it still hung in your mind. 

Then again, you didn’t even know Colter existed until about a week ago.

But hey, he didn’t know Emma existed until about a week ago, so who were you to judge? 

The night felt like an old familiar one, like five years ago when things were simpler. But now, everything was heavier. Everything was more. Still, you couldn’t deny that you appreciated the quiet, the feeling of just being here, with Russell beside you. Not a word needed to be said, just… existing.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Still thinking about opening that brewery?” you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Russell glanced up, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to notice he was still breathing, let alone thinking. He let out a dry chuckle, leaning back against the couch. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do” you said, taking a sip. “You talked about it like it was your big shot. You even had a name ready. What was it again? Pour Decisions?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “God, no. That was your suggestion.”

“It was a great suggestion” you shot back with a playful grin.

“It was a terrible suggestion” he countered, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth told you all you needed to know. The other name you’d thrown out, Ale You Need Is Love, had clearly stuck with him a little longer than he’d admit. “And yeah” he continued, taking another long swig of his beer, “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” you asked, eyeing your drink. “What’s stopping you now? You’re free from Horizon, probably sitting on a nice stack of cash from all those years with them…”

“Yeah, well… it’s not that simple” he said, taking another swig of beer. “It’s not just about the money. It’s time, connections… I’ve never really built anything that would stick. I’ve always just been movin’, never really settlin’ in.”

You glanced at him, noticing how his gaze was stuck on the fuzzy carpet beneath his feet. His words didn’t feel like they were about the brewery anymore, not entirely. “Maybe… it’s not too late to build those connections.”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, you saw the conflict. He was debating whether to take this conversation in a whole new direction, one that would definitely touch on you and him – your relationship, or more like the mess of it. But after a moment, he let out a long breath, as if resigning himself to the truth. 

“I’m not sure the one I want to connect with is still there to hear me out.”

“Sometimes all you gotta do is try” you said, your voice was soft but honest.

Russell didn’t speak right away. His eyes flickered from his beer to the floor, like he was fighting with himself, deciding whether it was worth saying what he really needed to say. 

Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath and set his glass down on the coffee table. It was time to rip the band-aid off. 

“I don’t know–” His voice was quieter now, almost shaky. “I don’t know how to say any of this… Hell, if words can even make up for any of it.”

He stopped, eyes closing as he rubbed his hand across his face like he was trying to scrub away the years of regret. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with the weight of all the things he’d been carrying. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for leading you and Emma into all that… all that danger. For not telling you what was really going on. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark for so long. I’m so sorry for all the times I wasn’t there. When you needed me. When Emma was born. God, I should’ve been there.”

His voice cracked then, and you could see the fight in him, like he was trying to hold it all together. He ran a hand through his hair, the guilt still weighing him down. “I’m so sorry for hurting you… I never, ever meant to do that. I... I just don’t know how to fix it, or where to start.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the years of building walls, of running away from the things that mattered most. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like he was really letting those walls down.

You sat there, the silence thick with his words, heavy as hell. Regret, apologies, lost time –it all hung in the air. You didn’t rush to fill it, though. You needed a minute to sort through what to say next.

Russell’s eyes were fixed on his hands, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight like he was bracing for a blow, waiting for you to throw it all back in his face.

But you didn’t. You knew he was battling himself just as much as he was battling you. And somehow, that made it harder. But also… maybe easier?

Finally, you spoke, your voice steady but quieter than you intended. “You can’t fix everything in one night, Russell.” You reached for your drink, taking a long sip, trying to steady your pulse, trying to steady everything. “Hell, you probably can’t fix everything, period. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try. And you tried. Hell, you’re still trying, from what I can see. You’re glued to this couch. This house. Didn’t even ask you to stay with us… yet, here you are. Because you care. Because you see that I’m a nervous wreck. Because you see Emma adores you and wants you around…”

You stopped yourself then. The words you didn’t want to admit to yourself started clawing their way out. I want you around too. The thought stuck in your throat, but you kept going. “From what I see, you’re not just trying – you’re learning. You’re making things right. And… I’m not saying I’m not still pissed at you, because God, I am. But... now, I see how it wasn’t just your fault. Not entirely. How everything turned out... that’s on me, too.”

You exhaled slowly, finally meeting his eyes, seeing the rawness in them that mirrored your own. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Emma… I’m sorry I didn’t even hear you out that night… I’m so sorry, too, Russ.”

His hands rubbed over his face, and when he looked at you again, you saw tears threatening to fall – tears he’d never let himself shed before. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just natural you reacted that way” he said. “You don’t have to forgive me, Y/N. I don’t even know if I deserve it. But… if there’s any part of you that thinks we can make this right, even a little…” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I swear.”

You set your drink down, the glass suddenly feeling like it weighed a ton. Without overthinking it, you reached out and rested your hand on his. His skin was warm, a little rough, and he froze the second you touched him, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to move. His eyes darted to the place where your skin met his.

You didn’t bother with words… sometimes they just got in the way. Instead, you leaned in, just enough to leave the door wide open. He caught on quick, letting out a slow, shaky breath before he closed the distance, like he’d been waiting for permission all along.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rushed. His hand found the back of your neck, steady and warm, like he was afraid to push too hard, but couldn’t let go either. His lips on yours felt like a quiet promise, a way of telling you he wanted to make things right – even if he didn’t have all the words for it.

For a moment, it felt like all the years of hurt, anger, and regret hit the pause button. The kiss didn’t fix everything (hell, it didn’t fix a goddamn thing) but it cracked open the part of you that remembered: you still cared. And judging by the way he kissed you, so did he. 

You also realized something you didn’t want to before: you not only cared. You still loved him, deeply. Even after everything, you still longed for his touch, his presence.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was uneven, like he’d just run a marathon. “I’m sorry, Y/N” he said, his voice full of that raw honesty you didn’t hear from him often. “But I’m here to stay, if you let me.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “It’s gonna take more than one good kiss to fix all this, Russ…”

“Good thing I’ve got time” he said, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “And a lot more where that came from.” and with that he dwelled back into your lips.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, he closed the gap again, his lips finding yours like he was making a promise. This kiss wasn’t hesitant – it was steady. Like he was saying, Buckle up, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.

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Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 9):

Before you knew it, you were in the bedroom, your blazer tossed somewhere on the floor along with his shirt. The rest of your clothes followed in a blur of fumbling hands and breathless laughter, the weight of the past two months – and the years before that – melting away with every touch.

When he finally had you beneath him, his gaze softened, the intensity giving way to something deeper. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your hands cupping his face. “I’m sure.”

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And… we’re going straight into the smut with the next one. (Alright, not exactly, but we’ll get there soon!)

Read Chapter 9 here

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[cvpiddszn]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 | 𝐣.𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

a/n: part two, and decided that i sort of want to make a series out of it so i changed her name to make it easier on me. also i'm getting all my baby info from the internet...

summary: jack tries to understand why birdie is so upset

warnings: babies, swearing, frustrated jack, major miscommunication, alcohol consumption, idk what else

word count: 3.1k

series: part one, part two, part three

I didn't quite remember why I had agreed to do errands today. As I practically stumbled –more like wobbled– in the house, I was not greeted by my husband. Lake and Lowen rushed to their rooms to play some type of game with each other. I embraced the silence, hoping that Jack was down for his nap so that I could crawl in his arms. Forgetting the fact that there was a little girl sleeping in the room down the hall. 

Silently making my way into the room, slipping off my flats (that were way too tight against my ankle) and changing into sweatpants and an old rookie sweater of Jack’s. Placing my phone on the bedside table, I pulled back the covers about to crawl in when I saw a lump curled into my husband’s arms. 

Our six-month-old baby sleeping in my husband’s arms should’ve been adorable. I should’ve been fawning, or taking pictures of the two but instead, I was frustrated. Annoyed because it seems that no matter how many times I spoke to Jack about how we couldn’t continue to have Amara sleep with us, he still brought her in.

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I walked over to his side and began to shake his shoulder, careful to not wake the sleeping girl who hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last three days.

His eyes fluttered a few times, adjusting to the light from the open curtains. His brows furrowed, “Hey, babe. You have a good day?” He completely moved past the fact that our baby was sleeping with him again.

My eyes flickered toward Amara, trying to make some point. When he only became more confused, I rolled my eyes letting out a huff in frustration. I kept my voice low, “J, get her out of our bed.” I stated simply.

“She’s asleep though?” He questioned confused and I could feel the frustrated tears begin to well up again, I stormed out of the room. Jack was quick on my trail as he left our baby in our room, quietly shutting the door. 

I grabbed onto the baby monitor, turned it on and took it with me avoiding Jack altogether. I was pulled back with a jolt, enough to make me realize that I was still here. That this wasn’t some nightmare. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling when I looked at him. His hand came up to brush against my cheek, I rested against it on instinct. “What’s got you so upset? I can’t fix it until you tell me.” His thumb was comforting against my lips.

Needing to feel something, even a pulse or a breath of air to let me know that he was still there. My hands grabbed his face, pulling him towards me in a bone-crushing kiss. Taken aback for a moment, he never reacted and my heart dropped in my chest. The baby monitor still in hand, I pushed myself back nearly stumbling. He reached forward in an attempt to ground me but I only pushed myself back further.

I hesitated for a moment, looking towards the monitor before tossing it to my husband who caught it without a beat. When I looked at him, his eyes seemed to be searching mine probably finding distress and worry. “When did you stop loving me, Jack? Was it before or after the birth of your little girl?” I choked out like my airway was being cut off from me.

There was a heavy silence between the house like everything was going to collapse soon. That’s exactly how I felt, knowing that it took so long for him to reassure me that he loved me still. “Bird, I don’t know what you’re even talking about-”

A rage built up in the bottom of my stomach, fuming a fire that had started a while ago. I just wanted to pick something up and throw it at the wall, watching something glass breaking against the concrete. Or anything that could show how I was feeling. “Bullshit, Jack! I am your wife, your equal. We were doing so well, I had finally gotten into a routine with the boys. Then you got me pregnant with her! Then it was all about her, “My girl did this”, “my girl did that”, constantly!”

“Is that what this is about? You being jealous of our baby?” The realization was written all over his face, and it was exactly how I dreaded. That fucking feeling that it was pathetic of me to feel like this. 

“No! No, it’s about the fact that you never say it anymore, you never show me. You let her invade our space and our time and refuse to get us a Nanny because you suggested that I needed to stay home with the kids. I can’t do it anymore! I want my life back.” I exclaimed as I turned on my heel. Praying and hoping that the boys couldn’t hear me. Monitor still in his hands, you could hear Amara’s cries. I wondered for a second what he was going to do.

“Birdie, give me a second, please.”

“Fuck that, J!” I threw my arms out dramatically pacing down the stairs, making my way into the living room grabbing my keys from the bowl and shoving them in my pocket, and slipping my feet into my slide-in sandals. I could hear his quick steps behind me when I turned around his body was so close to mine that I pressed my forehead against his chest, breathing heavily.

“I love you, so fucking much, Birdie Hughes. I wouldn’t have married you if I knew that you weren’t the one I wanted until the very end. Our life has only begun together. I loved you so much more knowing that you had my kids, that you agreed to give up what you love to help at home. I appreciate all that you do for me. I love you, alright?” Jack’s hands tangled in my hair, his lips brushing against the top of my head and I closed my eyes but I couldn’t stop the tears. “Don’t leave, please. Not like this.”

The keys taunting me in my pocket, weighing in the pants. “I’ll be back. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.” I stated, pushing myself to give space, my hand placed on his wrist, looking at him. His eyes pleading me not to go but I looked away feeling myself push further and further like I was testing my limits of how far I could go before he would leave me. With the slam of the front door, a loud cry was heard from inside but I ignored it, pulling out the keys before unlocking it. Driving to any destiny. To a spot that allowed me to clear my head.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"When I said "a spot to clear my head", I did not mean a bar, Kie.” My brows raised at the neon glowing sign. Kiera had managed to shove me into what I thought was one of her shortest dresses possible. I was already uncomfortable with the outfit but the place was even worse. People only went to bars when they wanted a hookup. I’m married. “How about we go back to your place, and make some margaritas or something.” I fumbled to find an excuse, as I was pulling out my phone from Kie’s clutch to call an Uber.

My sister grabbed my arm, pulled the clutch and phone out of my hand. “We are not leaving until you have a little fun. Flora, Dawson, Nyx, and Luke are on their way right now. Blair and Quinn are flying out tomorrow and Salem said that she couldn’t get away from work. But that’s beside the point, the point is, you need this.” She brushed the brown curls off her shoulder, giving me a soft smile.

“Kie,” I whined in protest as she began to pull onto my arm, “I’ve never, not, come home at night before. J has never had to put all three kids to bed by himself. I don’t think it’s a good idea, and he doesn’t even know where I am!” I argued in hopes that she would give it up but she pulled me inside, the warmth of the bar causing the goosebumps from the chill to disappear. 

Continuing to drag me along, placing me on the bar stool as she sat on the one next to me. “Jack has your location, right? Life 360?” When I nodded my reply, she shrugged, “You’re fine then. Plus, I’m not saying that you need to commit crimes or adultery; the pretty ring on your finger tells people that you’re taken, I’m just saying that you need to relax a bit by drinking.” 

“My little sister should not be telling me that I need to drink away my problems,” I commented as the brunette leaned forward telling the bartender whatever drink she felt and slipping a twenty forward with a soft smile. The once angry girl that I had seen as a child was no longer there, replaced with someone full of happiness. Her life was fulfilled. So why did mine feel so empty?

She sat back in her seat, “Birdie,” The look on her face told me that she was about to give me a reality check, one that I truly hadn’t needed right now, “are you going to confront him about how you’re feeling?”

“No, but-”

Before I could explain, she was interrupting me, “If you’re not going to bring it up, there’s no point in trying to remember it. You can’t hold some grudge against someone who doesn’t even know what they’ve done, Bird. I’m trying to respect your decision but it’s hard to when I know how much Jack loves you.” The bartender placed the drinks on top of the coasters in front of us, I smiled in thanks. Kiera began to speak again, “Bird, you can’t fix it until you tell him.” Her hand was placed on mine, squeezing in response.

My eyes caught onto my wedding ring, dreading the feeling that came with it. It was simple, a small diamond in the middle. I would’ve preferred no diamond at all but I knew how much Jack loved those expensive things on me, whether it was jewelry or dresses or some new jersey of his since he had so many. “It just doesn’t feel like all those other times. Lowen called Jack yesterday, so worried about me. The first thing J asked was if his girl was okay. I stupidly thought he meant me. I want it all back, Kie.”

“So what? You’ll stay together for the kids, sleep in the guest bedroom, begin to take off your wedding ring, and pretend you’re together for outings, then what? Where do you go, Birdie? Nowhere. You’ll confuse your kids. You’re not considering a divorce, I can see it written on your face. You love him,” Kiera’s hand squeezed onto mine tighter, as if she was grounding me. 

I love Jack Hughes more than anyone could ever know but it was hard to tell someone something that not even you understood. Kiera’s head snapped at the familiar voices pulling me from a trance, watching as my youngest sister’s arm was pulled into Dawson Mercer’s, while Luke’s hand was held tight between his girlfriend, Nyx Connor, and him. The two were the perfect example of how miserable Jack and I’s relationship had become. 

Flora’s arms quickly wrapped around me, squeezing me tightly. As if she just knew exactly why I was here. I guess that I hadn’t gone out for a night since before the twins were born, but didn’t it count that I went to family functions? 

“Say no more,” Flora’s sweet voice was heard as she pulled back, she looked back towards her boyfriend, who nodded at her, like they had some secret language. She leaned forward onto the bar counter as Kie sipped her drink empty with a smile. “Excuse me, can you get up five of your best shots? Thank you!” She grinned, her radiating happiness practically bleeding into everyone else. 

The blonde looked towards me, tapping on my glass that hadn’t moved once from its spot. “Drink up, Bird. It’s time to get this fucking party started!”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I was already beginning to feel the headache coming from the shots. Luke had decided to be the designated driver of the night, dropping me off at my front gate as I drunkenly punched in the numbers, willing my eyes to stay open. My eyes narrowed at the light in the living room, deciding that Jack just left the light on in case I came home. It was three in the morning and I didn’t expect that he would be awake at this hour, I know how stingy he is about his sleep schedule.

Fishing the keys out of my clothes pocket, hoping that I don’t wake up the kids or Jack. I slipped the heels off my feet carefully, feeling the ache in the balls of my feet, desperately needing a bath but I would have one in the morning when I slept off the alcoholism in my body. Quietly placing my keys into the bowl, making my way into the kitchen to drown myself in three or more bottles of water in order to soak up the shots.

