#and i had to go back to the avoidant factory settings and

[wraithdance]

“Kyle tells him you’re skittish, with a tendency to run like a feral cat. A defense mechanism.”

[hamsternella]

hi!!! I have a request if you want too ofc!!! I’ve always thought of a reader who used to be in a relationship with ford before him being sucked up in the portal..and finding out that he was back?? It would be heavy angst with supreme fluff I think, I love how you write Ford in your other posts 👀

I'm sorry for my delay; I had a couple of problems BUT HERE IT IS. I hope you like it.

He's back

cw: stanford pines x reader, angst, fluff

It was déjà vu. Flashing lights, burned out outlets and the bustle of the masses. Communal fear; the terror of shadows devouring the streets as the gloom spread down every avenue—it had been a danger to set foot outside, but you risked it. One hand clinging to the edge of your robe, and the other holding a flashlight that barely worked without flickering; but with its mark referring to its recent departure from the factory, it was now the only thing that could keep your head attached to the last ounce of sanity.

You had not traveled back in time. You were still in the same Gravity Falls. Cars were ascending into the sky, darkness was taking over the town, and the stars were shining brighter than ever. Your own body had begun to rise; the lantern ended up somewhere unknown as you had to clutch both hands to the nearest lamppost, avoiding biting your tongue as you returned to the ground with the sting of cement against the skin of your legs.

You missed the exact moment when you had begun to cry—it was of no great importance. You tried to stand up, you tried to take deep breaths, and you tried to search for God between prayers; but nothing seemed to quell the urge to gouge your eyes out with your fingers. You were in denial about discovering what lay beyond the darkness when the light bathed Gravity Falls. You felt sick.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst in your chest; the nerves swirled in your stomach like an uncomfortable tingle. The world was spinning, and you didn't know if it was your head or if the event would repeat itself. Three times. Three times it would be. Now it was only two.

Two times.

How many more years?

Could it be?

?̸҇̿͑͆̇͗̐̏̎͗̚̚ɯ̵҇͂͑͐̽͐̊̀̈́ı̷̷̣̒͂̍́̌͊̌̓̈͐́͋̃͌̇̆͋͊̋̈́̎̚͡͠ɥ҈̄́̀̌̄͆̌̏́͐̍̅̆͞ ǝ̴̉͂͆̾͌͗͂̇̄͋͠q̵̍͋̈̀̉́̆̍̽̿̓̄̆͊̚̚͞ ʇ̵̐̅̓͐͗͂̐͒̌̐̽̆̕ı̷̴̣̉͊̃͆̉̐̇̽͛̎͐̓̃̽̏̓̋̋͗̔̾̀͌̕͞ p҈̌̿̃̅̐͐͂̚͞ן̵̛͊̓̋͊̓̀͒̈́̈n҈҇̾̔̄̈̋͗̽̚ơ̵͐̄̂̽̊̑́͂̚̚Ɔ̸̿̒͐̆̉̈́̈̄̍̋̕

Getting to the Mystery Shack was less complicated than you had imagined. The wooden signs —now scattered in the mud; hanging from the trees, among their branches— were helpful in reaching the shack. You barely reacted when a government special forces car (what were they supposed to be doing in Gravity Falls?) honked its horn, forcing you to jump to the side of the road. After it followed a whole line of armored vehicles. You didn't know what to think—there was nothing to do about it.

There was nothing you could do. Why were you there?

It had been difficult for you to return home to put on your shoes. Now they were ruined: muddy and the laces were wet with dirty water. You knew your socks were soaked through, and possibly your robe was the only thing halfway presentable. And for what? Who were you thinking of surprising? Stanley Pines, perhaps? The man you hadn't seen for a little over thirty years; or maybe his workers, who were the only people able to orbit around him. You had never gone to see him after ʇ̵̛̅̀̓ǘ̴̋́͛̃͝ǝ҉҇̏̂̉p҉̔̋͞ı҉̛̓̋̑̚ɔ̸̛̍̏̚ɔ̵̽̃͑́͠ɐ҉̓̍̚͠ ǝ҈͑̽̆͝ɥ̸̇̿͗͗͝ʇ҉҇̐̎̅ that day.

You lost the order of your thoughts —too confused on their own— as soon as the dome of trees was behind you. The sun rising behind the cabin blinded you for an instant, and too tired, perhaps even surrendered to the possibility of turning around and going back the way you came, you still tried to shield your eyes from the light. It was an instant. You let out a sigh caught in your chest, gathered your breath, and through silent tears you thought you heard a distant whisper.

Then it was a murmur.

Then it was a scream.

Then there were several. And they were all your name.

The tears, once small pearls hanging from your eyes, were now a torrent of bitterness and confusion twisting your gesture. They seemed to be born from a fresh wound in your heart; and it deepened as your arm fell limp to the side of your body, leaving you at the mercy of a blurred figure beyond what your imagination could trace. It was like a black blob, too big to be ɹ̴̊̑̃̅͝ǝ҉̈̊͛͡ɥ̵̛̐̿̊d̴͋́̕ı҈̿̍́͝Ɔ̶͑̆͒̌͞—but too small to be a black hole. Still, the way it approached and dominated your field of vision, eating away at the stability of your heart and the rhythm of your breathing, made it feel like one. Maybe this was the end of you. Maybe he was back.

You tried to swallow the rest of your tears, preparing both —weak— fists in front of you. Ready to fight. You mustered up the courage you needed, closing your eyes with the thought that if you avoided looking at him, possibly your death would be quicker. Maybe there would be mercy. Maybe the cut in your stomach wouldn't hurt, and when your organs fell out of your body you wouldn't have to see red bathing your feet. Nor were you going to see the world fade away; and you hoped much less was yellow covering your vision. Metallic taste, smell of meat and viscosity of guts and viscera. All the senses in an expression of his love for human carnage.

And the pain was going to be the least of it.

The impact came with the sound of hurried footsteps, and the scratchy texture of fabric that made you frown. The warmth of an embrace enveloped your body, and the fussy sensation of a breath on your neck made you bristle from head to toe. You opened your eyes a little at a time; gray and white invading your vision. Gray hair. There was a lot of gray hair. There was also the smell of gunpowder, dirt, dust and dampness—perhaps another musk you didn't recognize. And yet you cried again.

You clung to the body of a dead man; to the memory of a missing person. You wrapped your arms around the body of the man you had forgotten the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. But there he was: crying like you, maybe worse, and with the clumsiness of a baby coming into the world—coming home. You dug your nails into his back, your gaze lost in the sun hanging in the firmament and the morning breeze freezing the wounds on your legs. Old, tired legs.

How the years go by.

You felt joy with those hands caressing your hair. You wanted to close your eyes again, but you feared losing the moment in another nostalgic and painful dream. You feared losing him. Losing—

"Ford," voice broken, tired. The voice of someone in fear, "I thought you were... I thought for a moment, Ford, that maybe... maybe you were..."

You thought you heard him mutter a 'no' so faint that it ended as a windblown sigh. Instead, Ford shook his head, beginning to push his body away from yours. You held on tightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was your turn to shake your head.

"Your eyes—I don't want to see them," you said. "I don't want to see your eyes, Ford."

"But I need to see yours," he replied softly. "I missed them... I missed you."

He was crying again.

"I missed you so much," he continued. "You don't know how much I have... This has been torture—without you, without your voice."

His voice was barely a plea that made your heart bristle.

"So let me see them; I need to know this is real."

"I don't want to find out you're not my Ford," you said. "What if you are him? What if you're playing with me?"