Flora Madden surely knew how to party. I guess it’s not that surprising considering she’s the youngest of all of us but she knew how to convince you to drink more, and even managed to get us a few free drinks from strangers with Dawson watching with a close eye. The thing about them was that Dawson knew that Flora was always going to come back home to him no matter what. That level of trust was something I wished that I was capable but with how much had been taken from my life previously it wasn’t me. I was possessive, jealous if you will.

“You’re up late,” Jack’s voice interrupted me while I was deep in thought drinking my water, causing me to practically spit out the water in my mouth. Feeling the roughness against my throat, I coughed leaning over the counter. “Usually you’re back earlier.”

“‘Usually’, I’m not out,” I reply shortly, continuing to chug back the rest of my water bottle, feeling the contents empty I turn towards the tap and fill it up, ignoring my husband who glared holes into my back.

I flinched at the loud echo of the bar stool being pulled out, Jack sitting in the chair with an unamused look on his face. As if he had any right to be upset with me. “You didn’t call or text. I had to find out through your little sister’s Instagram story where you were and what you were doing.” He answered, his voice filled with a tint of anger but I didn’t understand still feeling drunk.

Emotions were overwhelming me, and I had always been an honest person while drunk. “Didn’t know that you were my Dad and had to know exactly where I was at all times? If you truly wanted to know, could’ve checked my location.” I shrugged, plugging my phone into the charger before searching through our pantry and grabbing onto the fruit snacks that the boys loved so much.

“Not your Dad, Bird, just your husband.” Jack’s hand brushed through his hair and it was for a split moment that I could see the tiredness in his eyes. He hadn’t slept at all, not knowing where I was. “You know, your equal.” My own words were thrown back at me, my heart aching as they left his lips.

My hand waved around nonchalantly like I was brushing it off even if it hurt. “I don’t want to do this right now,” I announced, still keeping myself quiet so that it was still a private conversation between us. Grabbing my full water bottle and made my way out of the kitchen, hearing as his feet were quickly behind me. His arm caught onto my waist, pausing me from my spot.

“When do you want to do this, Birdie? You can’t just keep ignoring me and I refuse to lie to our kids.” His voice was stern as if he was trying to get through the barrier between us but my wall was still put up, not letting down yet.

“What’s Mara going to do, Jack? Tell you ‘oh no’?” My smartass response made him flinch, and I bit the inside of my cheek telling myself that I needed to keep my mouth shut for a while. His eyes snapped toward mine as I grabbed onto his hand, mistaking it for just wanting to remove his hand from my waist. There was a quick squeeze before I let go, pulling my hand behind my back. “I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, I had never refused to not sleep in our bed. “What? We can’t even sleep in a bed together?” I wasn’t even sure why he was complaining, it wasn’t as if he’s touched me or cuddled with me since Amara was born. I was touch-starved at this point, missing the feeling of his hands all over me but it seemed that when it was the only thing that kept me staying that had him touching me.

“Amara in our bed?” I questioned, watching as the surprise melted from his face and instead filled with embarrassment knowing that I had told him that I didn’t want her sleeping in our bed anymore.

“Fast asleep,” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck before the confusion again. “Wait, why is that a problem? Is that it, Birdie? That’s so-”

I scoffed, to which he paused giving me a concerned look, “If you say stupid, I’m leaving.” I retorted sharply, regretting the words as they fell from my lips. I knew that I couldn’t leave, I was stuck here. I couldn’t leave my boys, and as much as Amara didn’t like me I loved her more than anything. You can be jealous of something you love, right? “I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom, that’s that. Goodnight, Jack.”

Without another word, I made my way upstairs, my husband keeping a safe distance between us. My hand hovered over the door knob debating on whether or not I should. If I walked into there, it was admitting that there was a real problem. I knew he was watching me, hoping that I would change my mind and follow him in with an apology and a kiss. So I pushed open the door never once looking back as my decision was finalized with the shut of the door.

No amount of apologies or kisses was going to fix this.

[gather-ye-fucking-rosebuds]

”Sit down,” Todd instructed through chattering teeth. He was honestly astounded that he and Neil had managed to get to his grandparents’ lake house in the dead of night through the bitter cold and snow, but after a few miles of biking down the highway and through the winding roads in the woods, there they were.

It was still frigid in the house, since nobody had been there for a few months, so Todd bustled over to the fireplace and started piling wood inside, hoping and praying that there were matches in the kitchen. Otherwise they might freeze to death, or at least just be really cold for a while.

He glanced over to where Neil still stood, arms hugged around himself and staring at the floor. Todd paused his work to stand up and help Neil onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Dust spewed into the air, tickling Todd’s nose and causing Neil to cough. Everything seemed to be coated in dust, from the couch to the books on the rigid coffee table to the old pictures on the mantle of Todd and Jeffrey with their grandparents. The photographs were taken when he was very young, so he barely remembered them, but he looked happy. Carefree. When did that change?

He got up and went to the kitchen. His hands barely worked, they were so cold, but he searched the drawers for matches. Dread built with every empty or silverware-filled drawer, but the last one he checked had tape, five year expired chewing gum, and a box of matches in it. He covered his heart and let out a sigh of relief as he picked up the matchbook and slammed the drawer closed.

“Are there blankets?” Neil asked through chattering teeth.

“Yeah, give me one second,” Todd said, kneeling down and lighting the newspaper he had put underneath the firewood. He watched the announcement for a Midsomer Nights Dream disappear in flames and then hurried to the bedroom to get a blanket from the linen closet. When he got back, Neil had moved from the couch to right in front of the fireplace.

“It should have been me,” he whispered as Todd put the blanket around his shoulders.

“What?” Todd asked, sitting down next to him as the fire got bigger.

“I shouldn’t have shot him,” Neil said, his voice breaking. “I should’ve shot me instead.”

Todd’s stomach turned sour. “No,” he said. “No, Neil, that would not have solved anything. Neil, look at me.”

A tear streamed down Neil’s face as he stared at the fire. “I’m so scared,” he whispered. Todd wasn’t sure whether the tremor of his voice was from the cold or the sob bubbling in Neil’s throat. Either way, he wrapped an arm around Neil’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” Todd murmured. Neil leaned against Todd, burying his face in Todd’s shoulder as he sobbed quietly. “You’re going to be okay.”

[louisisalarrie]

Hey how are u? I really like your point of view so I want to ask you few things that my brain frequently think about.

I’m pretty sure that sooner or later bbg will be unmasked, so how they will handle this? They created Louis’ public image around this baby. They painted him like the perfect father who obv love a lot his child.

I think that the shitstorm where his fans will throw him in will be bigger than everything. You know what I mean his solo fans paint him like the most loyal person in the world who trust his fans a lot and would never betray them. So I’m quite sure that they will start to throw shit on him, plus they’re so obsessed over this poor baby and I see a lot of them saying that if louis is not the father they will leave him cause he is just a gross person who lies to fans.

So, how will they managed it without throw him into a very big shitstorm? Plus when it will happen definitely all will be connect to the Larry situation so: when they do it, will he do also a coming out?

I don’t see it happen without a coming out, because the speculation would be so much bigger than ever and everyone would start saying that Larries were right since the beginning and that he’s a horrible person using a child…

I don’t know I don’t see a easy happy ending :(

okie dokie anon, im gonna answer this in the best way I know how, and tag it a little differently to usual so everyone knows where to find my theories on how they’re gonna end bbg/what’s the best way to end it without ruining louis’ career. anon, welcome to the show sweetcheeks!

After the absolute shit show of a smear campaign that was pushed onto Louis in 2015, of clubbing and being a gross fuckboy taking a million girls home every night, they had to repair said image when they decided this kid was actually gonna be born (in my theory it was Belfast) because to continue on with fuckboy louis when he has a child on the way further down the pregnancy/child is born, it would’ve looked even more fucking worse for one d’s demographic and louis’ image would be irreparable. His image has always hung off family values and long term relationships too, so it’s not super crazy to think “oh, louis has had his fun and now it’s serious he’s gonna buckle down and be a great dad because of his upbringing/family values and he’s a wonderful guy” etc, ya know? Plus the vast majority of one d fans at the time were Larries, we saw through the bullshit and we saw this behaviour wasn’t louis. Mgmt were like “ok if we’re actually gonna see this through, if there’s actually gonna be a child in the picture, he’s gonna have to be a present and loving dad”. It just would’ve been too off brand for him to not be. Hell, the whole fuckboy Louis thing was off brand for him, but they started that, and then had to fucking fix it because an actual child was gonna be born into this mess.

Anyway so louis’ buzzing (looks like he’d rather set himself on fire) and we get heaps of baby content on Insta/from B and her clan etc to really bring it home that louis cares about this kid. This kid is his life and he will do everything he can to be there for it because he’s a good guy (which like… it this was real, they would’ve covered up this baby real quick and silenced the mother and that’s the biggest fucking fault they made in my opinion, shit makes no sense). So yeah, fake baby, happy dad, family values. Cool, alright let’s go.

You are very correct in saying they’ve made louis being a dad a major element in his image. He’s pretty private otherwise, but boy does he love this kid! Which if we base this on how it was meant to end in 2016 with a DNA test so he’d be out free, which didn’t happen for a few reasons, the kid is now older and a paternity test should’ve been taken far earlier and louis’ trying to figure out himself in a solo career and working hard on music and it’s all too much. Not to mention he signed his fucking rights away to SC and still had to deal with this all. But I digress. They didn’t end bbg then, and he didn’t want such a scandal to hinder the beginning of his career because that’s what he’d be known for when starting out as a solo artist. “Oh did you hear about that dude from one direction? His kid isn’t actually his! Holy shit!” would just be on repeat anywhere and everywhere and something like that doesn’t really die down that quick in the media. It just would’ve jumped him off the wrong way after dealing with the heartbreak of his mum passing etc., so things are a little chaotic for him to deal with that as well. (Then the bbg contract gets amended and SC gives him publicity with the X Factor etc, but I won’t get into the contracts side of it right now).

Cool cool cool. So. He’s gonna look like a shit dude for chucking this baby in the spotlight if he’s known for ages. Everyone’s gonna hate him for lying to them. He’s gonna lose his fans. He’s not gonna be able to promo himself for a while because he’ll be “devastated”. Now, let’s have a look at how this can end with fan and GP sympathy on his side, and how they can spin this in a good way.

Now, hear me out.

We’ve talked about a few ways, but the best way to dig him out of this shit show, is simply to go down the paternity route. It just is.

Situation 1: louis and b go to court over F. this works perfectly in his current no music or tour timeframe. It keeps him relevant in the papers while he’s off, and also gives him the excuse to grieve or whatever. This is 100% the best way to do it but it drags it out so long.

- Louis, who is now on break, wants to spend more time with his beloved son little lad, and wants to take him away from B for a while to live in the UK with him and his family for an extended holiday/spend some quality time. B is withholding his son from him and he isn’t allowed to be with him for extended periods of time because B doesn’t like his lifestyle (partying, smoking, etc.)

Or

- maybe B decides Louis’ doing really well in his career so she wants more child support money. He’s getting older, more expensive, and this was all louis’ doing. He took B home, he’s also a multi millionaire, he should be paying way more than what he is!

- maybe B gets married or a long term serious boyfriend and he wants to adopt F because louis’ lifestyle doesn’t allow him to be present as much as he wants to.

Or something else ridiculous that they go to court over. In this theory, they need to go to court 100%.

So, they’re in court over whatever, and B goes “hey well I was actually sleeping with someone else around that time too, I want a paternity test” (because she never pushed for one because she saw $$$) and louis takes one and BAM, he’s actually not F’s father. Holy shit.

So why did a multimillionaire famous boyband member in his early 20’s who was clearly loving partying not demand a paternity test early one? Well, he never bothered to ask because he trusted B. They’d actually been seeing each other for longer than initially thought (like some articles mentioned back in the day LOL) but didn’t want to introduce her to the public because he knows 1d fans would eat her alive and the whole Larry thing etc., so he trusts her. He’s also just a really good dude, sees the best in everyone, trusted her and copped it on the chin and said well yeah… im gonna help raise this dude because I’ve always wanted a son and I have big family values and I fucked up. I’m mature. I’m a good example of what women should look for in a man.

So then shit… the fans and GP find out and he cops the public sympathy and everyone feels sorry for him. This is heartbreaking, he loves that kid so much and now he’s found out he’s not really his dad. The fans are devastated, the GP goes “well it’s stupid he didn’t get one earlier on but this is still really awful for him, poor guy. He’s too nice for his own good, and he was just a kid. Maybe he didn’t think about it. He’s so brave to say this. Heart on his sleeve” etc etc like it’s really not hard to make the GP and fans feel bad for you, even tho some folks may think he was an idiot for not getting one earlier on (which like.. that’s how it was meant to end but it was extended), everyone who’s scrutinised bbg has thought the same at some point. So, anyway, you see what I mean here? This situation ends with him looking like just a silly loving trusting guy, with a big heart. Solos will eat that shit up. I promise you. Anyway, F fades into the background and we don’t see any more content of him. He just… disappears. No one’s gonna question that. F isn’t his son, and he wants to give the kid and B privacy now. A classic example of being a good guy.

So like, this situation also upholds the idea that he’s straight. He’s had sex with a woman, it’s just this kid isn’t his. Anyway, sorted, case closed and we alll eventually move on. It does drag it out but my god does it truly spin some sympathy for him. But if he wants it over and done with quick, this wouldn’t be the way.

Situation 2: louis has known for a while, but him and B are really good friends so he’s helped raise F and helped with funds because the dad left and he wanted to be there for the kid. This brings out the lying factor though, but he truly does feel like a dad!!! He knows what it’s like to not have a father figure there, he wants to give the kid a good life, he’s taken on the role of his dad and he has the money to support B and F, so why wouldn’t he? You know, he has family values. So yeah, he wasn’t lying out of hate, and F knew all along he wasn’t his real dad either, but he gave this kid a great life. Anyway, B gets married or whatever, louis goes “im still gonna be there for F but I trust this guy and he loves F and my career is taking off even further and I can’t be there for him all the time and this guy really wants to be a dad, I’ll step back”. This also works well in terms of good guy louis, and he loves F so much. Public and fan sympathy, a little anger towards the lying but truly he’s just did what he could. He helped B out and now F has a strong and fantastic father figure in his life. Sorted, done. This can be done through an Insta live or a post of him and F explaining stuff, and F fades from the picture. Still upholds the sex with women, but he did get a paternity test ages ago, he’s just a good guy. Anyway, that also works.

You also have a spin on the above situation too though, to make it easier for a coming out. Louis and B never had sex. He’s just a long term good friend of hers and took on that role. He’s always been gay/he never fucked her. Having this onto it, really leaves it a bit more open ended. This is really the only kind of solution to say “hey I’ve been with Harry this whole time and bbg wasn’t a stunt” ya know? Still believable, a bit more murky, but if done well it ends it quicker than a court case. Still looks good for him. Plus, he can say how long he was with Harry and that they wanted to keep their relationship private because they were nervous to come out and yeah. Cool. That’s also done.

The fans might be angry about that one, but it still swings it well. I don’t think they’re gonna hate him. He might lose a few but… yeah. He’s always gonna when he comes out anyway. Yeah. The above is two birds one stone.

Situation 3: it was all a stunt. they just reveal absolutely everything. That’s it.

He’ll lose the most fans by doing this, but also… he’ll gain a lot of public sympathy. Whatever way they end bbg, he will be on the side of public and fan sympathy. He’s always gonna end up with some kind of hate when coming out, but so will Harry. It just… is what it is. Harry’s process has just been a lot smoother without a kid tied to him. But with the screaming of how shit the music industry is to artists, this will call a lot of attention to it all. Might actually make a change. But again, the hardest.

Now the thing with all of the above, right, no matter which way they take it, is that bisexuality exists. Also, sexuality can be fluid, so maybe he didnt figure out he was into dudes until later on in life and him and Harry reunited and it just kind of happened. He had to navigate queerness in a space of homophobia. He felt fucking lost as hell, and Harry helped him. Also public and fan sympathy, also works. Doesn’t put them from the beginning though, like situation 2 and 3 could, but yeah. The current conversation about queerness and how things can change is important and big right now. People would understand.

Both Harry and louis (more so louis) will and should expect fan and public hatred for lying and queerness. But it’s just something they’ll have to cop. They come out, go into hiding for a bit, and then put out a statement and they’re just gonna have to expect some hate. Hell, Harry already gets hate for queerbaiting. It just always will be affected.

To your last point, about using a kid, if they unravel everything then they’ll just shove that blame on SC etc, they had no choice! For the other situations, it may be a little scrutinised but yeah. He’s either silly and too trusting in situation 1, or does see F as his kid and is proud of him in situation 2. Those situations above are how I see a smoother end to bbg. They’re kind of the only way I see it ending. So, SC/marketing gods, if you’re watching, or if this is you, consider one of the above please and let’s end it fucking now.

So there you have it. These situations might seem stupid, but he comes out of it the most unscathed (except option 3 but again, sympathy from fans and public about being controlled like puppets). And I think in all those cases a coming out will happen shortly after, they kind of go hand in hand. But also they might let it die down for a while before announcing anything, but yeah. Speculation is gonna happen. They can’t escape everything.

Any questions or if anything doesn’t make sense because I haven’t had a coffee yet, let me knowwwwwww

Thanks for coming to the show!

[bed-chemist]

❝ fortnight ❞

─⋆♡ chapter summary: Michael and Liberty go on a date. well, sort of.

─⋆♡ main tropes: Michael B. Jordan x Fem!OC, Rome Flynn x Fem!OC, Damson Idris x Fem!OC. Bodyguard x Princess, Secret Service x First Kid, forced proximity, forbidden love, tolerated enemies to lovers, college romance.

─⋆♡ chapter warnings: obsession, stalking, eating disorder, angst, 18+ black!writer, language, stalking and obsession from MMCs pov, blood (mentioned), alcohol (mentioned), torture (mentioned), hostages (mentioned), threatening (more like some warnings but that's subjective), weapons (mentioned), physical descriptors (brief discussion about being black in america and body descriptors), characters affected by symptoms of anxiety or depression, lmk if i missed something.

series masterlist ✰ faceclaims ✰ libby’s cabinet ✰ spotify playlist word count: 5.7k ⋆

Michael

The deep vibration on my watch jolts me awake letting me know the guard’s shift change is in progress. My surroundings immediately catch me off guard. The faint morning light shines through the sheer curtains and the smell of vanilla wafts through the room. My entire body is sore and I groan at the shooting pain in my knuckles when I adjust my arm to check my notifications. I should’ve taken some painkillers before smashing my fists into that dick’s face.

Surprisingly, my watch isn't on fire with messages. I sigh and let my arm fall back onto the bed, maybe a little too hard, because Liberty’s warm body shifts next to me. She rolls over until she’s facing me, getting comfortable on my bicep. Her breathing remains slow and even, letting me know she’s still fast asleep.

I take the time to memorize every detail of her face. It’d be a miracle if she ever let me this close to her again unless she’s under duress.

It’s not as if I don’t already know everything about her. I know what she’s allergic to, every broken bone she’s ever had, and every person who’s had the pleasure of fucking her. And that’s not just because I’ve been assigned to her in exchange for my freedom. 

Ever since her picture floated across the metal table on the 30th day of my torture in the same basement we had been in last night, I became obsessed with her. They trained me like a dog, only feeding me and allowing me to rest when they were telling me controlled information about her. 

The name ‘Liberty Washington’ became my beacon of light but remained a subconscious part of my original makeup. The one that reminded me that she is my prison. But my obsession with her continued when they released me. Since they only showed me the photo of her once, I used all the resources available to me to obtain the information they hadn’t given me.

If I were trapped by a 20-year-old for 4 years, I would know how she presented herself to the world.

My eyes wander down from her forehead to her chin, categorizing every part of her warm smooth skin. Her doe-eyes are softly shut and her long lashes splay out against her high cheekbones. She exhales a light sigh from her plum-colored lips and I fight the desire to wake her with a kiss.

She is by far the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. No one can hold a candle to her, even when she’s asleep and isn’t trying. I attempt to smooth the mess of hair secured on top of her head with bobby pins, but all I’m left with is a sticky substance on my palm. 

My touch wanders down to her cheek, caressing her face with the back of my hand. Her breathing hitches momentarily before her eyelids begin fluttering. She hums, nuzzling into my skin. “Mmm that tickles,” she complains.

Shit. She doesn’t want me touching her and I can’t touch her. She doesn’t even want me in her bed. I silently scold myself again for waking her after the traumatic night she had last night. “My bad,” I apologize, removing my hand from her face.

Her eyes snap open as she reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “No, don’t stop,” she whimpers with a scratchy voice.

I untangle our bodies and by the look on her face, I think she knows I won’t return to the action. Instead, I carefully untangle our bodies to slide out of her bed. “Go back to sleep, I need to shower,” I advise her.

She frowns before saying, “I don’t–”

“Don’t argue with me that you don’t need sleep. Those drugs may be out of your system but you're in withdrawal,” I cut her off, scolding her.

She opens her mouth to rebuttal but a shiver runs through her body like a wave. “And by the looks of it, shock. Fuck,” I grumble, pulling the covers up to tuck her into the bed. “I need to get to Jo before she gets to you,” I tell her, knowing that Jo will take one look at her and flip out.

As if I’ve jinxed it, the door to Libby’s room smacks against the wall. Jo barges in with her heels clicking against the floor with every step. Her displeased disposition emanates through the room when she simply states, “We need to have a conversation.”

So much for Liberty resting. “About what?” Liberty questions, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

Jo’s eyes flicker back and forth between me and Liberty. “Well now that I see your assigned agent half naked in your bed, we may need to have two conversations,” she snips. The cool air on my skin is enough to determine what she’s irate about.

Liberty groans, sitting up from where she was lying beneath me just moments ago. “We didn’t do anything,” she defends.

“It doesn’t matter. Agent Jordan, need I remind you of your contract? You are only permitted to touch Liberty in cases of emergency. If I report this to her mother, you can kiss your freedom goodbye,” Jo warns. I figured she’d be the first to rat us out if I ever pursued Liberty since she’s always up her ass. 

I take that as a cue to get the fuck out of the bed and I take it, standing from the cool sheets. Liberty scrambles to the edge of the bed, swinging her feet over the edge. I glower at her in warning and she pauses, her toes hovering just above the ground. “No, Jo. Please don’t,” she attempts to plead despite me grounding her to her bed.

Displeasure covers Jo’s face and she turns around when all three of us sense shuffling in the living room. Jo shoos Liberty’s dressing crew away, shutting the door in their faces.

She groans into the wood, “Oh fuck, Libby. Please don’t tell me you’ve become a love-sick idiot in three days. You have a job to do,” and it sounds like a prayer more than a statement.

The air is sucked out of the room and Liberty quickly covers. “No, I didn’t. I just asked him to keep me company last night when I was drunk. It wasn’t his fault.

When I hear her words, I can’t help but feel something tingling in my stomach. What the fuck is that? Disappointment? No. Rejection? Who fucking knows.

“Michael, is that true?” Jo asks me to confirm Liberty’s accounts, bringing me back to the present.

Liberty’s deep brown iris connects with mine, silently pleading with me to keep the full details of last night under wraps. I return my attention to Jo, nodding with my lips pressed together.

Jo squints at the two of us and I can practically feel her scanning my soul for deception. Her face eventually softens and she sighs. “Why were you even drinking?” she questions Liberty.

“Because it was a Friday night and the gi–” Liberty starts before I cut her off by clearing my throat. The more she talks about last night, the more we’ll have to change the little details.

“How old are you, Libby?” Jo cuts the President’s daughter off.

“20,” she murmurs and I’m reminded of the immaturity that comes with her age. 

Jo follows up immediately with, “And how old do you have to be to drink in the United States?”

“21, but,” she says and I can feel the excuse coming.

So can Jo because she stops her from continuing. “But, nothing. Do you see these pictures, Libby?”

“What about them?” Liberty counters.

“What about them? What about them?!” Jo’s voice raises with every passing second. She reaches into her bag pulling out a stack of newspapers. “Liberty Washington, you are the second black first family in this white house. So you already know you’ll be scrutinized more than former president’s daughters,” she rants, throwing the landfield into Liberty’s lap. “I don’t care if someone hands you a ton-sized bottle of champagne, you do not take it before you turn 21.” 

Libby thumbs through the tabloids and I watch as the color drains from her face. She looks up at me and I truthfully have nothing to say to comfort her. This is the outcome of hanging out with those rich ass white girls. I shrug and she frowns, seemingly displeased with my lack of response.

Liberty sighs, removing the pictures from her lap and setting them aside. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

Jo’s face softens and she takes a step forward. “You know I don’t care, but the public does. Now we need to do damage control,” she tells her, sitting next to her on the bed.

“What type of damage control?” Liberty follows up.

“The type of damage control that does not present a hung-over, first daughter,” Jo informs her. She points between the two of us adding, “You two are going out.”

“Out? Where?” Liberty parrots.

Jo sighs standing from the bed. “Lunch. Somewhere well-lit where you can be photographed looking perfectly healthy and not looking like you just escaped death.” She begins typing on her phone and I assume she’s pulling up the closest approved restaurants in the area.

“Go shower,” Jo commands me and I nod, moving to exit from the room.

“I know Harry and Rowan are attached at the hip right now, but it’s worth a shot reaching out to them. Maybe we can fly them out to support you,” I hear Jo advise Liberty and my ears perk up.

“No. They’ve got enough going on right now,” Liberty replies and I glance behind me with confusion.

Who the fuck are Harry and Rowan. Those sound like masculine names and they did not come up on my search. How the fuck are they connected to Liberty. My Liberty. And how quickly can I find out everything I know about them?

The moment we stepped out of the car at the Italian restaurant 30 minutes ago, we got swarmed with cameras. The shuttering sound hasn’t stopped ringing out and I’m consistently triggered. The sound of photos being snapped sounds oddly similar to a knife being sharpened. My upper back carried a ton of weight when I quickly jogged over to Libby’s side of the car to let her out.

When slid out, black heels first accentuating how short her skirt was, a low growl bubbled to the surface. My instinct was to push Libby behind me to hide her but that wasn’t possible. We have one job today. To get her seen looking perfectly fine.

Now, I watch meticulously as Libby swirls the fork in the pasta dish on the patio, bringing another bite up to her lips. The lunch has been mostly silent; she gives me flirty glances and I return them with glares.

In flickering moments, I find myself feeling guilty for the way I’m treating her. How I’m keeping her at arm's length so she doesn’t learn the full truth. It’s fucked up that the person I want the most is sitting within grasp, but touching her means giving up my breath.

She’ll hate me if I tell her the truth about the deal and my obsession with her that came with it. She’ll hate me if I tell her I can’t be with her because touching her means my death follows swiftly. I can’t win. 

I swallow thickly as Libby’s leg drags up the inside of my leg. My gaze lowers on hers and I feel a growl coming forward, “Lib, the fucking cameras.”

I knew this was a bad idea. As soon as I saw the date-like table placement, I should’ve requested we be moved. She bats her eyelashes and my jaw clenches. Those siren eyes alone could send any untrained agent into a spiral. Her charisma and confidence would’ve made her a shoo-in, in a different life.

“What? They couldn’t see that. And besides, I asked you a question, I was just trying to get your attention,” she manipulates the situation flawlessly so it’s impossible to be mad at her. Aside from the straggling tourists sitting at the nearby tables, the Italian restaurant is empty. Suddenly I feel even more guilty for forcing her to only chat with me.

I hold her gaze as I take a sip of water. “You have it, Lib. Always. What did you ask?”

She licks her glossed lips and I want to grab her throat and taste her tongue for myself. “Wanna play 21 questions?” asks suggests.

My brain races with how negatively this could go. She could ask me anything and I know I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Not because I was trained to see her as my savior, but out of respect. She deserves to know how she’s being used if she’s curious about it.

“Oh come on. I’m not going to ask you anything groundbreaking like the codes to the torture room,” she jokes and I tense. “I just want to know you a bit better,” she continues.

My mouth unconsciously counters with, “You know me already through the file Mommy dearest gave you.”

“I want to know what’s between the pages. Tell me something the government doesn’t know, Michael.”

Her tone is tempting as she leans closer to me, causing her breasts to practically spill out of her top. Against my better judgment, I survey my surroundings. A couple of sleaze bags stare a hole through Libby’s chest and I attempt to shove my irrational self away. “I’ll tell you whatever you want once you sit the fuck up,” the deep grumble slips.

Libby smirks, leaning back into her chair. Her fingers dance on her jacket, pulling it tight around her midsection. “Better?” she tests.

The urge to roll my eyes is intense but I nod, giving her confirmation. I shift in my seat, awaiting her first question when she blurts, “Okay, let me think…Oh, I know! What’s your favorite song?” 

“That's your first question?” I ask slightly baffled. I expected her to come out of the gate swinging.

She giggles, and at that moment, I decide that it’s my favorite sound. “Well I knew you weren’t going to answer anything about my parents so I went with that,” she confesses. 

The watch on my wrist flashes a bright light into her eyes and I adjust it when I see her squinting. “That’s a simple one, Lib. You just wasted a question. Sweet Sticky Thing by Ohio Players.”

I watch her as she processes the information, confusion washing over her face. “What’s a Sweet Sticky Thing?”

“Is that one of your questions?” I counter.

She shakes her head no, pursing her lips. “Good, it’s my turn,” I add.

A soft chuckle leaves her lips and I can’t help but smile. “Go off, king,” she directs me to proceed and I snort.

My brain mentally combs through her file. I know she wants to be a teacher, but I can’t fathom the reasoning behind being around snotty-nosed kids all day. She’d be good at it, though. Her bubbly aura is perfect for playtime while her stern demeanor will ensure her students learn. “Why teaching?”

I study her body as she looks heaven-forward like the answer is above her. “So I can go teach in a country where nobody knows who I am and I have no significant value to the people. It’s my ‘out’,” she tells me with air quotes around the final word once she’s found the answer.

I pop a piece of breadstick into my mouth, responding with a hum. The fluffy substance takes me a bit to chew, giving her the perfect opportunity to ask, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

She squints at me and her face scrunches with disgust. “Do you enjoy being absolutely predictable?”

My brows furrow, matching her facial expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I dig.

“Every man’s favorite color is black. You couldn’t have picked something unique like tangerine or gunmetal?” She scoffs like she’s bored with my response.

My arms slide together to cross, feeling instantly defensive. “I didn’t know my answers had to fit in with your idea of me, Lib,” I say.

She seems to notice my guarded body language, reaching across the table to grab my arm. The contrast of her cold hand against my skin sends sparks to my brain. At that moment, we both hear the shutter roll of a camera, presumably nearby. 

She jerks slightly, but I make no move to acknowledge their presence. It’s what we’re here for, after all. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Black is a great color. Suits you,” she stammers over herself.

Although I don’t uncross my arms, my upper body loosens up a bit as she returns to her sitting position. I chastise myself for wishing I could touch her; my head filled with all the things I would do with her. And that moment she made that joke over a fucking color, I wanted to bend her over my knee. 

But I couldn’t. 

She could take all of me, piece by piece. And it looks like she’s going to.

My craving to change the subject causes me to blurt out, “So since mine is so boring, what’s yours?”

“Tiffany blue. Can’t you tell?” she asks, gesturing to her long-sleeved shirt.

“Didn’t notice,” I lie.

I had noticed. In every picture I’d seen her in, she had some type of blue accessory. Her dress was the same color Friday night. And now, she’s a tight tweed dress with soft teal thread on the edges. I’ve counted nearly every stitching by now.

She licks her lips, eyes darting to her lap. Her whole body language shifts downwards with insecurity. Like she’s trying to hide her perfect face from me. “Well then,” she grumbles, obviously irritated.

Fuck. The last thing I ever want to do is make her feel like shit. “What’s your favorite animal?” I ask her, trying to get her mind off my previous statement.

Her eyes narrow and she nips, “It’s not your turn.”

“Well fine, you go,” I direct pointedly. 

“What happened last night?” she asks.

My neck rolls with discomfort. “What part?” I ask.

A flash of sadness coats her brandy irises. “All of it? Start from the alleyway.”

I inhale sharply before sighing, “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, Lib. I don’t remember anything between knowing you were okay and seeing you half-naked in the basement.”

“That’s okay, we can fill in the gaps,” she shrugs as if it’s that easy. When I black out, I don’t remember anything, Liberty.

Hesitation overtakes my brain and I search her face and body for the truth. She’s slightly leaning forward with interest but she still looks a bit upset. Maybe this will help her. “When you passed out, I picked you up and carried you to the car. Called Damson on the way back in to get your fucking friends. Meredith is the only one who came back with me so I shoved her in the back seat with you. Told her to make herself useful and hold your hair while I shoved my fingers down your throat,” I rant.

I pause when she picks up her fork and it makes a clanking noise. “Keep going,” she commands.

So, I press on. “On the way back, I coaxed her into telling me about every person she knew. Then I told her the situation and told her to keep her mouth shut. I knew how to take care of the situation and I didn’t want her in it.”

Liberty starts nodding like she’s processing the information. “And then you took off,” she theorizes. 

“No. I had Damson meet me by the front and get you checked out by the doctor. They said you just needed sleep so he put you and Meredith to bed,” I tell her, though I leave the part out about screaming in Damson’s ear the entire time to keep his shit together and take care of her. I wouldn’t have moved forward with picking them up if mine wasn’t okay.

Her nose scrunches. “While you went and got Vanessa and Teddy,” she hits the jackpot.

“I’d assume so,” I confirm.

She stares at me dead on and I feel my jaw clench. My heart begins to pound in my chest anticipating her next words. “Okay,” she utters after what feels like forever.