"He's not here," he shook his head. His hands began to stroke your back. "He can't hurt you, dear. Not here. Not with me here..."

"You left me," you interrupted him. "You left me, Ford. You went through the portal and left me. I've forgotten the color of your eyes—I can only remember the yellow; the long pupil, the smile... I don't know what I'm going to do if it's not you."

"But it's me. It's only me."

You let his hands pull your body away from his, and with the fear of one who searches in the gloom for a monster, you guided your eyes to his. You found a look full of tenderness and longing; a wrinkled face, tired and wet with tears. You couldn't control the impulse to bring one of your hands to his cheek, tracing the path of a fresh tear until it was lost beneath your palm; his face resting squarely against it, making him close his eyes with pleasure at the caress.

"It's only you," you whispered. You saw him nod, and then you released the sigh you had been holding in your chest. "It's finally you... I've been waiting for you all these years, Ford. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't waiting for something like... you know."

"I understand," he replied softly. "He's lied to me and terrorized me too; in places you couldn't possibly imagine, telling me horrendous things... Telling me that he had—he had killed you, God."

You smiled ruefully, holding his gaze when he opened his eyes.

"But then I saw you standing here," he continued, "and I thought maybe I might be delirious. I kept dreaming of you; of tracing you in drawings, in my head, everywhere... I didn't want to forget you. I didn't want you to turn to dust."

"I had forgotten your gaze," you replied. "I had forgotten your eyes—their color, their shape. All I could think of was the yellow glowing in the dark, and the pupils..." You swallowed your words, too overcome by the feeling of bitterness in your chest to continue. It took you a moment to catch your breath. "To see them again, after all these years, Ford... They are so beautiful. You are so, so... I don't know. I've just missed you so much. I think you get an idea of how much I do," you laughed through your tears, next to him.

Silence enveloped you both, barely interrupted by the murmur of wind and birds. The breeze swirled the earth and leaves, wrapping your feet with a shiver to your neck, where Ford's hands were now resting. You brought yours over his, drawing them to your lips for a kiss. You traced scars with caresses; you covered the roughness with the softness of your affection, and listened intently to his breathing quicken. You thought you could hear his heart beat out of control under your charm.

In an instant his hands cradled your cheeks; his fingers rested softly on your skin, brushing your earlobes, tickling you. You closed your eyes, drowning in the darkness, guided by the light pressure of a warmth foreign to your body. You rested your arms on his shoulders, barely catching his breath on your face as you sensed the awkwardness of shy lips seeking yours between kisses along your skin. On your forehead as a blessing, on your eyelids to drink away your anguish, on your nose to lighten your own nerves, and then on your lips; perhaps to savor the thousands of words you didn't know—those that might come to Ford's aid in understanding how much you needed him these thirty years, and how much you were going to keep longing for him now that you had felt his warmth again.

You let his body collide with yours, and barely interfered with the wildness of his own need for you. You didn't stop his arms when they wrapped around you awkwardly; nor did you utter a complaint when the kiss deepened with a pair of choked whimpers that died in your mouth. You let yourself be drowned by a show of affection too abrupt, too old—needed and almost forgotten. You savored Ford with the rage of an affair stuck in the past, and with the pent-up love of years of not having seen him. Of having believed him dead.

As the air thinned you parted. You still held him in your embrace, searching with your misty eyes for his. But there he was: flushed, visibly embarrassed, but there he was. Ford was still there. Still alive—back at home, with you.

"Don't look at me so intensely after such a disastrous kiss," he suddenly muttered.

"Do you feel embarrassed?" you asked under a chuckle. "And what do you call a disastrous kiss?"

"A kiss I practiced in my sleep and could never put into practice... until now."

This time you had to let out the laugh you'd been hiding. Ford covered his face, red as a tomato. He tried to explain himself but found it impossible; all his words choked, too garbled.

"It's like you're that boy who had barely made it to Gravity Falls," you tried to articulate. "Too many dreams. You've always been one to dream a lot."

"I could meet you in those dreams," he whispered. "You've always lived in my mind, along with them."

It was your turn to blush. Ford chuckled.

"What an old rascal you are when you want to be," you added.

"But it's true!"

You went along with his laughter, losing yourself in the way he looked at you. The sweet way he still loved you.

"Don't ever leave again," you said after a long while. "Don't ever leave me here again, Ford."

"I'd have to be dead to let you go, my dear."

"Or have your memory wiped," you added.

"Oh, that would be impossible. I have a special plate attached to prevent that kind of accident," he explained. "You know—other dimensions and that sort of thing."

"Sure, love," you laughed.

Ford brought one of his hands to his head, rapping gently with his knuckles to rattle the metal. You gasped.

"That's... Let's see," you throat cleared, "I deserve an explanation. Too many kisses but not enough answers, Ford."

"I know, I know," he smiled. "I promise to explain everything. But first a bath... and another hug."

"Another hug," you nodded, laughing softly. "You better never let go of me again."

"Never again."

[mactavsh]

Situational Awareness

Synopsis: The boys get captured following a lead on Shepherd and it’s up to you to save them before its too late.

Relationships: Task Force 141 x Gender Neutral Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

Note: someone said feral reader so here we are

Masterlist

You should have been with them. You weren't sure if it would have made any difference but you belonged with your team. The previous mission left you with a decent gash along your arm, just enough that you were benched for the current excursion. While the boys shipped out you worked overwatch with Laswell, gathering intel and guiding the boys in the field.

A lead on Shephard and the remnants of Shadow Company led the team to an abandoned factory compound. Throughout the mission, they were in constant contact with the base at least they were supposed to be. Gaz announced they were breaching another building and that was the last contact you received from them.

After a half hour of silence, Laswell started trying to pull up satellite images, anything that could shed light on what happened. Kate managed to get a drone to the area but there was nothing, like they disappeared without a trace.

Two weeks later you finally found something actionable. You led a small team to a safehouse Laswell discovered. After a bit of not-so-gentle persuading, the Shadows there gave up a set of coordinates.

As soon as you were back on base you practically ran to Laswell's office to give them to her. Much to your dismay, she didn't share in your urgency or so you thought.

"That will take too long!" You paced the room, shaking your head as you spoke.

"We can't go in blind, Y/n"

"If we wait any longer they'll all be dead if they aren't already." You stopped in front of her desk.

Laswell sighed and stared ahead at her computer. She had put the coordinates in and was looking at satellite images of the area. "We have their location that's good but it's not enough. We need to get a team together, find building schematics."

"You know as well as I do, not one of them will talk. As soon as Shepherd gets bored they will be killed."

"I can't authorize an op without more information. We need to surveil the building first. Figure out how many people are there, if Shephard is there." She stood from the desk, her tone shifting. "However, I am technically not your commanding officer."

She turned to face the window and you realized what she was doing. You quickly took a photo of the screen, making sure to capture each image before you stepped back.

"I understand." You spoke as she turned back around to face you. "You know how to reach me."

As you turned to leave Kate spoke once more. "Be careful, Y/n."

"I will."

-

It wasn't hard to formulate a plan, after all, you were recruited by Price for a reason. Your strategic thinking went almost unmatched and your propensity for stealth made you deadly. You waited for nightfall before sneaking off base with all the gear you'd need and some that packed a bigger punch.

The drive was tense as you got closer to your target, you stopped in a clearing a few miles north to avoid detection and hiked the rest of the way. No overwatch and no backup, you triple-checked your gear. There was no room for error here.