She begins swirling her fork into her past dish, prepping for another bite. My brows knit and my body doesn’t untense. “Okay?” I parrot. I was half expecting her to rip me a new asshole for my behavior.

She nods, looking over towards the hoard of paparazzi. The flashes are almost blinding as they take advantage of the perfect angle. When her face returns to my direction she nonchalantly adds, “Yeah. I don’t feel the need to know much beyond that. They’re both dicks.”

My brows raise in surprise and I feel myself slowly starting to agree with her. I could’ve done much worse. I wanted to do much worse. But, she stopped me and isn’t harping on it. “Touché,” I respond.

She smirks, bringing the prepared pasta toward her captivating face that I detailed just this morning. “Your turn,” she says before gracefully taking the bite.

My brows crease and I ask, “We’re still playing?”

“Yeah, I mean, we still need to be here for another 10 minutes. Might as well get to know each other,” she explains.

The point is I already know everything about you, Liberty. Maybe not the Rowan and Harry parts, but I’ll find out soon enough.

“What question don’t you want me to ask?” I question genuinely. Not only because I don’t want to piss her off, but because I can just find out without her knowing.

She blinks rapidly as if she’s trying to determine if I’m being sarcastic. After a couple of beats, she responds, “Don’t ask about my dreams.”

Why the fuck would I want to know about her subconscious. I only need to know the substantial things about her. My eyes to the crowd that hasn’t disapparated and grumble at her answer with irritation, “Okay, I won’t. Ever.” 

When I return my attention to Liberty, she looks like she’s about to cry. Tears brim her eyes and it triggers a reaction in me I didn’t know I possessed. I feel confused by the urge to hunt whoever hurt her, but a wave of guilt knowing I might be the cause of her tears. “Why do you hate me so much?” she whimpers.

My hand goes up to scratch the scruff on my chin. “Look, I’m sorry for that—”

“It’s not that. I know we’re still getting to know each other and it’s only been a few days. But, you hate my guts,” She silences me mid-sentence with a sob that leaves me reeling.

I shake my head, telling her, “I don’t hate you, Lib.” I grab the menu closest to me, putting it up by her face to shield her from view. With my other hand, I reach across the table, wiping the tears from where they’re prickling in the corners of her eyes. The cameras snap, but none catch the simple action shared between us.

What I feel for her is far from hate. My desire will have me forever sprinting towards her. Even when she does eventually marry another man, I’ll still be chained to her. I’ll want to kill every lover she has and even then, the feeling will only be temporary. 

My love for her will ruin my life.

She chuckles, releasing a bit of spit flying from her lips. “Then what? Cause you sure as hell don’t like me.”

My chest becomes heaving with anxiety. I touched her for only a night and she’s already crumbling me until I eventually wither away to nothing. “Lib,” I mutter in warning.

She sniffles one last time before straightening her back. The dreaded noise of the cameras doesn't stop once she’s in view again. If anything they only get louder. “You know what I think? You didn’t expect to like me. You were comfortable loathing me because you are chained to me for four years. But then you met me and I’m not ugly. I’m fun, talented, smart as fuck, and that scares you,” she boasts boldly.

The air is knocked out of my chest and my jaw drops slightly. My mouth snaps shut when I realize it’s the one thing I can’t tell her. Her eyes flicker back and forth between mine and she presses on, “It scares you how perfect I’d be for you, or am I wrong?”

I swallow thickly, prepared to confess my feelings for her. 

She is what I want. She is what I need. 

She is the love of my life and I’m sure of it. It might be clouded by quiet treason and I’ve never felt love, but I’d bet my life on it. Everything I feel for aligns with the emotions I’ve mirrored from others. And I’m going to make her mine one way or another. I don’t care if I have to kill every potential heir, get her pregnant, or marry her to get what I want: her waking up next to me every morning.

I open my mouth to answer when Libby cuts in. “Shut up. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I could handle knowing,” she snips before checking her phone. She grabs it and stands from her seat, letting me know it’s time to go. When I join her to exit the restaurant, I’m still reeling.

The heat in my feet sears up my calves as I run to the beat in my gym. 

I’ve come to learn that Liberty and I don’t talk about things, we exercise. If there’s nothing for us to do and we’re avoiding conversating, we’re sprinting right next to each other. We’re running longer than average tonight, cementing the tension between us. We both feel it, but her attempts to put distance between the two of us are futile. 

Being someone’s shadow has never felt so isolating. 

The sweat drips from my face and I pick up a towel to collect the perspiration. I scowl, deciding we both need a shower before eating. My finger flicks the switch on the machine, switching to a cool-down mode.

My head turns to look at Liberty while I begin slowly jogging. Her face doesn’t twitch and she remains looking at the white brick wall in front of her. When I wave, she glances at me for half a second, rolling her eyes before returning her attention to the wall.

Anger bubbles inside my body and I mentally incinerate myself for being upset by not getting attention from a fucking woman. So, she wants to ignore me? Two can play that game.

A few more minutes of my cool down go by before I completely turn the machine off. I slowly wipe my hands and step off the machine, grabbing my bottle of water.

As I take a sip, I glare at Liberty. She seemingly senses me staring and her head snaps in my direction. “I’m not stopping,” she grumbles.

“You need to eat,” I instruct. If she thinks I don’t know about her little eating disorder, she’s out of her mind. The others might not have picked up on it, but the signs have been evident over the past 3 days. She’s so stressed, she barely eats and she runs to process that stress. Every time she looks in the mirror, she seems disappointed, like what she sees doesn’t match herself. 

She crying out for help and I’ve been the only one to notice. Maybe that’s the reason her parents got her a guard; someone to keep an eye on all the kids.

“And I’m not taking out my headphones for you to bark orders at me,” she raises her tone and her voice reverberates off the wall.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s mad. The growing semi in my pants doesn’t help considering I’m trying to get her to come with me in this situation, not argue with me.

I decide to take advantage of my desires this once, positioning myself directly next to her machine. Applying my dynamic balance skills, I step onto the edge of the treadmill. My left leg swings over to the other side of the belt until I’m standing still behind her with her running in front of me.

I exhale a deep breath before running through this plan. It’ll scare the shit out of her, but I’ll catch her.

“Liberty,” I husk lowly and she screams, tripping over her feet. My hands quickly grip her sides as she becomes dead weight, nearly falling face forward.

My thighs tingle in my squatting position, but she’s unharmed, so I let out a comfortable sign. She hovers right above the rapidly moving belt with her hands almost kissing it. Her extensions drag against the dirty material, giving me even more of an excuse to push her towards the shower.

My body doesn’t move, allowing her to internalize the fear of almost eating shit. Then, I slowly lift her, wrapping my hands around her waist until her back is pressed to my front. My legs swing over the belt once more until we’re both on the side of the machine, stepping down from the death contraption.

I swear I can feel her heart racing through her back as I grip her tightly, pressing my bulge into her. My nose inhales the delicious smell of her pheromones and I fight the impulse to taste her sweat.

I set her down on solid ground, prepping myself for the backlash before I remove my arms from around her waist. I decide to keep her close to me with my hands on her waist so she can’t hit me, limiting her to her tongue. 

She slowly turns around to look at me, her cheeks a dark plum color. It’s clear she doesn't find the situation funny when she hits my chest with the palm of her hand. I look at her face and realize, I’ve unlocked a dragon. 

She raises her voice to say, “Michael!” her voice cracks and she pauses out of breath. “What is your middle name?”

I smirk and look down at her. “Bakari, my lady. What’s yours?” I ask in return, hoping she’ll open up to me. After reading her file, I already know it. Including her most recent STI test, which is clean of course.

She ignores me, stomping over to the wall and yanking the plug out of the socket. She turns back to me with her siren eyes filled with fire. “Well, you know what? You can fuck off Michael Bakari Jordan. What the fuck is wrong with you? I could’ve fucking died. I was trying to get to know you and you fucked with me. From here on out, you can stick a baseball bat covered in nails up your fucking ass for all I care.” 

She whips around with her back facing me, slowly dragging herself towards the door. 

Damn. She used more F-bombs than I thought was even possible in one sentence.

I smirk and rush to stand in front of her, not wanting her to keep running away from me. This is only complicated because she’s making it hard for me. I want her, but I can’t have her because I can’t touch her. They’ll kill me if they find out but if she makes the first move, I’d be willing to risk it. 

She doesn’t want to make the first move because she fears disappointing our country. And I have an inkling that she prefers aggressive men due to her ex history. It might also have to do with the dynamic of our relationship moving forward. All of the things I think about probably swirl around in her brain. Regardless, she still has to be the one to take that step.

My hands return to her sides, lightly gripping them. She shifts, snapping her thighs together but I can practically taste her wetness in the air from where I’m towering over her. There are no cameras in this room, so she is free to act irrationally, she just needs the perfect trigger.

I step forward, uncomfortably craning my neck. My head is directly above hers and her eyes widen from what I assume is our proximity. “You need to stay healthy. Don’t do that to me, Lib. You can be mad at me, but you can’t not take care of yourself in avoidance of me. I will not control you, but I will not watch you disintegrate without being able to do anything about it,” I plead for her to internalize my words.

This is the most vulnerable I’ve been with her about my feelings for her thus far, and I’m hoping she reads between the lines. The air between us crackles and my eyes search her face, awaiting her response. Her eyebrows momentarily stay scrunched before she slowly relaxes her face. 

“You could’ve gone about that a better way,” she huffs, still breathless from running and the shock of falling.

My thumbs slip underneath her cropped tank top and I stroke her damp skin. “And I’m sorry for that. I’ll explore other methods of getting your attention later,” I attempt to hint at the things I want to do to her.

My eyes flicker down to her lips and her pink tongue pokes out to lick them. A low groan emits from my chest. That should be enough of a trigger. She should know that she’s fucking me in the head by refusing to jump in head first.

She glances down at my lips before whispering, “If I do this; if we do this, it stays here. I just need to know.”

My eyebrows raise and I ask, “Know what?”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly. “If it’s real,” she responds. 

Her hands come into view, sandwiching my face between her hands. My blood rushes in my ears anticipating our lips touching. She closes slowly and starts to close the space between us and just before our lips touch, the door to the gym smacks the walls.

She jumps back, putting distance between us and my heart drops into my stomach. Dread rushes through my body and the reality of my decision hits me. If I turn to face the door and it’s not someone we can sweet talk, we’re both fucked.

As if we’re not fucked enough already.

[oldwritingm]

i’n asking too many of these dndhdhdhd (it’s there same anon from the pixel empire + brekafast hc) but i noticed that i think you havent done a kai and reader one yet????

so like i am gonna ask if you can do kai being comforted by reader post seabound ???thanks again sorry kf im asking for too many

YAY welcome back anon!!! I literally love your requests, you could never ask for too many <33 anywho I hope this is okay!

Word count: 815

Ninjago - Comforting Kai After Seabound

You brought your body against the door, bringing your ear close to listen for any noise. Nothing.

“Kai?” You called quietly, hoping not to startle him.

You heard a muffled hum. Pushing inside, you were immediately struck with the darkness of the room.

You scanned the area as your eyes adjusted, finally landing on Kai seated on the ground, his back pressed against his bed. He was looking at you with his deep brown eyes, void of the usual life they gleamed with.

You made an effort to smile as you made your way across the room. You sank down next to him, spotting a picture frame in his hands that you hadn’t noticed before.

It didn’t matter that it was dark. You didn’t need to see to know that it was the picture of him and his sister, taken many years ago, when Nya was still training to be a ninja.

You brought your shoulder against his, looking at him with concern lacing your expression. You hoped he’d look over and see, prompting him to speak, but his eyes remained locked on the photo.

As it turned out, he didn’t need prompting to speak. After a second he spoke, his voice betraying none of his anguish.

“Do you think I should’ve stopped her?”

“Kai…”

“Yeah, yeah, it was a necessary sacrifice. I know. That’s what you guys keep saying.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

He ignored you, lapsing into another bout of silence.

“It’s so quiet,” he began, almost whispering now. “I think back and all I can hear is her voice. All I can see is her face. What am I supposed to do now?”

You reached up, taking one of his hands away from the frame and interlacing your fingers with his. “You remember.”

“Remember..?”

“When people… leave, they’re never really gone. They gifted us with memories to keep, little things to think of that make you smile. Things that they did, words they said, ways they’ve looked.”

Kai blinked slowly. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. His voice wavered as he said: “I remember when she used to wear a lot of red. It was totally her color.”

“She looked good in every color,” you murmured, squeezing his hand with a smile.

He chuckled, but a tear twinkled in the dim light as it streaked down his cheek. He put the picture in his lap and leaned on your shoulder.

“I just miss her. I want to see her again.”

“I know, I know,” you whispered, running a hand through his hair.

He began to quiver as a crying fit overtook him. You pulled him closer, allowing him to fully lean against you with his face buried in the crook of your neck. He gripped the fabric of your clothing with shaking fists.

The picture had fallen to the floor. You looked at it, your eyes finally adjusted enough to the darkness that you could make out Nya’s face. You couldn’t help the tears that pricked at your eyes at the mere sight.

You couldn’t imagine what it would be like if she was your sister. The one you’d been with your whole life. The one who you could always count on to be there, even in darkness. To have someone like that ripped away from you… that would be brutal.

You brought your arms tighter about Kai, rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’ve got you,” you breathed.

Kai sniffled, pulling away. His puffy eyes were filled with emotion again; half anguish, half gratitude, with a sprinkle of that old fire stirring somewhere in the depths.

“I think you’re right. I’m glad she gave me things to remember. Memories. Things that make me smile.”

A sad smirk made its way onto his face. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ll ever stop missing her.”

“You don’t have to,” you said, taking his hand and bringing it to your lips. “You don’t have to.”

He nodded. Wiped the last tears from his eyes. “You know what I just remembered?”

“Hm?”

“She used to make a mean ham sandwich.”

“She did.” Your mouth watered at the mere thought. You don’t know what she did to those things, but there was something magical about the way she’d be able to put so few ingredients together and make an absolutely smacking meal. “Now I want one.”

“Let’s go make some,” Kai suggested, standing up. “It won’t be the same, but… I want to keep talking about her. And I’m hungry.”

You worked together to make the sandwiches. They weren’t anywhere near as scrumptious as hers (despite using the exact same ingredients), but they somehow helped you remember other little things about her.

You grinned at each memory you discussed. There was pain somewhere deep in you, but for now it was overshadowed by your memories. The things she gifted you to make you smile.

Thank you anon for your request!! And thanks for reading, have a good one darlings <3

[ophieslibrary]

Okay so part 2 to this because I can’t stop thinking about it and also because @persephone-kore-law asked me to, and it made me happy that another person wanted me to continue onto that.

Word Count: ~1200

After the dust settled and everyone’s names were cleared, the normalcy you had craved, once again returned to your little family. You began to fall back into your routine. Brief. Go. Find your target, or sometimes take the target out. Debrief. Sometimes it took a little more than that, and sometimes one or more of you came back a little more battered and bruised than the last time. But overall? Normal. Exactly as you had hoped.

That is until the incident.

He was fine. He is fine. It was scary he could’ve died. But he didn’t.

You try to remain calm and to repeat this to yourself on the Heli, heading back to base from Urzikstan.

You had managed to secure Laswell after she had been taken on an OP in Spain. You and Captain had taken to the ground with Farrah’s troops to pursue the vehicle that held your CIA agent. Gaz and Nic were in the Heli, taking out enemy combatants from above and being ready for Exfil once Kate was secured. You volunteered to take to the ground with Price just so Kyle would still be in the Heli, to keep him off the ground, out of the direct line of fire. You thought you were doing the right thing.

Everything was fine, you were making good progress, making up a lot of ground. It was fine. and then it wasn’t. How were you supposed to know they had RPGs? You heard Nic tell out about the first one, but he managed to evade. You breathed out a sigh of relief only to gasp when a second missile took to the sky watching from the back of the truck you and Price had commandeered as the Heli was struck slightly, Nic not being able to fully evade it this time. It teetered like a log in a rushing river and then you saw the flailing blob of the Sergeant fall out from the chopper.

Nic managed to pull up just in time for Gaz to not smack into the hard earth below, getting caught a rope by some miracle. But that miracle was short lived as enemies now began firing on your vulnerable, upside down teammate.

Nic began screaming “Captain Gaz fell out!”

“Come again?”

“The Sergeant! He’s gone!”

“I’m not dead Nic! I’m hanging from a bloody rope- Pull up! Pull up!”

Nic cursed something in his native language but you didn’t need to understand it to know what he was saying. Holy shit. Gaz began swaying side to side to avoid being hit by vehicles and finally after what felt like hours of agony that truthfully lasted no longer than a minute. He cut himself down, and began the pursuit on the ground with the rest of you.

And now here you are. In a crudely patched up Heli. With your comrade, Captain, Kate, and Kyle. Kyle who could’ve died. Kyle who should’ve died. You still don’t know how he didn’t. You do, you saw what happened but your brain is having trouble catching up with your eyes. You can’t get the picture of his falling body out of your head. Every time you close your eyes, even to blink, it haunts you. His screaming, even if he had the situation under control, set every one of your nerve endings on fire.

He was fine. He is fine. It was scary he could’ve died. But he didn’t.

The heli lands and your rag tag groups heads to debrief and prepares for whatever news Laswell has on the missiles.

It isn’t until much later, days, weeks later even. That you are able to finally voice that you’ve been unable to sleep. That the guilt you feel for sending him up in that chopper has been eating you alive. You don’t admit it to Gaz of course. But to your mandated therapist. Everyone on the team has to see her. And it makes sense considering the shit you all see and walk through everyday.

“Have you told Sergeant Garrick about any of this?”

“No, no, he doesn’t need to hear about this. I’m sure he’s got his own stuff going on. Plus, he was fine. He is fine. It was scary he could’ve died. But he didn’t. So no reason to dig all this up for him again.”

“Hmm”

And you think that’s that. You told your shrink, you made it seem like you were dealing and you thought that was the end of it. Until Captain Price pulls you into his office with Gaz saying you were both mandated to a joint therapy session lasting no less than one hour.

“Do you know why you’re both here today?”

“Not a clue” Your teammate remarks.

You stay silent. You know what she wants from you. But you’re hard headed. You’re stubborn. You're a soldier who has been trained by the best of the best in the CIA. You can handle hours, weeks of torture and you would never speak. You stay silent.

“Hmm. Sergeant Garrick would you mind sharing your experience with the joint mission you had in Urzikstahn to get Kate Laswell back?”

And Kyle wastes not time telling the story from a tactical standpoint. He keeps it methodical, clinical, professional even. As if he was reciting his report of the OP.

“And can you go into detail about what you were feeling when you fell out of the helicopter?” She probes.

“I was terrified.” He whispers. Fine is the strong, sure voice from moments before. “I thought I was gonna die, I thought I had for a minute there. It messes with you thinking you're gonna die, accepting that, not dying, and then having to fight to stay alive. I can’t get it out of my head.”

You wish you could have kept the sob in. Or your tears back. But hearing Kyle admit that he was also struggling, that he was also fearful, somehow makes you feel better. Connected even. You feel bad of course that he’s struggling with this, but it validates your feelings to an extent.

You begin to tell him everything that’s been going through your head since the mission, all the sleepless nights, the guilt slowly eating you alive. After many tears, many many assurances, and a few glasses of water. Gaz and you promise to lean on each other as you both continue to work through the fears and feelings that mission brought on.

Losing a member of your family is something you never want to have to worry about again. Something you never want to have happen again. You're thankful to still have Gaz with you, and you know in time you’ll both heal together. Because that’s what family does, they help when needed and they pick each other up when they’re down. Your group may not be a conventional family, but it’s yours and that’s enough for you.

xx

Requests are: OPEN

A/N: I’m thinking about doing more in depth parts for all the boys, if you want me to lemme know and I’ll do it, if you hate this and don’t want me to, don’t tell me🙂

[spicedrobot]

GIVE ME THE BLOODWEAVE!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦

yessir!! I tried to keep this Act 1-centric since you're not that far in the game. <3333

-

Gale stirred the porridge bubbling over a low fire. He had taken on the mantle of camp cook, a position that hadn’t been delegated to him, but one he performed regardless. Most of his fellows hadn’t the skill for it, and he was always awake well before the rest. 

Dawn touched the horizon. The air still had a bite to it, the grass cold and dewed at Gale’s feet. He huddled closer to the fire and added a few spoonfuls of pulped, fresh raspberries. As he mixed, a sweet, subtly tart aroma rose, melding with the warmth of cinnamon and cloves. He smiled. Cooking was a pleasant distraction, and he was good at it, not just by his own estimation, but by those of his companions.

Well, most of them, anyway. The only one who hadn’t yet partaken was the mysterious Astarion. The man often stayed in his tent past breakfast, and he always had one excuse or another not to eat a single bite when he did grace his peers with his presence. 

It had become something of a game for Gale, trying to find something the man would eat. The porridge was a bit of a change in tactics. It was a humble dish, to be sure, but hearty, easy on the stomach, and delicious, too. Each portion would be topped with crushed, roasted almonds and fresh honey that Tav had harvested the day before.

Your move, my pale friend, Gale thought, as he called his companions to eat. 

-

The days passed. Gale cooked and schemed, but Astarion never ate. 

Then they found the boar. 

That night, as Gale lay awake, sleepless as always, he heard something outside his tent. Familiar voices: Tav and Astarion, one’s gasp, another’s worried swear. 

He wasn’t sure if the encounter was friendly, but as Gale reached the flaps of his tent, he froze, awestruck by what he saw. In the fire’s light, Astarion’s sharp teeth, his crimson eyes, his hunger, revealed him for what he truly was. Obvious, so obvious, in retrospect. Gale felt fearful and foolish—miffed too, truth be told. Vampires were known for their killing and cruelty. How could they trust him after he attempted to hide his true nature? 

But anger fled with a sudden thought and a cold smile. Wasn’t Gale doing the same? Though if the sleeplessness, the hunger, had anything to say about it, his own predicament would be revealed sooner than than later.

His companions seemed to have come to an understanding, so Gale laid back down and gave them privacy. He tossed and turned, longing for sleep to come. His only comfort was this: at least he now knew why Astarion had been so unwilling to eat the meals he prepared.

-

Gale was no stranger to hunger. He was a man of robust appetites, a gourmand, an avid reader, a lover of magic, of power. In the end, it was the latter that had gotten him into this mess. Saddled with a hunger stranger than one for blood, a hunger that could no longer be satisfied with the threads of weave that had used to feel like feasts. 

Sleep was more impossible than before. And a certain calm despair rose in its place. Listening to the sounds of the night, hour after hour, knowing respite was out of reach. Especially when his companions snored. Or when they met together in the dark. It should’ve been the quiet sighs and moans that drew his attention. But mostly, he perked at the quiet words of Tav and Astarion as they met for the vampire’s nightly sup. Astarion made it a performance as he did anything else, flirting and posturing, the act akin to a mealtime prayer. Tav was a quiet, contemplative man by nature, but Astarion sometimes managed a laugh from him. It was easy to picture Tav’s scarred smile, and the flash of Astarion’s eyes, the sharpness of teeth as they sunk into dusky, freckled skin.

What wasn’t easy to imagine was the bite itself. What did it feel like? It must hurt, though Tav never made a sound. The bloodletting was an exchange of power, an extension of trust, though they had only traveled together for a few weeks. Tav had bouts of foolhardiness, but he wasn’t stupid.

Perhaps, Astarion could be trusted. Gale had already made it clear he didn’t want to be on the menu, so to speak, but… the thought lingered. Curiosity was its own kind of hunger. 

Try as he might to ignore it, it did not let him go.

-

“You look ill, friend,” Gale said. He had pulled Tav to the side after breakfast, not wanting to alarm their more… suspicious companions that might take any sign of sickness as the beginnings of transformation.

“I’m okay,” Tav replied. He smiled, but it was strained. It was a look Gale knew well.

“What you’re doing for Astarion is admirable, really. But it is taking its toll on you.” 

Tav’s eyes widened, then he looked away. He watched his raven companion clean its feathers in the morning light. “You’re right, though there’s nothing to be done about it. I won’t force him to feed on animals. Astarion is stronger now. Happier.”

It wasn’t selflessness that made up Gale’s mind. He wished it was, wished that he could be more like Tav. Iron-willed… kind-hearted. It was Gale’s nature, to chase knowledge, learning well but never learning his damn lesson. 

“If you would let the burden be shared, I would be more than happy to offer my aid.”

-

Astarion seemed almost mystified at the prospect. Then that pretty smile, that cutting wit smoothed over his surprise. “I would be delighted to have a taste of you, darling.”

Gale rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you have to say it like that?” 

Astarion’s grin widened, and his fangs gleamed. “Yes.”

-

The evening’s meal had long since been stored away. Gale had retired to his tent, as agreed. He waited as his heart pound away in his chest, his ears perked for any wayward sound of approach. 

Ah, and there it was. The rustle of fabric, the chill of night air slipping in with his guest. Gale sat up quickly, wincing as Astarion gestured him to ease.

“Ssh, there’s no need to be nervous. Just lie back. Get comfortable. It’ll be over quickly.”

“How can I not be nervous? A vampire is going to put his very sharp and deadly teeth to an extremely vulnerable place on my person.” 

Astarion knelt down next to him. The flickering glow of candlelight played on his face, cutting his cheekbones into ravines. His eyes were as bright as embers. “Oh, I’ll be doing more with my teeth than just getting close.”

Gale clicked his tongue and angled his face away. After a moment, he tucked his hair behind his ear. Fully clothed and within the safety of his own tent, he felt horribly exposed. But he was getting what he wanted. An answer. Knowledge. Or a gruesome death! Which, on reflection, would solve the other problems he’d been dealing with. 

Astarion’s breath was hot against his neck. His hair was soft, ticklish. Gale felt his skin raise, blood and thoughts racing.

It hurt, just like he thought it would. Twin punctures that coalesced into a heavy ache that throbbed to the beat of his fearful heart. He fisted his fingers into Astarion’s hair, just for something to focus on, anything—until the pain lessened—until it changed. There was heat, prickling like the beginnings of sweat, a sensation, primordial but so unlike the weave. 

He groaned and immediately choked on the sound, embarrassed. Astarion’s mouth moved, not just to draw more blood, but to smile as he did so. It was enough to mortify, to keep logic centered in Gale’s mind, even as the sensation of the feeding continued to shift and grow. The heat became dizziness, exhaustion, bone deep and whole like a moonless night.

And, just as Gale began to pull at him, to fight him off, Astarion let go. The sound was obscene, a wet sucking sound as his lips parted from his neck, as if his very body had been loathe to give up its meal. 

Astarion tossed his head back, languorous upon his knees as he licked the blood from his lips. Gale watched, stunned.

“My dear,” Astarion breathed. Then he smiled his viper’s smile. “You taste awful.”

“Well, I did warn you!” Gale sputtered. He gingerly touched the bite, shivered, turned away. “I suppose a bit of thanks is too much to ask?”

“Not at all. Thank you.” Gale could picture the theatrical bow Astarion was surely doing as he spoke. “Or were you expecting a more… physical display of appreciation?”

“I would appreciate some peace and quiet now,” Gale said quickly, tugging his bedroll over him and closing his eyes.

Astarion’s chuckle rose the hairs on the back of Gale’s neck. “Of course, darling. See you in the morning.”

The rustling of the tent flaps, the brush of night air. All at once, Gale was alone. He released a shaky breath, tugged his blanket tighter. His hand stayed on the bite. He traced it with his fingers as he lie there, willing his heart to calm, his breath to even.

He felt drunk. He felt scraped clean.

Gale woke to the smell of roasting meat. He jerked to full alertness, wincing as his head and neck throbbed. He rubbed his sleeve over his cheek and realized he’d been sleeping in a pile of his own drool. 

Light and voices filtered in from the outside. Someone laughed. Tav’s raven cawed. 

It was morning. Gale had overslept… he had overslept! He still felt terrible, but it was less terrible than he had been. As he changed, he inspected the bite mark in his small hand mirror. It was just as neat as Tav’s was, though the skin surrounding was starker, more bruised. He pressed his fingers to the bite once more, then he pulled high his shirt collar and left the tent.

-

There was a strange sort of coziness to it. If you ignored all the potentially life-threatening ways things could go wrong—and surely would, given enough time. Gale revealed his secret. It went better than expected. Tav fed Gale artifacts, and they in turn, fed Astarion.

The vampire seemed enhanced by his new food sources, not just in battle, but in visage. His skin glowed, glass-like, his eyes shone like rubies. His nails were lacquered and as sharp as knives. His body had filled out, muscles pronounced, the harsh lines of his face easing. His smiles, however, were softer.

Gale should enjoy it, shouldn’t he? Helping just because he could. Even simple appreciation of how the… feedings were good for him too, helped him sleep. But that didn’t feel like the whole picture. He was missing something. 

And that something gnawed.

-

Astarion recounted a sultry story over the campfire one night. Tav laughed unexpectedly, and how Astarion did preen at the sound, just like Tav’s raven.

And that something gnawed.

-

Gale was not jealous. He did not love Tav nor Astarion. He barely knew them, and his romantic proclivities were… complicated, to say the least. He knew what love felt like, and it wasn’t this.

But still that something gnawed.

-

“Oh, darling, back already? And I thought I was supposed to be the hungry one.”

“Be quiet,” Gale said, pushing his way into Astarion’s tent. “Let’s get this over with.”

“But it’s not your night…” Astarion said lightly. Gale’s nape prickled. “Did you forget?”

Gale was hungry, no, ravenous. The artifacts weren’t enough. His sleep had grown thin and troubled. But this was not Astarion’s fault. Gale sighed. “Well, I’m here already, aren’t I?”

“Of course. Why don’t you get comfortable, and we’ll get started.”

Gale laid on Astarion’s bedroll. It smelled like him, a floral, ancient scent alongside the smell of leather and rotting leaves. He pulled his hair away from his neck and closed his eyes.

Astarion was a reassuring weight behind him. A promise of peace, short-lived though it was. When had Gale lost his fear?

He sighed at the depression of teeth. He was tender, being fed from two nights in a row. The extra sensitivity was… nice. He tried not to think about why that was, and then, minutes later, he didn’t have the capacity to care. 

Gale didn’t know when the feeding had stopped. The pressure was gone, but the sweet ache remained, pulsing along with his heart. And the ache wasn’t the only thing that lingered.

They laid, bodies pressed together. Astarion’s breath was warm against his neck. 

This was right about the time when Astarion would start with his barrage of double entendres, not really looking for anything more, Gale realized, but simply to mark the return to normalcy, or whatever served for it on this strange journey. But Astarion was quiet. His breathing was even. Not sleeping, he didn’t need to, but perhaps in stasis.

Gale allowed himself to bask in it, if only for a few minutes. Then he began to get up.

Astarion caught his wrist. Several heartbeats passed in silence. Then,

“It’s late, darling. You’re apt to wake the whole camp if you go trundling out of here in that state.”

“Well, not all of us can be delicately-footed assassins, now can we?” Gale grumbled.

“A special skill, I’m afraid.”

Gale relaxed once more into the bedroll. Astarion released his wrist, but left his hand on top of it. The touch was grounding, like the bite was grounding. 

Like Astarion was grounding.

Gale slept.

[reddamselette]

previous part

-

As they strolled down the endless paths of the mall, directed by signs and asked questions by the concession stands, Jason fidgeted with the teddy bear. His fingers would pick and pinch the fur, his eyes fell down to the beads with small glances, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up with Leo.

He was quiet once they entered the court. Thousands of voices drowned out the music and the carousel, children’s laughter and family conversations. He remained silent until they sat down with their food.

Jason raised the fork to his lips, tongue melting with flavor from the cheese fries and the sip of soda he drank beforehand. He chewed slowly, staring at Leo as he unwrapped the monstrosity of a burger and bit into it happily. 

With a small, quickly fleeting burst of courage, Jason swallowed and spoke quietly, as if he hoped for the mall ambience to drown out his voice as well. He was never lucky that way. “I do. Dream about you, I do.”

“Do you?” Leo asked again, mouth filled with food and his words muffled but enough to be coherent. Jason’s heart paused for a moment, the calm before a wave of thunder washed over his body and rang in his ears that reddened each passing second brown irises stared past his physical body and directly into his soul.

Jason glanced off to the side. He felt breathless and lost the appetite to eat, instead reaching for his soda with a shaky hand that he also hoped wasn’t visible. He knew it was. He confirmed, lips moving around the red straw, “Yes.”

Almost like he was pleased, Leo nodded and let the conversation go. Jason’s fries had long became cold once they were ready to return to the arcade.

They played for hours. Basketball, bowling, racing simulators, and even games of ping pong— Leo won all three. Not fairly though as he had tossed Jason smiles and comments that sent the boy reeling and weak in the knees. It was cruel. He should’ve never told him the truth to his question, he realized too late that Leo was never going to let it go. He could still blow out the fire but a small spark could still ignite it. Once the flames grew in volume and size, there was no turning back.

Jason didn’t want to turn back, not at all. Instead, he’d rather stay and inhale the smoke in his lungs. Has he always been this hopeless? Yearning for something so close but so far out of reach? 

He and Leo were leaving the mall as the sun set beneath the skyline— covered in all sorts of colors with sun rays that formed a perfect halo around the other that it was unfair— when he tugged on the hem of Leo’s shirt, stopping both of them in their tracks just outside the doors.

“What..was that?”