The two-mile hike seemed to pass in an instant, your feet carrying you on autopilot through the dark forest. Looking up at the building when it finally came into view you gathered what information you could. Three floors, unknown if there was a basement. One large receiving door and two entrances on the northern and western sides of the warehouse.

Your plan was to use stealth to take out as many Shadows as possible. Moving floor by floor looking for the boys. You knew you would inevitably be discovered, so you'd hoped at that point you would have found at least one of them and that they were in any condition to help you fight.

You decide to enter through the northern entrance. The first objective was to steal a uniform so you could move through the building easier. As you went you were to keep an eye out for weak points, places to set one of the many charges you had brought with you.  After tightening the straps of your vest and double-checking the C4 in your backpack, you readied yourself as you moved out of the tree line and toward the door.

Situational awareness. They practically beat it into in when you enlist, it could very easily be the difference between life and death. You thanked whatever high power was up there for granting you a natural affinity for the skill. You were on high alert each cell in your body buzzing, your highly trained eyes scanning the environment for threats.

Approaching the door you turned the handle slowly. Peeking in you checked both directions before entering fully.

The door opened to a long hallway that was empty as you entered. Slowly you moved in deeper, listening closely for movement. The familiar weight of the rifle in your hands was welcome as you delved further into unknown enemy territory.

The rifle however was simply to keep up apprentices while inside until all hell broke loose. Shooting it would attract every Shadow in the building to your presence. You had also attached a silencer to your sidearm but even still the shot could be heard if someone was close enough. Even if the noise wasn't heard, the blood would certainly be noticed. Snapping necks or choking them out was dangerous because you had to get up close but it was clean and quiet. Stealth takedowns are your best option for ensuring no one knew you were infiltrating the base until you wanted them to.

A single set of footsteps could be heard approaching from behind you so you ducked into a closet. Leaving the door open a crack you waited for the Shadow to be in front of it before pouncing. You grabbed him in a chokehold and dragged him back into the closet. He thrashed in your hold but not long before you had enough of a grip to snap his neck. He fell limp and you slowly guided his body down to the floor.

Lucky for you he seemed to be about your size so you made quick work of relieving him of his uniform. You momentarily removed your tac vest to put on the jacket with the Shadow Company emblem. Your vest was already black so it fit in with the uniform. It had seen you through countless missions, quickly becoming an extension of you. Price had given it to you when you joined the 141 and it has been with you ever since. You grabbed the gaiter and helmet next, adjusting them to fit properly over your face, effectively shielding your identity.

You strapped the dead man's rifle to your back for later and brought yours up as you exited the closet once more. Head held high you continued pushing forward.

Turning down the next hallway you paid close attention to the attached rooms. It was quiet, you couldn’t hear many voices if any. You didn’t have time to clear each room but some of the doors had windows allowing you to confirm those particular rooms were empty. You stashed that information in your mind for later.

Footsteps approached from in front of you but you held fast. A Shadow rounded the corner, not paying any attention to you. A plan quickly formed in your head. You waited until he passed you and was standing next to the door of one of the empty rooms before calling out to him.

“Excuse me,” He paused his walking and you approached so you were standing in front of him. “I seem to be a little lost, could you tell me where the armory is?” You lied.

He rolled his eyes and just as he was about to speak you lunged, maneuvering him into the empty room and kicking the door shut behind you. He fell lying on his stomach, so you straddled him and held his wrists against his back. "Where’s the 141?"

He gritted his teeth as he squirmed. "Fuck you, I’m not telling you shit.”

You tutted in his ear. “Is that really how you want this to go?”

“I’m dead either way." He grunted as he struggled beneath you.

“So you’re not entirely stupid then.” You shifted both of your positions so you were on the ground behind him, holding him firmly with your thighs as you pulled his arm at an awkward angle.

"You have a choice here." Your voice was low, calm. "I can kill you quickly and painlessly. Or," You tugged on his arm earning a groan from him. "I can make sure you bleed out nice and slow where no one will find you."

He grunted at the pressure before he spoke. "The Captain is in a cell on this level, south hallway with the Brit two doors down from him."

"What about the other two?" When he didn't answer right away, you pulled on his arm once more, popping it out of the socket.

He yelled in pain and you quickly brought a gloved hand over his mouth to muffle the noise.

You waited for the man to still before removing your hand. He spoke hurriedly as soon as the barrier was gone. "The Scot was being annoying so they pulled him out of his cell and brought him to the top floor. The big guy is there too."

"What's up there?" You shifted again, putting him in a chokehold.

"Interrogation."

“What about Shepherd?”

“He left a few days ago, I don’t know where.”

"Good boy." You patted his head before snapping his neck. You stood and dragged the body deeper into the room, out of view from the door. You planted some C4 in the room before readjusting your gear back into place. Stretching your neck you headed out of the room and toward the southern end of the building.

The building was large and you mentally kicked yourself for entering on the opposite side of where the boys were, not that you could’ve known. The long walk however did give you an opportunity to take out many of the patrolling Shadows as well as get a better idea of stairwells and possible escape routes.

Finally, you entered the hallway in question. There was only one guard stationed outside the doors. Obviously, they didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to storm their castle. You waited until you were right in front of the guard to pounce. Quickly reaching up and snapping his neck then lowering the body quietly to the floor. You pulled the keys off his belt, opened the door, and dragged the body in with you.

The cell was dimly lit and smelled strongly of blood. Price was chained to a chair in the middle of the room. He slowly raised his head looking at the dead Shadow then at you, a weary expression crossing his bloodied features. You pulled your mask down as you approached him.

"Y/n?" He spoke, voice horse.

"Nice to see you, Cap."

He paused squinting at you through a black eye as you unlocked his bindings. After you finished you hooked the keys back onto your vest and stood in front of him.

"Where's your team?" The Captain questioned, finally noticing no other soldiers were with you.

"My team went and got themselves captured."

Price grabbed your bicep as he stood. "Y/n, did you come here alone?"

"Didn't have a choice. You boys were running out of time and Laswell's hands were tied."

"Christ."

"I know, reprimand me later. Gaz is down the hall, Soap and Ghost are on the top floor." You handed him one of the guns you looted off a Shadow. "We're all we got."

He took the gun and nodded. "That's all we need."

You moved toward the Shadow you had just killed, quickly relieving him of his uniform and helmet then handing it to Price. "Can't have you breaking my cover just yet."

"As soon as we have everyone, we're blowing this place to high hell." He spoke as he got dressed, wincing when he tightened the vest over his chest.

"What d'ya thinks in my backpack?" You smirked.

"Remind me to separate you and Soap from now on."

"Aw come on, sir." You feigned offense as you stepped up to the door, pulling your mask back up and preparing to move. You pulled more explosives from your back, carefully affixing them to the wall.

With your back turned you couldn't see the small smile that crossed Price’s features as he looked at you, a sense of pride swelled in his chest. He pulled up his mask as he took position behind you. "Take point, kid."

"Copy." You opened the door, looking both ways before stepping fully out. Quickly you moved two doors down. You unhooked the keys from your vest and unlocked the door.

"I'll watch the hall." Price spoke, closing the door for you as you entered the room.

Gaz's cell was the same as Price’s; same dim light and metallic scent. You pulled your mask down and the scent hit you hard. Shaking it off you moved toward Gaz, his head was limp against his chest, slow breaths could be heard emanating from him.

"Gaz?" You kneeled down and set a hand on his shoulder as soon as you were close enough. Blood slowly trickled from his nose and you assumed it was broken by the new angle it was bent at.