Leo turned, tilting his head to the side that his dark curls fell over his eyes. “What was what?”

“That. Everything. All of it.” Jason said breathlessly, the words tumbling like he needed to push everything out before he overthought every single thing they did and kept it inside, locked away.

Leo didn't answer, grabbing Jason's wrist and pulled him into a photobooth after inserting a couple of bills to pay. Unease settled in Jason's chest as he held the stuffed animal on his lap, Leo's arm around his shoulders as they posed for the first picture and watched the numbers countdown before the camera clicked and the light flashed.

The first picture, they smiled. Leo held up a peace sign with his eyes crinkling as it reached his eyes, glittering like honey in the sun. Jason's smile was smile but genuine yet as they posed for another, Leo pulled him closer, their cheeks against one another. The camera clicked and the light flashed for a second and third time.

On the last picture, Leo cupped Jason's cheeks, his thumb brushing the faded scar over his lips with a dreamy look and a lovesick gaze. Leo pressed his lips against Jason's, the college printed out and ready to be taken as their lips moved in a gradual motion of yearning, fitting perfectly within each other's.

I dream about you too, Leo thought as he placed his hand on the wall behind Jason's head to deepen the kiss, running out of air but he was sure, he wouldn't need any. Jason had always managed to draw the oxygen from his lungs with breathless laughs and his softspoken voice.

Jason pushed Leo away gently with his hand on his chest, lips red and swollen with his ears burning in heat and a blush across his skin. "Wait, I— holy shit, wait. I thought—"

"I've been, like, so obvious," Leo whispered with a smile and Jason rested his head on the wall, beside Leo's hand and breathed heavily.

He pressed his hand to his forehead with a deep sigh. "That's what it was? With Piper and Nico and— oh my go— I'm sorry. I think I wouldn't have noticed if you didn't kiss me."

"Oh, you think?" Leo teased and leaned in for another kiss, pecking the corners of his lips then his cheeks and jawline. Jason laughed into his lips, cradling a head of dark curls and paid for another photo collage. Evidence printed with colorful ink of their kisses, catching small smiles and intertwined hands.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

The Life You Build

Peter Parker x gn!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You first met Spider-Man, then you met Peter. OR Peter looks back on the photos that built your lives, the good and bad.

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: Fluff. Awkwardness. Angst & Peter's anger (not at reader). Description of injuries.

A/n: I did a version of this for Eddie, so of course I had to do it for Peter :) He's a lovestruck idiot, and I love him. Thank you for reading <3 let me know your thoughts!

--

The first picture Peter had taken of you was by accident. He’d been trying to capture the opening of a newly renovated wing of the library near his apartment. Since crime had been a bit quieter lately, making Spider-Man’s activities quieter as well, Jameson had sent him on more menial jobs for The Daily Bugle. 

He’d only seen you in the photos after the fact when editing them, finding you amongst the crowd with sunglasses resting on your head and a book in your hands, your smile wide with a happiness that permeated throughout the air.

The photos only caught part of your face, but he could see the excitement and wonder in your eyes, embarrassingly finding himself returning to them more than necessary. When documenting events for the paper, they often didn’t have such a happy ending — misused public resources, corrupt members in power, or something much more sinister and violent. Between that and his job of saving this city, he didn’t find as many calm or nice moments anymore, even forgetting about them altogether.

But here you were, unequivocally full of joy at something that should’ve had him smiling as well, if he weren’t so focused on taking pictures Jameson wouldn’t yell at him for. And so, he picked one of the photos in which you were off to the side alongside other joyful people and families looking at the ribbon cutting, and he put it right at the top of the story.

The next day at work, he found himself going to get coffee as usual, but maybe he’d had a lighter step to walk. A more relaxed way of drifting through the world as he entered The Daily Bugle’s office. If you could find happiness in the small things, maybe he could too. 

–

The next time Peter got a photo of you wasn’t actually one he took. You did.

He’d done something menial, saving a cat from a tree, and came back to the ground, kitty in hand, to a crowd gathering around. He didn’t mind the attention, he’d gotten used to it by now, especially when it wasn’t negative. This wasn’t a mob – rather a group of people pleased to see him, including the cat’s owner thanking him over and over again. A cat owner he definitely recognized.

You’d had a rough morning, spilling coffee on yourself and creating a mess on the floor – only for your cat to walk through and get his fur drenched. Giving him a bath did not go well either, full of his hissing and your groan when knocking came at your door. Half-soaked and tired, when you opened up the door to your neighbor, your cat took the chance to book it. Shoving your head out into the hallway, you caught a glimpse of his tail disappearing out the window at the end of the hall. 

Your neighbor handed you a package that’d accidentally been delivered to her apartment, which you threw inside your place before slipping on your nearest shoes. Grumbled “sorry’s” passed your lips as you passed others while racing to the building’s front door to chase after your horrible (and adorable) cat. Cool morning air of the late summer greeted you as your eyes flashed across every inch of the streets, buildings, even trash cans. But the pitiful cries of your cat came from above.

Straining your neck, you saw flashes of orange swishing in a tree near your building. “Oh god,” you muttered while racing to the bottom of it. Bark scratched against your palms as you leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. His claws sunk into the tree far out of reach for you to grab.

Calling the fire department certainly felt like overkill to get your now traumatized (read: overdramatic) cat out of a tree, and a bit cliche. Shaking your head, you told him, “Please just get down here. I will give you a hundred treats and unlimited attention.” A long sigh loosened from your lungs, hoping he somehow understood your pleas.

“Sure wish I got that kind of reward,” a soft voice laughed out behind you. 

Any embarrassment heating your face seemed to drain away when you turned to come face to face with Spider-Man sticking to the wall of your building, looking right at you with those big white eyes. Words escaped you for a second as you kept staring. You’d only ever watched him swing on television, barely catching him as a speck in the distant horizon of the city’s skyline if you were lucky. You couldn’t stop staring, even as he tilted his head at you.

“Guess all I need now is the hundred treats,” he said, and you could’ve sworn he smiled under that mask. You would’ve laughed along with his silent ones if he hadn’t pointed out your incessant gazing.

“Well, only if you get him down, that is.” Your nervousness bled through your words, maybe from his presence. Probably your cat. The sweat coating your palms didn’t know anymore.

Breaths floated past your lips a little easier when Spider-Man lept up into the tree and grabbed your cat, much to his dismay. More cries came from above until they sounded from directly in front of you, webbed gloves wrapped around his middle and holding tight as he wiggled. 

“Oh thank you,” you said before whispering to your cat, “And hush, you got yourself into this, Samwise.” You took him from the superhero, silently chastising him. Of course your cat would do this to you – send you out into the streets in dirty clothes and disheveled… well, everything, only to stand in front of literal Spider-Man like this. The people that had gathered only for a moment started dispersing after the excitement died down, not that there’d been much to begin with besides you talking to a cat.

“Samwise?” he questioned while brushing a finger along your cat’s forehead. Soon, soft purring began vibrating against your chest.

With a small laugh, you said, “Yeah, he’s just as sweet as Samwise Gamgee, but it seems he’s just as adventurous too. Thank you, again.”

“Of course. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right?” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck, but you doubted he could actually itch anything through that suit. Was he as nervous as you?

Though it mostly went against your judgment, you knew your friends wouldn’t believe you if you didn’t have some sort of proof that this all happened. “Okay, I know you’re probably really busy and I look completely wild, but could I take a quick picture with you?”

He looked up from where he’d been staring (and cooing) at Samwise to lock eyes with you, and though you couldn’t see any part of his face, it still brought a heat to your cheeks. “If wild means pretty, then I’d love to.”

Oh. If you hadn’t been flustered before, that sure did it. Fishing your phone out of your pocket with a cat in your arms and shaking fingers proved difficult. But you finally held it up, hoping to finish with all this and let him get on with his life – only for the sun to shine right into your eyes at this angle.

“Ah, maybe I should turn the other way…” you started but were quickly cut off by the sound of Spider-Man shooting webs from his wrist.

“Does that help?” 

Looking up, you saw that he created a web in between branches of the tree – right where the sun had been shining into your vision. 

“Yeah… yeah, that’s great. Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, suddenly unsure whether all Spider-Man fan interactions felt this intense. Was it just you? 

You brought the phone back and focused it, though selfies were never your talent. So while you balanced Samwise and struggled to get the three of you in frame, Spider-Man brought his hand up and angled it up slightly.

“There…” he mumbled, and the body heat rolling off of him had you frozen, had you in a hold until you saw that hint of his mask moving in the camera as if he were smiling for the picture. So you followed suit, capturing a picture of you, him, and your cat he just saved all bathed in the morning sunlight. 

“Hey, be sure to share that with me on Twitter, okay? If you know my page on there… it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole ‘save a cat from a tree’ thing.” He laughed again, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it quickly becoming one of your favorite sounds.

“Yeah, I know it,” you started saying, aware that everyone in New York knew about his social media presence, but… “I’m just not sure it’s the best picture of me, you know?”

That time, there was no denying the way the eyes on his mask shot up. “Well I’d be dying to know the best picture there is of you, because that must sure be something,” he told you. And you were about to respond (you absolutely were, not just stand there and stumble over your words and unable to make eye contact), but sirens began to start up in the distance. 

He yelled out, “You better share that with me!” as he shot out a web, leaving you with no argument as he swung away. Holding Samwise close to your body, you let out a breath and watched as Spider-Man floated above the skyline.

And later that night, you did end up sending it to him despite how you thought you looked in it. He had stood so close to you, and your heart melted everytime you saw the way his hand rested against Samwise’s cheek – who all but adored the attention and pressed back into him. Peter had to keep himself from opening your message immediately, especially since he was in the middle of taking down a man trying to break into a store. 

“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” the man clothed in black said as he hung from a fire escape in the alleyway next door. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, hovering his thumb over your message after shooting a web over the man’s mouth. 

Peter internally groaned as he began pacing back and forth. Was he overthinking this? He probably was. He ran a hand over his face before deciding to wait until he got home to open it… to play it cool – he was being really cool about all this.

Until he did open it and fell in love with a different part of you each time he glanced at it.

–

The next picture Peter had of you came from someone else, a fan of his that tweeted at him a day after he’d talked with you again.

You’d been sitting out on your fire escape, sweater on and hot drink in hand as fall quickly approached, watching the dipping sunset about to kiss the tops of New York’s buildings. And you nearly spilled it all – almost dropped the mug down on top of pedestrians passing by – when Spider-Man landed on your railing and sat down on it.

The sudden gasp threatening to come out stopped in your throat, your fingers tightening against the mug’s handle as you tried to calm your breathing. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you,” he rushed out, reaching his hands toward you as he apologized. All of his super strength would go into internally smacking himself in the face later.

By the time you could think clearly again, you looked up at him and his legs swinging back and forth. “Not sure how you thought landing on someone’s fire escape from the sky wouldn’t scare them, but it’s okay,” you said with a breathy laugh.

“Fair. You’ve got me there,” he admitted. And before the following silence became too overbearing and overwhelmed by the traffic below, he asked, “How’s Samwise doing?”

You blinked at him, eyes wide as you thought about it. “He’s…” you paused, “He’s well. No more climbing trees for him, unless I get you on speed dial.”

The eyes on his suit narrowed for a moment before he hopped off the railing, coming to stand just a little closer to you. “Is this your way of asking for my number?”

He couldn’t help but laugh – at your own surprised giggle, at the way you hid your burning face behind your cup, and at how the skin of your face crinkled with each laugh. “So Spider-Man– Can I call you that?”

“Mr. Spider-Man, The Spidester. Any of the following adjectives between ‘The’ and ‘Spider-Man’: Amazing, Spectacular, Friendly Neighborhood, Handsome… the list goes on,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Through a smile you desperately tried to hide, you said, “Okay, Spidey, I was going to ask whether you’re this flirty with all of the citizens you help.”

God was he glad you couldn’t see the red painting his cheeks or somehow sense the warmth in his chest from your words. “Maybe it’s just the lucky ones that I help save their cats.”

“Ah, so it’s luck then?” you asked, and there was no missing the teasing look you gave him or the way your body subconsciously leaned toward his.

He felt the suit pull taut as he nodded. “Yeah, luckier than winning the lottery, I’d say.”

Pursing your lips, you considered him for a moment. And Peter had never felt so seen by someone who couldn’t actually see him. It made him want to know what went on in that pretty head of yours. Really pretty.

Your hands rose up to gesture at him, breaking him from his staring as a chilled breeze went by. “Okay, next question. Do you ever get cold in that thing? Snow’s not far off here, and your suit doesn’t look very… winterized.” 

For a moment, he thought about teasing you, saying something about how you were checking him out enough to notice that about his suit, but he wouldn’t deny an audience to talk about his technology with. “For a while, it wasn’t. I wore a hat sometimes, a scarf made by my… relative – but that didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidating’ to people, so I had to make adjustments to the suit. It’s now a bit more insulated, but moving around and beating ass usually warm me up too.”

The sudden laugh you let out at brought an unmissable smile to his lips. Oh, how he wanted to make you do that again and again. “I suppose it would,” you said in between breaths. And maybe you thought better of it, but you followed up with, “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee or something? As a thanks for Samwise.”

Peter almost said yes in an instant, anything to keep you talking to him for just a little longer. But angry yelling erupted a block over, some argument he picked up with his hearing. The screaming in his head telling him to ignore it and choose you instead nearly drowned it out, but he couldn’t.

With a weight in his stomach, he said, “Raincheck? Duty calls.” You only nodded, eyebrows all scrunched up before he lept from the fire escape and off to the fight starting to break out. It was that moment right before he left that a fan caught with their phone.

It looked a little fuzzy from how far away it was taken, but it was unmistakably Spider-Man standing across from you. It’d be difficult to make out your face, but he knew it was you. The two of you almost looked domestic there, having a sweet conversation about your lives before the day ended.

The tweet came with speculations as to who you were and what he was doing with you. All of that ate away at the lump in his throat, so he found a way to get it deleted in case anyone tried finding you – but not before saving the photo himself to dream about a simpler life where you knew who he was.

–

Peter shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but he did it anyway. Why? It seemed he never could think straight when looking at you, or being near you. Or even thinking about you for that matter. Sometimes, he wondered whether you had powers too, but just for making his mind all fuzzy and dull when it came to you. So against better judgment, he took the assignment The Daily Bugle had given him to interview workers about a series of recent break-ins – like the flower shop you worked at.

He’d found himself catching glimpses of you here and there while on patrol, not that he was looking for you, of course. But he just so happened to see you walk into the same shop almost every day, so he kept an eye on it to make sure you were safe as you trudged home after too-long shifts in your work clothes and uncomfortable but “work-appropriate” shoes. Not that him doing so meant anything. Right?

And he rationalized to himself that it was all worth it when he saw someone trying to force inside the building after hours while you and a coworker cleaned up and readied it for the next day. The man made his way in, shouting something to you two, a gleaming knife extending past his fingertips. 

But Peter had been there, moving faster than he had in months. His vision nearly blacked out as his webs pulled the man back out onto the street, and he had no control over the hands that pressed this worthless man into the tar – wanting to push him into it. The knife had been thrown when he’d been pulled, landing somewhere too far to save this man, not from Peter. He could barely feel the writhing below him, the angry shouts of this person barely reaching his ears.

Then, he heard your voice. Something about calling 911, something about checking whether Spider-Man was okay. They should’ve asked about the other guy. But Peter loosened a breath, dropping his head for a moment before picking the man up and webbing him to the nearest street lamp. You were okay.

Still, when he turned to you, your coworker on the phone in the shop, he had to ask. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You blinked a few times, your arms wrapped around your middle. “Uh, yeah we’re okay. I’m okay, just a bit shaken up. Thank you… again.” Despite what had happened, you let out a small laugh. “We should really stop meeting like this.”

And in seeing that soft smile of yours, he was Peter again to himself. Not Spider-Man. He wished you could do that for him every day.

“How would you rather meet, then?” he asked, and if he didn’t love the flustered look you got, he would’ve been sadder about you turning away from him from embarrassment.

“Any other time than my or my cat’s life in danger. I think that’d be a good start.” You clasped one hand over the other as you rocked from one foot to the other. Only did his grin drop when you said, “We’ve, um, called the police. So you should probably head out before they get here.”

He took a bit of solace in how sad you sounded about him having to leave, so he swung away with a little hope in his heart. And really, it should’ve ended there. But he accepted the assignment to show up at the flower shop to interview people about it. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t work that day.

“Hi! Are you from The Daily Bugle? My boss said you’d be coming in.” You’d opened the door when he knocked on it, that brightness you always brought took his breath away in the best way.

Appropriate answers to your question would have been “Yes, I am” or “Yeah, my name’s Peter. Nice to meet you.” But he stared at you for a few seconds trying to come up with anything – the way your eyes lit up keeping him off balance and constantly teetering on some unknown cliff. He held up his camera as some sort of answer before finally breathing out, “Yes, sorry. It’s just a bit early for me.”