"Come on Kyle, we gotta go." You gently shook him, a light groan left him as he woke.

Bleary eyes met yours as he regained consciousness, a smile forming from cracked lips. "My hero."

You rolled your eyes and smiled at him before gently removing the chains holding him in place and standing in front of him. "Can you stand?"

Tentatively he stood grabbing your shoulder for support. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, clearer than they were before. "Ready to roll."

The door opened and Price dragged a dead guard in with him. You felt Gaz tense next to you and realized Price still had his mask up, so you addressed him. “Having fun out there without me, Captain?”

Price pulled his mask down and looked toward Gaz who relaxed his grip on your shoulder. "Wouldn’t dream of it. Good to see you're still standing, Sergeant."

"You too, Cap." Gaz let go of you, rolling his shoulders back in preparation for the fight to come.

"Get dressed," You pointed at the Shadow Price just dragged in. "Soap and Ghost are on the top floor."

"Don't you have a squad with you?" Gaz questioned.

"No, they came by themselves." Price interjected.

"Badass." Gaz moved to high-five you.

Price grabbed Gaz's wrist before his hand could meet yours, placing the Shadow's uniform in it instead. "Don't encourage them."

You smiled sheepishly at Gaz as you moved back toward the door. "We should get moving. I've made a dent in their numbers but it's only a matter of time before someone finds the trail of bodies I've left and sets off some alarms." You pulled some C4 from your pack and affixed it to the wall next to the door. "Ready?"

"Got your back," Gaz spoke as he finished getting dressed. Price handed him the gun that the Shadow had been carrying. He pulled his mask back up and you and Gaz mirrored the motion.

You opened the door, the two men falling into step behind you. You lead them to one of the stairwells you’d noticed earlier, it would take you straight to the top floor. You didn’t want to prolong your stay here any longer, neither of the men with you would admit it but you could see the physical toll their time here had taken. They both moved cautiously and you could see a slight limp from Gaz.

After ascending the stairs, stopping a couple of times to plant explosives, you slowly approached the door. You peeked through the small window in the door. The top floor was much smaller than the rest, the door opened to a large room with one door situated to the right, and one guard stationed in front of it. He was a hulking figure, taller than Ghost but leaner. He stood between you and the room that held the rest of your team.

Years of sparring with Ghost had taught you how to fight an opponent who was stronger and bigger than you. He wanted to make sure you knew how to defend yourself in any situation. Mentally, you thanked him as you formed a plan of attack.

"Let me get him out of the way. Keep going," You unhooked the keys from your vest and handed them to Price. "Ghost and Soap should be through that door. As soon as I engage, move."

"Y/n-" Gaz began to protest but you cut him off.

"Neither of you are in any condition to fight him off and we can't make too much noise until we get through that door. That big fucker is the last thing standing between us and them. I'll be right behind you." You pulled three comms from your vest and handed one to Price and Gaz then put the other in your own ear. You pulled out two more and handed them to Price who tucked them into his pocket. "And if we're still doing our dance by the time you're done then I'll shoot him and we can blow these fuckers sky high."

“Shouldn’t I be giving the orders?” Price spoke with no real heat.

“I’m open to suggestions, I’m a just and fair tyrant.” You smiled and Price shook his head.

"We'll be fast," Gaz spoke up and patted your shoulder.

"You better." You spoke as you exited the stairwell and headed straight for the guard.

He stood up straighter as you got close, eyeing you incredulously. “No one is allowed up here. Name and rank?” He spoke, voice stern.

“Ah yes,” You stopped right in front of him. “Sergeant none ya business.” You smiled and could have sworn you heard Soap’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Who’s your commanding officer?” He raised his voice more, crossing his arms as he stared you down.

“That would be Captain kiss my ass.” This time you were sure you’d heard Soap laughing. Deciding not to further press your luck with the bantering you sent a swift kick into the man's crotch. It was a low blow sure but this was Shadow Company and they deserve far worse for their actions in Las Almas. He doubled over and you used your leverage to throw him to the side and away from the door.

“Now, Price!” You yelled into your comm. Quickly the pair ran from the stairwell and toward the door, unlocking it and heading inside.

Your opponent had recovered and lunged toward you, but easily you dodged. Kicking a leg out you knocked him off balance and onto the floor.

It was a momentarily lapse, your mind focused solely on the opponent in front of you, and you didn't notice the one that had just exited the stairs. A shot rang out, then a scream tore from your throat. The bullet lodged itself into your pelvis and you fell backward. The first guard lunged positioning himself on top of you and wrapping his hands firmly around your throat.

“Y/n what’s going on?” Price’s worried voice sounded in your ear but you couldn’t respond. Your body acted on pure instinct then, grabbing your sidearm and firing two shots. One for the man above you and one for the other, both bullets hitting their mark.

The Shadow fell limp on top of you, effectively knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your side screamed in protest at the weight but you were unable to move.

"Y/n, how copy?" Price's voice rang through your ear again as your vision began to blur. Strength slowly left your body as you tried to push the dead Shadow off of you to no avail.

Suddenly the weight was lifted off of you. Ghost and Price threw the Shadow to the side while Soap kneeled next to you. “Y/n you keep those pretty eyes open for me, aye?”

“Doing my best, Johnny.” You wheezed out, the fog quickly leeching into your mind.

He smiled softly at you. “I know.”

Ghost was staring at you behind his mask, worry creasing his eyes. “What’s our exfil?”

“There’s a truck two miles north of here in a clearing.” You spoke, wincing as Soap put pressure on your wound.

"Reinforcements?" Ghost questioned.

Price sighed, "Y/n came alone."

"Bloody hell." Ghost feigned disappointment, despite your current state, he was impressed.

"That's fuckin' badass." Soap beamed at you, squeezing your shoulder.

"That's what I said." Gaz smiled, wincing when he reopened his lip again.

"Stop encouraging them." Price shook his head as he spoke. “Ghost grab them let’s get the hell out of here.”

The conversion sounded further and further away as blood pooled beneath you. You used your last bit of energy to pull the detonator from your vest and handed it to Soap.

“Do the honors would ya?” You breathed out before the world went dark.

-

Heat radiating in your side brought you slowly to consciousness. Your brain struggled to regain traction in the fog that clouded it. The mission came back to you slowly, the fight, the gunshot, the boys. Panic set in, you didn’t know if they got out. Your eyes shot open as you sat up, violent dots danced in your vision and you could hear movement near you, something beeped incessantly to your right.

A familiar voice entered your ears. “Hey, you’re okay, I got you.”

Calloused hands settled on your shoulders, grounding you. The beeping slowed. “You’re in the hospital on base.”

Your eyes finally cleared and you could see Price standing next to your bed. He gently guided you to lay back down and that's when you noticed the rest of the team at the foot of your bed. Various bandages and bruises littered their bodies but they were alive.

You tried to speak but ended up coughing instead. Ghost appeared in front of you and silently handed you a glass of water with a straw.

“Did I miss a party?” You managed after wetting your throat, voice still hoarse.

“It seems we did.” Soap smiled patting your shin.

“How're you feeling?” Gaz asked.

You shrugged. “Good as I can I guess. Just glad everyone made it out.”

“You did good,” Price spoke. “But don’t ever do that again or I will sign your discharge forms myself.”

“Yes sir.” He smiled at you and patted your shoulder. You knew the statement came from a place of worry. Your infiltration could have easily gone a different route and you could have been sitting in the morgue right now.

Instead, you were surrounded by your found family.