Laughing, you waved him off. “I get that. Come on in.” You told him your name and a bit about the place while showing him the few things inside the shop – most of it just being wall-to-wall flowers.

He followed you in, shaking his head and letting his hair flop against his face. Peter swore he tried his hardest not to stare like some love-sick fool, but he watched you lean against the counter like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. You asked, “What can I answer for you, uh…”

“Peter,” he offered as he scribbled down notes of what you’d said in between glances at you, as he didn’t trust himself to remember anything but your name that repeated over and over again in his head like a mantra. “Could you tell me a bit about what happened last night, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Subtlety, less violent this time, you wrapped an arm around your middle again as you nodded. You gave a smile, but it looked like a performance. He could feel your heartbeat.

“Of course. I and another coworker had locked the doors and began shutting the shop down when the man forced himself inside. He… he threatened us with a knife to unload the cash register,” you said, your eyes flicking between Peter’s face and the floor. “Not that we had much to hand over. But luckily we didn’t have to. Spider-Man showed up and stopped him.”

Peter felt some strange sort of pride at how relieved you looked as you continued describing the events once he had gotten there. The tension in your shoulders relaxed, your breathing evened out. Even your smile looked more real, authentic. He’d done that. Not that you knew it. 

You let him take a picture of you for the story he’d write up, not that Jameson would be too pleased about anything in support of Spider-Man. But Peter wasn’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get another picture of you.

Even in black and white, the photo laid out in next week’s newspaper did your kindness justice. It somehow looked imbued within every expression you gave. You were surrounded by flowers and bouquets you had put together yourself. You belonged there, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he belonged there behind the camera trying to capture you in as many photos as possible – keep you close to him as a picture if he couldn’t have you next to him living, breathing, being you.

And maybe he shouldn’t have, but Peter came back to the shop again and again, quickly becoming your favorite customer. Almost every time, he wanted to buy the flowers just to pass them right back across the counter and give them to you. Instead, Aunt May looked pleasantly surprised every time he came home with them, accompanied by red cheeks and an exasperated look on his face.

–

That photo of you in the flower shop, of your grinning face immortalized as the most beautiful person Peter had met – it was the same photo news outlets and newspapers used for you a few weeks later when you’d been attacked, targeted. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it anymore, not when it sat below headlines that made him sick and hateful.

His inner voice was right, the one that told him to stay away from you. That shouted at him to remember all the other people that’d gotten hurt because they knew him, because someone had found out you were important to Peter. And he didn’t really know you – had no reason to care about you as much as he did. But you’d crashed into his life at a time when he didn’t have many people to care about, especially now that he lived alone.

And he’d gotten to know what book you were reading at the moment, your favorite flower combinations to say just the right thing, the subtle way you quirked your mouth when trying to hide a smile. It’d overridden any self-preservation or reminder of what could happen to you.

Every night on patrol, he watched over your hospital room to make sure no one came near to hurt you. After, he’d spend hours tracking down the crime group that did it. That wanted to rid Spider-Man of the city. He’d almost kept the mug shots of each bloodied scum criminal he took down, who dared put a finger on you.

As Peter, he swallowed down his shame and self-hatred to visit you in the hospital – a bouquet in hand. Opening up your room door, he slipped in, letting out a sharp breath before facing you. The parts inside his chest that had hardened over these past days softened, nearly crumbled, at the way your eyes lit up at seeing him.

“Peter, you came,” you sighed out. You couldn’t move all that well, not with the bruising and the few fractures you sustained, but he could see the energy fighting in your body. Could feel it.

Holding out the flowers toward you, he said, “Yeah, of course I did.” He found himself unable to look at you long, each discolored part of your skin and wince at your body’s pain unbearable to witness.

Your hand brushed his, caressing his fingers as if to tell him it’d be okay, as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Your voice barely broke the humming of the machines hooked up throughout the room, but the smile you hid behind the petals explained your feelings well enough.

He took a seat next to you, his body aching to touch yours in some way. To rest a hand on yours or kiss each bruise you had. But he didn’t, not after what he’d done. “How are you feeling?”

You gave a sad sort of laugh, one that wasn’t funny but at least didn’t bring tears with it. “Let’s just say I’m better now that you’re here.”

He knew you meant it, but it couldn’t be true, not when him being there had led to all of this. Biting back a groan, he said, “I… I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes stayed glued to the tiled floor, speckled in beige and too shiny. “I just–”

“I know it was you.”

Peter Parker always had a smart remark, a witty comeback. Especially when it came to you and the joy he could pull from you. But not now. Your words froze him, sending ice through his skin and shredding down into his nervous system.

You made the first move, reaching out a hand to his knee to stop its shaking. He hadn’t even known he had been shaking his leg. But it made him shut his eyes, force even breaths through his nose.

“There was no way I could forget your voice, or how you tilt your head when you’re confused,” you told him, and his throat felt tight at the slight crack in your voice. “I forgive you, Peter. As long as you don’t say goodbye.”

You made him so careless… carefree, for once in his life. His calloused palms scratched against his face, the pressure of his fingers against his scalp like iron weights – weight as heavy as his mistakes that he paid witness to right in front of him. “I can’t.”

“At least stay with me for a little longer,” you pleaded. Your hand reached up to wrap around his wrist and pull them away, forcing him to look at you. And you smiled, the only smile that he couldn’t resist. So he stayed, holding you until he embedded his fingerprints into your skin.

–

For a long time, Peter had forgotten all about those photos – they were just wishes thrown into the wind for some future he hoped to have with you. So when you took that first picture of you as a couple, a picture of him kissing you on the cheek in Central Park, arms wrapped around one another and no world outside the two of you, how could he think about any other photo?

He’d brought you there after you’d healed, the painful memories faded from your skin. You fell asleep in that hospital bed with your hand entwined in his to find him still there when you awoke. He hadn’t said goodbye.

Peter had asked you out with another bouquet, one that you’d told him meant eternal gratitude and affection. If you hadn’t had gone through everything, maybe you would have been embarrassed at how fast you told him yes. But with the way his honey eyes melted at your answer, you couldn’t regret something like that.

That photo of that first date stayed with him all the time, printed out and everything. Peter did the same for the next one – of you both lounging lazily in his bed and morning sun streaming in through the blinds. Then the same for the one from the photo booth at the mall. His wallet soon stretched against its seams before you made him choose one to keep in there or he’d end up losing all of them somehow. The rest decorated the walls and shelves while others found their way into a shoebox he hid so it’d never be damaged. 

But he never stop taking photos of you to remind himself of what he had. In the middle of cooking dinner, sauce and measuring cups everywhere, he took a picture of you, hands of your hips and trying to not look amused. But he saw you in a way his camera could never capture, so you smiled against your will. Peter even took one while swinging through the air with you, your body clung to his as you tucked your face against his neck. You’d smacked him for that one, but there was no helping him when it came to you.

The one photo he chose to keep tucked against his body, to remind him to make it home, was the one from a family dinner. It looked simple, cute with friends and family surrounding you two with wide smiles, but it’d always been more to him. There was his family, his life far away from his hidden one. The life you had given him.

--

@reidslovely

A/n: Thank you for reading, it means the world.

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 24: Neglect

DAY 24! THE BRUISE ANGST IS HEREEEEEEEE! I'm so proud of how this one turned out, but it is definitely one of my more rambly pieces, and that's saying something for me. I am also eating chocolate chip cookies at 3 am and realizing that the chocolate chips taste a lot like m&ms and I hate m&ms. Anyway-

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @ghostwalloper @toastingpencils37 @lightning-chicken

Words: 2.3k

Tears dropped onto the crinkled sheet of paper, and Jay was quick to try and wipe them away before they could smudge. He didn’t have the energy to try and write this note again.

First Master, has it really only been two weeks?

The hole in his chest felt like it had been there for decades, growing and festering and burning with a longing that nothing could fill. Not anymore. It ate at him from the inside out, and Jay wondered how there was anything left of him at the end of each day. Sometimes, he thought about how every inhale must’ve just gone right through the hole, because he could never seem to catch his breath. He doubted that he ever would again.

She left him breathless in more ways than one.

Walking through the monastery was like walking through a crypt. His dufflebag thumped against his back with soft sounds, Jay trying to make as little noise as possible. The building, normally alive with energy and practically vibrating with their presence now lay silent; more than one person had died in this place. He wasn’t going to be the one to disturb it.

Jay ran his fingers along the walls, glancing at all of the scuffs and the burns and every mark that they managed to leave on this place. There was the dent in the wall from when they were trying to move in the new couch, and there was the scuff on the floor from when Zane froze it over and the team had a sledding competition indoors. Master Wu had been so mad at them, but that didn’t stop him from trying to join in.

But there wasn’t any of that anymore.

It had been far too long since he saw Kai. The last time he saw the fire ninja, it was with a packed duffle bag on his way out after declaring that he needed a break from everything, from all of them, but Jay knew the truth. His grief was loud, and the others couldn’t even go an hour without hearing it, and Jay could tell that they were getting sick of it, sick of him. Jay couldn’t say that he blamed Kai for leaving, because if he had to be around a crying and blubbering mess 24/7 then he would want out too.

Why did everyone always leave? Why was it always him?

He could handle one of his brothers leaving, but Jay thought that he had started to truly reach his breaking point when his little brother left too. At least Lloyd looked regretful as he did so, only silently showing the team the acceptance letter for his new job as a window washer. Jay didn’t shed any tears when Kai left, mostly because he knew that the red ninja wouldn’t have appreciated it, but he couldn’t stop them from falling when Lloyd walked down the stairs and didn’t look back.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

Zane shut his emotions off not even a day later, and Jay knew that he was part of the equation. The ice ninja had been one of Jay’s biggest support pillars, especially with Cole off and doing First Master knows what, but there was only so much emotional turmoil that Zane could take. Emotions were hard enough for him to process, but processing Jay’s on top of that? Jay should’ve known better.

Jay felt his brother’s absence now whenever he tried to confide in him, only met with a cold and biting indifference instead of Zane’s warm comforts. And the hole in his chest only grew even larger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one in particular, fingers tracing over a group picture that they had taken years ago. Zane was smiling, and Jay hoped that one day his brother would be able to have his smile back. Maybe the emotion meter didn’t suppress him forever.

Pixal thought the same thing. She had faith that one day Zane would feel the urge to turn his emotions back on, to come back to them again, and she was perfectly content (at least on the surface) to wait until the other half of her heart was ready to be with them. Jay wished that he could share in her optimism, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not when he lost his other half, and his dumb and stupid choices cost Pixal her other half too.

There was so much grief.

He didn’t blame Kai for leaving. He didn’t blame Lloyd for leaving either. But he did blame them for leaving him alone.

And the worst part? Jay blamed himself over everyone else.

Because the only constant in all of these equations was him. He had never been great at math in school, mostly just getting by with passing grades and enough know-how to make his engineering skills work, but he knew how to read the signs. And he was the only common denominator, which meant that he was the first thing to go.

Jay felt like he was stuck in a math problem trying to be solved by a young child; here the blue ninja was, the one puzzle piece that didn’t fit, and yet the child kept taking away all of the numbers that actually needed to be there. First, they divided his Yang by her own element, then they subtracted his brothers away to the other side of the equal sign. Zane was split in half for whatever reason, likely to try and mitigate Jay’s mere existence, and whatever child was playing with them couldn’t decide where to keep Cole switching from one side to the other and then the other. Jay himself was being divided into something smaller and smaller and smaller, and he didn’t think that he was going to get any of those parts of himself back.

First Master, was he really comparing his grief to a goddamn math equation? Was this how far he’d gone down the rabbit hole?

Maybe Kai was right. Maybe Jay was starting to lose it.

It was a good thing that this was going to be his last night in the monastery for a long time.

Opening the front door felt more like a death omen than anything else, but Jay couldn’t bring himself to care. His hoodie was heavy on his shoulders, and Jay took a deep breath of the chilly air to try and freeze his lungs. The map was in his bag, even though he knew the way to where he was going like the back of his hand. He made sure to memorize it all those years ago, just so that he wouldn’t fail her again. So much for that.

He put the note up on the wall next to the door with a spare pushpin, making sure that it wouldn’t fall before stepping back and shutting the door behind him as he walked onto the stairs. Here’s to hoping that it was legible enough for one of them to be able to read it; his handwriting tended to get worse whenever he was upset. At least it might be somewhat entertaining to try and piece together his goodbye like a Ceasar cipher.

Chuckling humorlessly, Jay stepped down, walking directly past the dragon statue in the middle of the courtyard. Maybe if Master Wu weren’t so caught up in all of his scrolls, then he would’ve noticed Kai and Lloyd’s absences. If he didn’t miss one of his prized pupils or even his own nephew, then why would he ever notice that Jay had gone missing? The problem child, the one who always had to be looked after.

The last stringer.

Not this time.

He refused to be the last man standing this time. Not when she wasn’t here to stand with him.

“Jay?” someone called, and Jay’s heart jumped into his chest. His brother wasn’t supposed to be home tonight; that was why the blue ninja chose to leave on this night and not during the day when he would actually be able to see.

Feeling like a deer in headlights, Jay turned around, well aware how suspicious it looked that he was dressed in simple jeans and a hoodie rather than his gi. Wu hated it whenever they walked around in anything but their gi in his presence. Cole looked his brother up and down, and Jay knew that he probably looked horrible. “Cole?”

Eyes narrowed, Cole stepped down the stairs and onto the stone floor, his boots heavy. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” There. Keep it short, simple, sweet, everything that would keep the conviersation as contained as possible so he could scram before Wu or, heaven forbid, Pixal found out about what he was doing. Although Jay was pretty sure that Pixal already knew. “You weren’t supposed to be home tonight.”

“The stakeout fell through, and the police said that they would take care of it,” Cole explained, “were you planning this?”

He stayed quiet. Cole stepped forward, Jay trying and failing to hold back his tears as his brother snagged his arm. “Jay—”

Jay whipped around and crashed into Cole, locking him into a bearhug even though the blue ninja had to stand on his tiptoes to make it happen. Cole reciprocated, crushing his brother against his chest and burning his face in Jay’s curly hair. He inhaled the sweet scent of Jay’s shampoo, and Jay knew that Cole knew.

“You can’t leave too,” Cole whispered, grip tightening on Jay’s hoodie. Jay tucked his face into the corner of his brother’s neck, trying to ingrain the scent of warm earth and cinnamon in his mind. “What am I going to do without you?”

“I-I don’t know,” Jay admitted, “but I can’t stay here, Cole. I just…I just can’t. There’s too much of her here.”

“But doesn’t that make it better? To be surrounded by the people you love?” Cole was grasping at straws, trying anything that he could think of to convince Jay to stay. But both of them knew that once Jay made up his mind, he wasn’t backing down.

“Except I’m not,” Jay said, and he was regretting every word that was coming out of his mouth. Why didn’t he just walk away? “Lloyd and Kai are gone. Zane’s emotions, what made him him are gone, you and Wu are never around and Pixal is barely keeping it together. I-I can’t keep waking up in an empty house, Cole.”

“Wherever you’re going is just as empty, Jay.”

“At least at the lighthouse,” and he was surprised at how comfortable he was letting his destination slip; maybe it was because his mind realized subconsciously how close Jay was to giving up. Not just on everything else, but on himself, “I won’t have to worry about driving any of you away anymore.”

Cole lifted Jay off the ground, bringing back memories from when they were younger, before they ever had to fight and certainly before anyone had to die. “You could never drive me away.”

“I can’t take that chance, you know that. I need to leave.”

“No you don’t!” Jay could feel Cole’s tears starting to soak into his sweatshirt. “Jay, please, we can get you some help and we can figure this out—”

“There’s no figuring this out, Cole,” Jay sobbed. “She’s gone because of me. Kai and Lloyd both left because of me. Zane turned off his emotions because of me. I am the problem here, Cole, and I can’t stay here and keep being a burden to you and Pix.”

A large inhale. “I love you, Jay.”

Jay didn’t know if he could say it back. The last time he told one of his family members that he loved them, he never saw them again. She died. No matter how hard he tried to make the sounds, moving his jaw and bumbling like an idiot, Jay couldn’t form the words; he couldn’t remember ever feeling so ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Cole just repeated it and held him tighter. Jay didn’t know how long this hug was going to last, but he wasn’t going to be the first one to let go.

His brother finally pulled back, and Jay noticed the black eye blossoming on Cole’s face. When did Cole get in a fight? How did he not notice it before? Reaching up, Jay tenderly brushed against it, making sure to be careful. Cole exhaled shakily, bending down and grabbing up the duffle bag that must’ve fallen off of Jay’s shoulder in the hug.

“If I let you go, you have to promise me something,” Cole said, his tone grave.

“What?”