A light atmosphere settled in the room, you watched content as the boys chatted amongst themselves. You laughed at the terrible jokes Ghost and Soap were telling each other. Smiled while Gaz and Price told the story of Gaz falling out of a helicopter for the millionth time. The 141 would live to fight another day and god help anyway who tried to stand in their way.

[xxresi-rotxx]

Avoiding You- L.S. Kennedy (pt. 2)

It was well into the night when you decided to depart from the base. You had been trying your hardest to get Leon out of your head. Why was he so interested in your lead? Was he upset at the move you pulled? 

It didn’t matter, at least you got the satisfaction of seeing his face when you mentioned Ada and how you saw the two of them. It wasn’t entirely the reaction you were expecting though. There wasn’t a trace of anger or embarrassment, but more of shock and shame. 

It didn’t make sense in your head at all. Leon was probably the most loyal, down to earth agent you had ever met; it seemed so out of character for him to fall for someone like her. But then again, maybe you didn’t really know him. You definitely didn’t know him the way you thought you did. 

You had been walking through the back streets of the city for a good half hour now, making sure you weren’t being trailed. It was close to pitch black out now, the dusk quickly turning into night, and you finally began scoping out your lead. 

It looked like an old, abandoned warehouse. Perfect setting for a bioweapon. Almost too perfect actually. It felt off to you; the hairs on your arm standing on end. You didn’t like this feeling; you knew something was wrong and you went on high alert trying to figure out why. 

Before you could react, someone was behind you. They made quick work of disarming you & pinning you to them. A hand covering your mouth and an arm around your waist, you slammed back into something solid. 

“Relax Y/N, it’s me.” The hold on your body becoming looser. 

You forcefully yanked your body away from Leon, a flood of emotions coursing through your veins. Fury, embarrassment, confusion, excitement; it was all so much. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” You quietly shouted at the man. 

“Look, I would have explained this all to you earlier but you stormed off at base and-”

“And what?” You interrupted, earning an exasperated and tired look from Leon. 

“And you really shouldn’t be here alone.” 

“And why is that?”

“You know why” Leon’s tone turning serious “I don’t know where you got this lead but it’s right, the bioweapons” he paused to glance at the factory “are right in there. What were you trying to prove by going alone?”

You hated that he could see right through you. 

Before you could think of something to say another shadow emerged from the street’s edge. It took every ounce of restraint you had to bite your tongue and hold back the anger you felt just looking at this woman.

“I told you tonight wasn’t a good night Leon.” Ada purred as she got closer to the two of you.

“We were just leaving.” Leon responded, grabbing your arm before starting to walk away.

Ada put a hand on his chest, halting his movement.

“And who’s this?” She asked gesturing to you.

You opened your mouth to respond but Leon beat you to it.

“Nobody.” His voice dripping venom as he spoke. You rarely heard Leon this clipped, angry.

He pushed the two of you past Ada and began walking towards base. Keeping to the street’s edge to avoid unwanted attention, his grip on your arm never wavering.

——————————————————————————

“Mind telling me what the hell this is all about?” Leon asked the second you arrived back at base.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You replied, ice in your tone. This whole situation was so confusing. Was he making things hard on purpose? He was the one who rejected you, not the other way around.

“What Ada?” Just hearing her name leave his lips killed you a little. “She knows more about those bioweapons than we do at this point, she’s been giving me intel on the situation there.”

You scoffed at that.

“Seriously Kennedy? I saw the two of y-”

“Leon.”

His interruption left you speechless.

“What?”

“You keep calling me Kennedy, it’s Leon incase you’ve forgotten.”

If looks could kill you’d both be dead on the spot. Your stares penetrating each other, neither one backing down.

“Okay Leon,” the memory of the last time you said his name haunting you “why not share your intel hm?”

“You think I trust Ada?” Leon scoffed, his voice slighter raising in volume. “I learned a long time ago never to do that. There’s a reason they only ever have me contact her, I’m the only one she won’t immediately betray.”

“I wonder why that is.” You mumbled under your breath, your emotions getting the better of you.

“There isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay to keep those I care about safe Y/N, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy paying it. I figured you of all people would know that.”

You had no response. Starting to feel guilty for saying what you did. Leon would do anything, give anything, to keep you all safe. You knew that for a fact. Your heartache made you forget so much, made you forget everything you had ever known about Leon just to try and ease the pain.

It had been over thirty seconds and you were still speechless.

Leon let out a laugh, “Okay, well”, he turned on his heel, leaving you frozen standing alone in the dark.

You came to your senses and ran to catch up with him, going past him to stand in front of him, blocking his path. To your surprise, he spoke first.

“You know if you really saw us you would have known that much, following a lady’s lead isn’t my style.”

You thought back to when you saw them, Leon against the tree with Ada pressed against his chest, her clearly taking the lead.

“So why then?” You could hear the slight tremor in your voice but chose to ignore it. Avoiding Leon wasn’t going to work anymore, something had to give.

“I already told you-”

“No not about Ada, why did you reject me?” You bit your tongue, trying to swallow it the way you wished the earth would swallow you.

“Reject you?” He asked, voice laced with confusion.

“I tried to kiss you Leon, don’t tell me you don’t remember. I made a mistake clearly, but if you didn’t want me like that you could have just said so.” You broke eye contact with the man to stare at the ground. Had you become a masochist? This conversation was leading you to believe you had.

“I didn’t reject you.” He lifted your chin, locking eyes with you once again.

Had you heard him correctly? You stared deeply into his eyes looking for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

“You didn’t reject me? Leon you pulled away from me, the message behind that is pretty clear.”

“You don’t get it.” He sighed, leaning his forehead against yours.

You missed him. God you missed him so much. You just wanted to reverse time, forget you ever tried to kiss him. You missed his banter, his scent, his voice, having him by your side for every mission.

“You’re right,” you whispered “I don’t.” Leaning against his forehead gave you some sense of relief. At least he couldn’t see how shiny your eyes had gotten, glistening with unshed tears.

“I didn’t kiss you for multiple reasons, not a single one of them being that I didn’t want to.”

You tore your head away from his to look into his eyes.

“What?” You spoke, trying to piece it all together.

“Did you not realize where we were when you tried to kiss me? How many people were around?”

“So?”

“So? So I didn’t want people to think that I was using you. That that’s the reason I specifically requested you for each mission I went on.”

“Specifically requested me?”

“You didn’t think that was random did you? That we just happened to get paired for every mission.”

“You requested me?” You spoke like a broken record, he requested you? Specifically?? Every time?! You heart was beginning to beat faster, feeling better with each word he spoke.

“Every time, without fail. I pride myself on a lot of things Y/N, but my self control isn’t one of them.”

You smiled a little, thinking about past memories proving his statement to be true.

“I wasn’t worried about my reputation, there’s no rule against dating other agents in the DSO, but I was thinking about yours. You hear the shit everyone mumbles when Ada’s mentioned, I didn’t want that happening to you. That I would have minded.”

“I was right then?” You asked barely above a whisper, “to kiss you I mean, I didn’t misread you?”

“No you didn’t misread me, in fact I’d been waiting for you to figure it out. But after you tried to kiss me and I stopped it, you went radio silent. Every time I tried to find you or talk to you, you weren’t there. And when you were, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

You thought back to the debriefing, when you saw his steps hesitate, turns out you hadn’t imagined it. Leon broke you from your thoughts.

“I thought maybe you had regret it.”

His eyes were the ones to break contact first, glancing down at his boots before looking back to you.

“I did regret it, but for a completely different reason I assure you.” He smiled slightly at your comment, you continued on “But when we saw Ada just now?”

“I barely trust her with my own life, you think I’d trust her with yours? Better she have no idea who you are.”

Everything was starting to make sense now. You started to feel so stupid thinking of all your wasted emotions and pain. The stupidity you felt was quickly replaced however by pure joy. You were right, Leon did feel something for you.

“I can’t believe I spent all this time away from you and it was for nothing.” You grumbled.

“Well not for nothing”, Leon smirked, staring down at you, “I heard you’re one hell of a shot with a 12 gauge now.”

You laughed, a genuine laugh, and Leon’s smirk grew bigger.

“Let them say what they want about my reputation Leon, I have a feeling they won’t dare.” You smirked back at him.

“In that case…” Leon grabbed your chin and leaned down, his lips connecting with yours. It was so soft, so gentle; his lips meshing with yours so perfectly.

You both disconnected, a comfortable silence hanging between the two of you.

“For a man who doesn’t pride himself on his self control, that kiss was pretty impressive.” You teased Leon.

“You know, teasing me isn’t going to help that so called self control of mine.” He teased back.

“I’m counting on it, Kennedy.” Using his last name on purpose, only fueling the fire.

Leon moved faster than you, throwing you over his shoulder and giving you a slight smack on your rear, earning a squeal from you.

“Where are we going?” You laughed, trying to lift yourself off his shoulder.

He jumped slightly, making you fall back down onto his shoulder.

“Someplace more private”, he responded “I intend on hearing my first name fall from your lips tonight, over and over actually, until I can be sure you won’t forget it again.”

You stopped trying to lift yourself up and surrendered into his hold, after all you had a long night ahead of you….

——————————————————————————

I LOVED THIS SO MUCH😭😭I hope this was the pt 2 everyone wanted! I’ve officially reached over 200 followers here and I’m so flattered❤️❤️I love this fictional man and am so happy I found others who do too😂enjoy my writing lovelies😘😘

(Also sorry if this looks funny, I finished it on my phone)

Taglist: @levisbebe

@momma-vi

@apathetickun

@animesnowstorm

@the-abyss-of-fandoms

@warm-milk-with-honey

@crystaldwightsworld

@lottathoughts

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you. 

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why. 

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you. 

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had. 

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons. 

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot. 

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. 

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot. 

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth. 

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance. 

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained. 

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you. 

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different. 

… 

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!” 

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment. 

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room. 

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled. 

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.” 

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom. 

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back. 

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.) 

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued. 

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.” 

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone. 

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice. 

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.” 

Jason’s face fell flat. 

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next. 

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice. 

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!” 

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter. 

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.” 

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you. 

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction. 

… 

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth. 

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you. 

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips. 

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light. 

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport. 

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself. 

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down. 

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back. 

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass. 

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology. 

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week. 

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’. 

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were. 

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him. 

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick. 

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic. 

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive. 

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up? 

… 

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols. 

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate. 

It was harmony. 

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night. 

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you. 

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself. 

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills. 

Jason chuckled. 

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented. 

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled. 

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.” 

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement. 

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin. 

That. That must have been the moment. 

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy. 

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left. 

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free. 

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice. 

Him or the Titans. 

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you. 

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay. 

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans. 

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me. 

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you. 

He let you go. 

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize. 

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that. 

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day. 

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team. 

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears. 

… 

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death. 

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge. 

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night. 

…

Jason knew that he should have left town. 

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason. 

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so. 

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did. 

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap. 

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences. 

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer. 

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” 

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat. 

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles. 

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled. 

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant. 

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it. 

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point. 

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous. 

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!” 

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’. 

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly. 

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something. 

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother. 

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.” 

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion. 

“Where uptown?” He asked. 

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.” 

Jason glared at him. 

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-” 

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.” 

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this. 

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed. 

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to. 

He should listen to that voice. 

He should leave town. 

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him. 

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up. 

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.” 

Jason turned back around then. 

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever. 

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look. 

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped. 

It was you. 

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face. 

You were terrified. 

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system. 

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile. 

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth. 

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen. 

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth. 

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.” 

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap. 

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified. 

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl. 

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.” 

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl. 

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time. 

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you. 

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you. 

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!” 

… 

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage. 

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face. 

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him. 

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was. 

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you. 

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside. 

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice. 

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles. 

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup. 

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free. 

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him. 

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!” 

“Wh-?” 

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs. 

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek. 

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-” 

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way. 

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.  

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension. 

“What?” Jason gaped. 

This was the last thing he had been expecting. 

He was saving you - why were you questioning him? 

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?” 

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.  

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder. 

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you. 

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.” 

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt. 

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming. 

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him. 

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating. 

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?” 

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?” 

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed. 

“Why?” You prodded again. 

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go. 

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?” 

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever. 

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted. 

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night. 

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something. 

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears. 

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him. 

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him. 

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares. 

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you. 

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat. 

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know. 

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it. 

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther. 

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do. 

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words. 

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard. 

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth. 

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now. 

… 

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button. 

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.” 

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next. 

… 

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest. 

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before. 

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping. 

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise. 

He did hear it. 

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled. 

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap. 

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on. 

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again. 

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety. 

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge. 

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system. 

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you. 

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight. 

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left. 

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air. 

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished. 

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt. 

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen. 

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?” 

You couldn’t answer him. 

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke. 

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still. 

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do. 

All he could do was hold you. 

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor. 

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.” 

Jason simply wept. And he held you. 

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled. 

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

[lady-z-writes]

(Jealous Karl x reader. "You're mine" smut)

Swear I thought I posted this, but here you go:

(ETA: ...I'd posted it in 2021, apparently. 🫣)

He'd made the decision to bring you, despite his best efforts to avoid this type of thing.

As soon as Alcina found out about you, she'd been urging him to join her little charade where she pretends to be a good oversized hostess.

She just wanted to get a taste of you, he was sure; lock eyes with you and hope to seduce you, steal you away from him.

Who knew the fucking caterer was going to be yet another threat.

The way he's staring at you makes Heisenberg notice. Sipping his whiskey, he keeps an eye on things as you chat kindly, probably unknowingly.

The smile on your face, the way you look in that outfit tonight - it's too much. He barely let you leave the factory without a mark on you; just in case someone got close enough to see the bite marks on your inner thigh.

You knew you were his. But with some alcohol in you, he wasn't so sure you'd behave yourself. Clearly, you hadn't started this interaction. Of course Heisenberg had been staring since you got up from the table; always an eye on things. He'd rather silently watch you than play socialite at Alcina's ridiculously over-the-top gala.

You'd been good, he just didn't trust the rest of these fuckers.

And the longer he stares, the more heated he's getting.

You'd noticed Heisenberg's staring. It was hard not to. He'd been grinding his teeth when he wasn't taking a sip of that almost-empty whiskey glass.

Speaking of, you knew you were meant to get the bottle from the server.

The caterer is nice enough but if he doesn't watch it, Heisenberg is going to make him into a mechanical plaything.

As you say goodbye, the caterer takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Totally flabbergasted, you shake your head at him.

"You need to stop," you say.

"Stop? We were having such a lovely chat. Perhaps we could have a drink under moonlight."

You glance over your shoulder, but Heisenberg isn't there.

Fuck.

"No, thank you," quickly, you back away toward the serving plater with the whiskey he likes.