A deep breath. “If you ever, ever, start feeling like you’re going to hurt yourself you call me or Zane immediately. That is an emergency. I will be there in a heartbeat. I’ve lost a lot over the years, Jay, and I will not lose you.”

There was a look in Cole’s eyes that Jay hadn’t seen in a long time. “I will.”

Jay hated that they both knew that it was a lie.

Handing him the duffle bag, Cole’s lip started wobbling; it was something that Jay hadn’t seen since they were still teenagers. He rubbed at his eyes, and Jay copied the action before turning on his heel. Jay knew that if he looked back now, he would never leave.

Why did this feel wrong?

Maybe he wasn’t the last man standing now, but who was going to take his place? Would it be Cole, or Zane, or Pixal? Was he really okay with damning them the same way he had been damned all those years, walking away from a burden that he knew how to carry when the others didn’t?

None of it mattered. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

And Jay let the monastery doors slam shut behind him, metal crashing against metal with a shrill sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He started the trek down the stairs of the monastery, and he couldn't help but feel like he was starting to descend into the pits of hell as he went.

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look. 

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent. 

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news. 

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade. 

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands. 

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility. 

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt. 

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups. 

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that. 

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon. 

If ever. 

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault. 

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job. 

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another. 

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie. 

“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.” 

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular. 

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.” 

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?” 

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far. 

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal. 

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded. 

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.” 

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time. 

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace. 

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day. 

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak. 

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine. 

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived. 

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast. 

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in. 

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school. 

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual. 

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago. 

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle. 

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs. 

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat. 

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers. 

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation. 

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?” 

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.” 

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee. 

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away. 

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling. 

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled. 

Frankie swallowed – shrugged. 

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-” 

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted. 

“For the most part.” 

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.” 

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion. 

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?” 

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom. 

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was. 

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel. 

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave. 

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place. 

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise. 

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit! 

And even worse, he won 90% of the time. 

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again. 

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it. 

What did you do? What have you done? 

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself. 

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies. 

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor. 

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice. 

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase. 

That night, he hung around longer than usual. 

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it. 

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep. 

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work. 

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view. 

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight. 

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture. 

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances. 

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you. 

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.” 

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe. 

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night. 

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery. 

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom. 

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him. 

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you. 

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive. 

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask. 

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps. 

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality. 

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.” 

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid. 

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago. 

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training. 

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off. 

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up. 

Shit. 

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands. 

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close. 

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door. 

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season. 

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring. 

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops. 

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants. 

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show. 

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap. 

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.” 

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?” 

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head. 

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it. 

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.” 

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.” 

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts. 

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door. 

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.” 

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid. 

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance. 

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you. 

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him. 

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you. 

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.” 

Santi? 

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith. 

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged. 

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop. 

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top. 

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone. 

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.” 

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?” 

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?” 

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean? 

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?” 

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship. 

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him. 

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.” 

“Same with Will and Curie?” 

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along. 

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good. 

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head. 

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.” 

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended. 

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries. 

“Order 43!” 

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. 

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?” 

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue. 

She swallowed. 

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything. 

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.” 

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.” 

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.  

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?” 

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.” 

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions. 

Dogs or Cats: dogs. 

Favorite Holiday: Christmas. 

Birthday: August 23rd. 

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water. 

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?” 

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little. 

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself. 

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket. 

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public. 

But soon. 

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip. 

[havendance]

A Lonely Place of Dying

Companion piece to this. Also takes place in the helena dick roleswap au.

--

There was a kid in Helena’s apartment. Young, maybe in middle school, dark hair, nicely dressed if a bit grubby. Standing frozen where he’d been poking at the photo album Donna had given her, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Who are you?” Helena demanded. “And what are you doing in my apartment?” He wasn’t what she’d been expecting to find when she came back to find her door unlocked.

The kid jumped back. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I know I shouldn’t have broken in but I didn’t know where you were or when you’d come back and it’s important! It’s really important.”

Helena sighed. “Look, I don’t care what game you’re playing here, kid, but you’ve thirty seconds to get out of here before I call the cops.” She probably wouldn’t actually call the cops, just kick him out herself, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No! I promise this is, umm. Look, Batman needs you!” he blurted out,

“Excuse me?” Helena schooled her face to look like she thought the kid was crazy rather than reflect the spike of adrenaline his words had sent rushing through her.

The boy nodded. “I know you’re—” he glanced around furtively before whispering “—Nightwing and I know that Bruce Wayne is—” back to whispering “—Batman.”

Helena made sure the door was shut behind her. This was not the time to panic. “Who told you?” she demanded. If this was another one of Deathstroke’s games—

The boy had taken off his backpack. He looked up from where he was rummaging through it. “No one!” he said. “I figured it— I mean, it’s not important. I promise I never told anyone.”

“Who did you say you were again?”

“It’s not important.” He dug out a paper folder, shoved it into her hands. “Batman needs you.”

Helena opened it automatically. “Look—” she started to say before looking down and seeing just what was inside. It was Batman: pictures of Batman taken from far too close, amateur enough that it was probably the kid that had taken them. And wasn’t that a comforting thought?

“He’s been bad, really bad since Ja—” he stopped himself. “Since Robin died. I think he’s going to get himself killed.”

Helena flipped through: Batman looking beat to hell. Batman falling off the reservoir. Batman, soaking wet, staggering over to the Batmobile. She’d heard it was bad, heard the rumors that they were thinking of taking down the Batsignal. It was different seeing it. “Where did you get these?”

The boy shrugged. “I took them.” That’s what she was afraid of. They were far too close to the action to be comfortable. Batman should’ve seen him. The fact that he hadn’t was a whole other bad sign on its own. “He needs Robin. To hold him back. To remind him why he does it.”

“Robin’s dead, kid,” Helena said bluntly.

“You used to be Robin. If you go back to being Robin, you can help him. Robin’s the light to Batman’s darkness. He needs it. He needs you.”

That startled a bitter laugh out of her. “Batman’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me.” He’d made that clear after Jason, before Jason. Again and again. The wonder wasn’t that he’d fired her, but that she’d managed to last so long before he did.

“No,” the kid sounded almost heartbroken. He’d probably only ever seen the pretty picture they’d put on and not the ugliness underneath. “He raised you! He taught you everything you know. You were Batman and Robin. Can you really just abandon him like that?” He sounded so certain about all of it. That it meant something.

Helena sighed. The kid’s certainty was contagious. There had been good times there along with the bad. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll swing by and see if I can give him a hand. But as Nightwing. I’m not becoming Robin again. I can’t become Robin again.”

The kid sagged in relief. “Thank you,” he said. He started to eye her door.

Helena made a decision. “And you’re coming with me.”

“What?”

She smiled. “You’ve still got some explaining to do, kid.”

—

It took a couple of hours to drive from New York to Gotham. The kid (who’s name she still didn’t have) seemed content to sit in silence, but Helena wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

“So,” she said, after she’d made it out of the city traffic and onto the freeway, “You never told me your name.”

He shrugged. “It’s not important.” He was hugging his back to his chest, staring straight ahead out the front window. “I’m just doing this and then you’ll never see me again. You don’t need to know.”

Helena sincerely doubted that. “You know a lot of big secrets kid. That’s not just something we can let go.”

“Oh.” It sounded like that was occuring to him for the first time. “Even if I promise never to tell anyone? Or are you going to brainwipe me? I promise I won’t tell!”

Helena sighed. “No one’s going to brainwipe you. Just, how did you even figure it out in the first place?”

“Oh, that. It’s kind of silly,” he said. “I don’t think you need to worry about anyone else doing it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Well, you saved my life once,” he said, softly.

“I’ve saved lots of people.”

“As Helena Bertinelli, I mean, not Robin.”

“Oh?”

But she didn’t need to encourage him, he was already telling the story.

“I was 5,” he said. “There was this children’s event I think, some sort of fundraiser, at the Opera House and my parents had taken me. Two Face attacked in the middle.”

It was beginning to sound familiar.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened, but he grabbed me as a hostage I think. He was flipping his coin when you attacked him. You came out of nowhere and hit him with a fire extinguisher.”

Oh, she did remember that. She’d been twelve, with three years of Robin under her belt. Two Face had separated the children from the adults and she’d been there with none of Robin’s usual tools when he announced he was going to start killing people if his demands weren’t met. When he’d pulled out the coin.

“You were crying,” she remembered. “I gave you his coin.” She’d known his name then; she could almost remember it now, at the edge of her memory.

“I still have it,” he said fondly. “I thought you were the coolest ever after that. You were so brave.”

Helena had been terrified. Afterwards, Bruce had yelled at her about it, with the cold voice she’d learnt meant that he was afraid too. And afterwards, he’d held her so tight he thought he would never let her go.

“—and afterwards, I was convinced you had to be Robin because you were so cool.” Helena glanced over to see that he had an absentminded smile on his face. “I was only five. It was kind of silly.”

“It was right.”

“Yeah, but that was just luck. I mean, I looked for other evidence when I got older, and if you know what you’re looking for, you can see the connections, but like. I just got lucky. I mean, I was just a kid.”

He was still a kid, Helena didn’t point out. Instead she said, “All the secrecy, and it’s undone by a child’s guess. Impressive.” If Bruce weren’t currently trying to destroy himself, she’d almost be looking forward to seeing his reaction to it.

“Yeah. I wrote you a thank you note afterwards,” the kid added as an afterthought, “I don’t know if you ever got it.”

She had. It had featured an illustration of her attacking Two Face in crayon and a polite note that had clearly been written out by the kid’s parents, but he had painstakingly signed his name in crayon underneath. What had it been…

“Tim Drake!” She exclaimed at last.

The kid startled. “What?”

“That was your name. Tim Drake.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I couldn’t keep it a secret forever.”

“Nope,” Helena said. “You do realize I’m a detective?”

“Yeah,” the kid— Tim— sounded sheepish.

That thank you note he’d sent was probably still lying around somewhere. Maybe she could get Alfred to dig it up.

[s-sunnydays]

things left unsaid in artist’s depiction

i dont know if anyone checks this blog since i havent posted, but i guess i could share the things i never got to share since i discontinued artist’s depiction!

also, warning: there are trigger warnings!

iris was the one who reloaded the SAVE file and had gone insane since the mc had died in the fire. she was the one who also caused the accident, but she didn’t mean to; it was supposed to keep the mc from leaving since the machine was really close to being fixed and such.

faye had died at around six to nine years old because she’d gotten too sick and the mc couldn’t afford to enough money to keep her alive or to buy her any sort of medicine.

victor and sierra did run away because they were chased by debtors and all of that since they always messed with the wrong people in their lives. though, they don’t care about that as much, they didn’t want the others to get involved. i didn’t think much about how they died, but i would say that they ended up dying far away and no one knew since the mc couldn’t contact them – lost all contact with them.

sans never liked iris and iris never liked sans, they both just liked the idea of being in a relationship. and, sans gradually learns that iris liked mc the most – the best. even if she treated them horribly

there weren’t any sort of coherent thoughts about how the ending would go, but i assumed that there would be a polyamorous relationship with the mc and the skelebros aus where they could visit the original timeline any time they wanted since the machine and the tear was fixed.

iris’ feelings were never reciprocated

iris was mc’s childhood friend, and learned everything from them – how their life worked, how they had three siblings (never knew about oliver).

the mother ended up dying without oliver knowing – she died from overdosing on medication.

oliver vaguely remembers faye, but doesn’t know about the rest of the siblings. mc never told him until later, where he finds a picture of the other three – he asks why he looks related to victor and sierra and why faye looks so similar to the mc

the mc’s past is eventually revealed by iris or someone else, but other than that, it was basically mutual agreement to tell

the reason why oliver was taken away in the first timeskip was because the mistreatment that the mc had received ended up putting them past their breaking point. and then they started acting like a terrible brother, so they had to let him go – they had to take him to some other place; somewhere where he would be safe.

i have the next chapter, though it is unfinished.

WORK IS TIRING.

You suppose that since Iris pays you to work for her, you’ve been going to your job a lot less — within schedule, at least. Not many days are assigned to you.

“Hey, [Name],” Iris coos from her spot in front of you, sitting at the counter. “Do you wanna go shopping with me and the boys? I’m sure you’ll need something there. It’d the mall, after all! Who wouldn’t want to, like, you know — go shopping with me? I’ll pay for whatever you want.” She sings like a witch—or a siren, depending on the person—and you make a face inwardly.

At first, you would’ve said no. Just a simple no and everything would’ve been fine.

You suppose that no is also not in your vocabulary most of the time.

”…Let me ask my brother,” you mutter in response, pulling out your phone begrudgingly. You send him a message, waiting for his response.

If he says yes, you can only hope that the others don’t start causing problems with him around. You don’t mind the hate, the stares, the faces — just as long he can’t see them; hear them; you’re okay with it. As long as he can’t witness it, it’s fine. That’s all that mattered to you.

——

“Okay~”

Iris looks excited for some reason, but you don’t question it entirely.

You stare at the group of skeletons with a squint of your eyes, wondering where more came from. You should’ve known that the trip to the mall was basically restocking for the rest of the alternates stuck here — though you’re not sure if any of them really need anything. They seem to be more well off than you.

“Malls’re so big!” Your brother whispers to you, stunned by the size of the shopping mall you’re in. You have to agree. “What kind’a stores do they have in here?”

You have to agree with him.

To say that malls are huge is an understatement, you think they’re bigger than most mansions you’ve seen. Then again, you probably just don’t know what malls are like because your mother always told you that they were too expensive and a scam. You always did like sticking to every word she said to you, but that’s in the past. You could care less nowadays.

”I dunno,” you answer honestly. Your eyes scan your surroundings, squinting them when you realize just how large the building is. “Never gone to ‘em either, bro.”

“You haven’t taken your brother to the mall before?” Iris asks loudly, eyes wide with surprise. She glances between you and your brother curiously, obviously shocked — but you don’t even know how she heard you two whispering. It’s not like the others care enough to try and overhear, so why was she trying to be nosy?

Some of the skeletons turn to you, some glance at you, and the rest ignores you (out of pity, you don’t know).

”No,” your brother answers, confused. “We only go to the small ones ‘cause [Name] doesn’t like big stores.”

Well now.

Iris turns to you, frowning at you — you have to say, you don’t know why she’s looking at you like that because it’s not her business — and tells you, “You haven’t taken sweet little Oliver to a mall, [Name]? Shame on you! Malls are great, they have everything you’d need!”

You don’t know how to tell her off without calling her a spoiled brat.

”He already said why I don’t take him to big stores,” you point out, somewhat embarrassed that she had to call you out in front of everyone. “And, uh, malls are expensive… and, y’know, big — he’d get lost.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust your—“

You give her a look of irritation, and for once, the skeletons with you don’t seem too upset about it. Probably because they understand your situation or probably just—the conversation isn’t necessary.

“Are we done?” You don’t care if you interrupt her or get on Sans’ nerves because of it. “If we’re done, I can take Oliver shopping then. See you later, just call me when y—“

And Iris just loves thinking it’s her turn for everything. “We can hang out like old times! You know, when we were in high school together and stuff. Plus,” she shoots you a wink, “we have a lot to catch up on — we haven’t been, like, talking to each other at all! Come on, Sans, let’s go.” You don’t say anything when you see the flickering of his pinpricks or the not-so-subtle glances to your brother from the girl.

You stare at her, narrowing your eyes.

”It can’t be that bad,” your brother tries to soothe your vexation. “‘S okay! Maybe Red ‘n Edge can come with!”

Iris’ face twitches.

Sans’ smile falters. “since when were you buddies with ‘em, kid?”

Red grins widely, almost as if taunting the poor guy. “what’s wrong with bein’ friends wit’ a guy like me? i can come with, i got nothin’ to do anyways… maybe the, uh, boss can come with if he oh so wishes.”

“CAN IT, S—RED,” Edge catches himself and corrects himself. He ignores the looks given and clears his throat. “I SHALL GIFT THE HUMANS WITH MY PRESENCE, SINCE THEY ARE SO DESPERATE TO HANG OUT WITH ME. AND, I AM CURIOUS TO SEE WHAT SORT OF… STORES ARE IN THIS SPECIFIC MALL!”

Your brother shoots you a smile.

You squint your eyes.

Rus puts a hand on your shoulder and nudges Mutt. “‘ey, maybe we can finally get that thing wallet owed me. dunno what it is, but it’s gotta be somethin’.”

“…whatever you say, rus,” Mutt mutters and shrugs his shoulders compliantly. He looks like he just wants to sleep, and you can’t say you blame him. It’s not like you want to be here either, it was obvious that most of the monsters here didn’t want to be here either. You’re sure there’s some other meaning behind it.

”I don’t owe you anything, Rus.”

”sure thing, wallet.”

”They’re not your wallet!”