It's gone.

Eyes wide, you gaze around the room to see if it's on anyone's table. If you come back without that bottle...-

Suddenly a familiar smell of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses. Glancing to your left, you notice Heisenberg's gaze fixed on you from a few feet away; whiskey bottle in hand.

"Come with me," he demands, shoving the bottle into your arms as he passes.

Before long, you're in a loading bay area, wrapping your arms around yourself from how cold you are suddenly.

"Karl, I-"

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

He exhales smoke in your face as he shoves you against a crate.

"Now," he hisses.

Shivering, you follow orders, hand him the bottle of whiskey, watch him take a hefty gulp as he stares at your nakedness. As he hands you the bottle back, his eyes linger on the bite marks on your thigh.

You sip the booze in hopes it'll warm you up. Heisenberg takes pity on you - or maybe it's an act of ownership - but he gives you his coat and you're greedy for the warmth.

Not wasting time, he hoists you up, shoves you completely back on the oversized crate. It's freezing and hard but you don't sit up. You set down the booze before you spill it. Heisenberg pulls himself up, crawls over your body with a deep growl that exhales smoke around the cigar in his mouth. When he's eye-to-eye with you, he pops it out of his mouth, ashes it near you, uses his gloved fingers to uncover your right nipple from beneath his jacket. And then the left.

His eyes scan hungrily as he takes another inhale. You can feel him hard against your body and to be honest you're not surprised. It feels good to be this wanted.

He nods down at you and you know what he wants so wordlessly you undo his pants and belt. When his cock springs out, you guide it toward your naked pussy and let him shove himself inside you.

Arching your back, you moan out for him, knowing he wants you to be loud and the pressure of his thick cock is tender without any prep. But he wants it like this. It's a punishment of sorts.

"See you made a friend tonight," he grunts as he puts his cigar out beside your shoulder.

When he's completely in, you feel like you can finally speak. "N-no, that's not it at all. Karl, I-"

There isn't a second of hesitation: he starts pounding into you at such a pace, you can't help but grip his shoulders and whimper.

"You're mine," he growls. "You got that?"

"Yes."

"Say it," he grunts, biting your neck.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"Karl, I'm yours!"

"Mmm, that's right. You are. You're mine to bite and to fuck. You're mine to make a scene about."

He's putting so much pressure on you, you're consumed by him and it's such an overwhelming feeling you can't help but love it.

"This cunt is mine to fill," he chuckles. "Oh? You're close, aren't you?" a deep laugh. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

You whine and grip him tighter. "No, I'm good. I promise."

"Oh, are you now?" he teases. You nod. "You look good...my jacket falling off your body like some centerfold...tits with my bitemarks on them, little marks from my facial hair...heh, it's like you're my little plaything."

"I'm yours," you whisper out, nodding against his chest as you feel your orgasm nearing. "Please, Karl, please."

He hums as if thinking it over. "One condition, doll."

"Anything."

"You sit in my lap and ride my cock while you cum."

You nod quickly and shift positions, staring in awe at him. This new position gives you so much pleasure. Your mouth is on his shoulder then kissing at his neck, moaning and crying out his name as you ride out your orgasm.

"Good girl," he laughs. "Ah, that's it, kitten...getting me so close."

After you've come down, your heartbeat in your ears, you kiss his neck again, open your eyes, throw your head back a second to stare at the ceiling as he pounds up into you.

It's only when you look straight ahead of you that you notice the door is open.

"Karl," you whisper, tapping him on the arm, trying to pull back.

It's too late. He's got an iron grip on your hips as he's moaning and pumping into you.

All while the caterer stands there in shock next to his crates of pastries.

"Get a good enough show there, bucko?" Heisenberg pants a yell over his shoulder where you're still staring in shock.

No response, just the sound of footsteps retreating.

You smack him on the bicep.

"You knew he was there."

He laughs loudly. "Of course I did!"

"Heisenberg!" you hiss.

"No harm. I didn't even kill him. Besides, look at that entire crate of pastries he left...just for us to sneak back to the factory."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest out of pure embarrassment.

"What? You're a sight when you're cumming. Probably gave that guy plenty to think about..."

"Can we go now?"

"Depends. Learned your lesson about talking to strangers?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yes, sir."

[neonpaperlanterns]

Could I request a little story of Dogday (rescued, with legs is optional. Still in the factory.) fussing over reader/Angel not taking a moment to rest.

Like, Dogday has not seen Angel sleep once since they've met. Maybe locks em up in hug jail till they get some actual rest. Light little fluff.

Can't really survive that place without some sleep to keep the brain focused.

Go to bed

"I'm fine." You snapped, batting DogDay's hands away. The dog was not deterred.

"You most certainly are not." He snapped right back making sure to block the door. They've finally found some place to just take a moment but you simply refused. And DogDay has had enough of it!

"When was the last time you slept?" He prodded as you glared at him. Your arms crossed as you avoided his gaze.

"What about you huh?" You asked defensively, trying to turn this around on the smiling critter but again he was not having it. You've avoided taking care of yourself long enough. And if you weren't going to do it then he was.

Surging forward he grabbed you. A surprised yelp left you as he caged you within in his arms. Smooshing you against his chest and plopped onto the floor, back firmly against the door.

"What are you doing!" Your arms flailed as you smacked at him. Huffing he rearranged you so you were on your side facing away from him. Head cushioned by his arm as he secured the other one around your middle.

"Going to sleep." A yawn escaped him as he nuzzled his nose against your hair.

"You should to. We can set out later." He could feel you begining to protest.

"Please Angel?" DogDay tried to put as much desperate hopefulness behind his voice as possible.

It was silent for a moment.

And then you were sighing. You entire body deflated as you relaxed against him.

"Fine." You grumbled.

It made him let out a small laugh as he loosened his hold just a little.

"Thank you." He placed a kiss onto of your head. "Goodnight Angel."

He heard you yawn as you twined your fingers around his.

"Night DD."

[pathetichimbos]

He's truly so handsome and beautiful in his own way, he's so tall and strong and his hair is so messy yet so mesmerizing to look at and the way he just does anything is worth watching

Thomas is a very handsome man, and there's not a single doubt in my mind that he didn't have such a severe skin disease and clear neurodivergency in such a small, judgmental town, he would've easily found someone and settled down quickly.

He's tall, with thick, curly hair, strong arms and a wide build set, he's practically begging to be wifed up, but in classic southern culture, anything different is shamed and shunned.

To them, it didn't matter that he was just a kid born with a bit (well, a lot) of bad luck, he was diseased and contagious.

Parents warned their children not to get too close, people covered their faces if he breathed a little too hard, and no one ever treated him like a normal child.

There was more than one instance where young Tommy would go to the store with Luda Mae when she managed to scrape enough cash together to get something small, and everyone would drop what they were doing to give him odd glances and confused stares.

Thomas has never been confrontational, so he hides quietly behind his mother's dress, tiny hands pulling at the old, stained fabric to hide his face.

Of course, his mother is a lot more argumentative, noticing rather quickly how uncomfortable everyone was making her precious baby feel.

"You really think he can help you find your groceries or you just like starin' at little boys?" She asks loudly, staring down a younger gentleman with a warning glare in her eyes.

"What!? No-- I--" The man stumbles over his words, trying to back-track and explain himself.

"Come on, Tommy," Luda Mae grabs her sons hand, pulling him down the aisle, "Let's get away from this pervert."

"I'm not a pervert!" The young man calls back, letting out a sigh in defeat and going back to his shopping.

Thomas can't help but smile, stifling a chuckle as he follows behind quickly.

...That's how it always went when he was a kid. Of course, and unfortunately, things changed as he got older, and not for the better.

He shot up like a weed, his shoulders got wide, and he got big.

He was no longer a strange, deformed kid hiding behind his mother's dress, earning pitiful looks and sympathetic head shakes, he was dangerous, and a monster.

Suddenly the town he grew up in wasn't as kind (not that it was all that kind in the first place), and people that once spared him a rare, feel-sorry smile wouldn't give him a second look, quickly leaving the room in unjustified fear.

He was even more shunned than before, ridiculed by the men he worked with and fearfully avoided by any woman that might catch a glimpse of him.

He could hear people talk about him in rooms he walked past, laughing loudly as they verbally berated him behind his back, most of them too afraid to actually say anything to his face.

He didn't understand why they were so scared. He had never hurt anyone, not so much as raising a fist in anger, but he was treated as he was just some dangerous freak who could snap at anytime.

Years of abuse and mistreatment falls on his shoulders, but he never hurts a soul. He puts up and shuts up, keeping to himself and trying not to cry himself to sleep most nights.

Only when the factory shuts down and he has to face that his entire life as he knows it is over does he finally snap, and in my opinion, it was well deserved.

But, that's another topic for another post. I'll go ahead and end my drabble rant here. Thanks for sending in the ask love <3

[kifflepiffles]

Milk, Flour, and Sugar.

(Pssst, @albaricomics Thank you for giving me motivation, I really enjoyed writing this <3 )

Our goobers deserve a break

Francis Mosses x Nacha Mikaelys

Content warning; Suggestive themes towards the end, but nothing actually happens

Word count; 1.9k

Edit: I forgot my tumblr posts tend to get traction ^^; this takes place in a universe that assumes a headcanon for Francis, Nacha, and Ana that I wrote in great detail. It's in my top posts, but it's a but wordy, so TL;DR for context:

- Francis and Nacha are highschool sweethearts who were kicked out of their homes once the pregnancy was discovered.

- They dropped out of school and started working. They moved into the apartments where the game takes place

- They are 17 and 18 when this fic takes place.

- Nacha has a part time job as a store clerk while taking culinary classes.

- this takes place before Francis took his milkman job. Currently, Francis works night shift at a steel factory, both because night shift pays extra so he can support himself and help Nacha, and because the alternating schedule makes it easier to have someone constantly caring for Anastacia while she's an infant

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A soft breeze had flowed through the open kitchen window. Leaning back against the counter, Francis held this daughter in his arms, sitting her up against his shoulder and holding a glass bottle to the infant’s mouth. She had turned 7 months old about a week ago. Yet her parents still couldn’t get enough of her. The young man’s head tilted back, gazing at the ceiling he had freshly painted a white coat over so he could get a discount on rent. For the first time all day, A gentle smile cracked his stoic face,

“Fill my heart with song,” He hummed to his daughter, letting his heavy eyes softly close “And let me sing forever more,” His body gently swayed to the rhythm he set, rocking Anastacha as she drank, 

“You are all I long for … All I worship and…” Francis’s head tilted back down as his eyes fluttered open. Ana had pushed his hand away. Noticing the bottle still had some formula left, he directed it back towards her mouth. She had pushed him away again, this time with an angry yell, causing him to jump a bit. Not even a year old, and yet she was growing remnants of her independence. The young father chuckled, 

“Alright, you insist,” He hummed as he placed the bottle on the counter behind him and took his daughter into both hands. He raised her above his head, admiring his little creation. 

“You’re going to be a fiery one, Mm?  I can already feel it,” He cooed dreamily, watching his little girl babble and look around the kitchen. Though his trance had been interrupted by knocking on the door.

Francis looked in the direction of the knocking as he lowered Ana back into his arms, “Looks like Mommy’s back,” He narrated to her mindlessly as he walked over to the front door and glanced through the peephole to ensure it was her. 

The energy had shifted once Francis opened the door for his ex, stepping aside to let her in,

“Hey,” He greeted dryly, clearing his throat and fixing his posture,

“Hi,” Nacha greeted back as she stepped in. Ana leaned forward, reaching out for her mother with an exclamation, making her smile. “Hi, my baby,” she hummed. Francis leaned over to allow Nacha to take their daughter from him. “How was she today?”

“Good, we slept for about two hours, and I just fed her. She’s getting sassy,” He reported, making Nacha giggle,

 “Is she?” She asked turning to their baby, “Are you getting sassy Ana? Is Ana being sassy?” She cooed, tickling her and blowing a raspberry into her cheek, making the infant squeal with excitement and both parents laugh. A glimpse of the joyous family life they have both been promised all their young lives. But it soon faded, and it was silent once again. 

The two stood across from each other, their heads tilted down to avoid eye contact. Anxious, awkward.

“Well…” Nacha began, turning a bit to excuse herself. Another evening of potential had failed. But instead, Francis cleared his throat again and shut the door.

“Mm, How was work? …Class? Work and Class? … Uh, Could… may I  get you anything to drink?” He stuttered out. Nacha lifted her head and softly smiled, A bittersweet sting flooding her chest. 

`”It was alright, some water would be lovely,” She answered. Taking it as an invitation to stay, she timidly sat on the couch, gently bouncing Anastacha in her arm while Francis sauntered to the next room over. A sigh left Nacha’s lips before she gently set her baby down on the floor. The living room was cluttered with stuffed animals and teething toys. Their situation was unfortunate, but seeing her ex take such diligent care of their daughter sparked something back to life within her. For the first time since they were in school, her heart was fluttering. He made her feel excited and full of life. 

It was a matter of seconds for Francis to come back with a full glass for Nacha, and a mug of coffee for himself. He stopped right outside the narrow kitchen archway, allowing the infant to slowly and unsteadily crawl past him. She was still getting used to being mobile. 

“Mm, The traffic, they really should put a stop sign here,” He quipped as he set their drinks down on the coffee table, hoping he could make Nacha laugh.  He had gotten what he hoped for, the young lady began giggling, and a small flash of satisfaction illuminated the dullness within him for a moment while he sat down beside her. 

Silence, again. It was a common occurrence for the both of them. At first, it was to keep the peace. Now, it was because both of them had racing thoughts, they were on the same page but didn’t know it yet. Taking a sip from her water, Nacha cleared her throat and took a gentle breath

:”So… How’s the factory treating you? I imagine the night shift must be rough,” She asked. Francis shrugged and took a sip of his coffee,

“It’s alright,” He started, groaning as reached his arms up to stretch his shoulders, “Mmm, Tiring. but we get a good amount of downtime. Not like anyone’s up to watch us,” He concluded before leaning back and grabbing his mug from off the table. Nacha looked down at the floor and let a coy smile crack her expression,

“I suppose that’s nice,” She hummed, glancing back at him, “Are you free this weekend? I was thinking we could maybe go out somewhere,” She suggested, receiving a double take and a raised brow from Francis,

“Really?” He asked, sounding genuinely surprised before Nacha reached a hand out with wide eyes, her head shaking with embarrassment, “Uh-! For Ana, maybe we could head out to the park or something with her,” She added, making Franicis lean back and hum. She could’ve sworn she saw a hint of a gloom scowl on his face. She shook the thought and shifted in discomfort. It’s done, She thought, It’s been. We weren’t meant to be. That’s okay, She attempted to console to herself, biting back burning tears in her cheeks, threatening to make the evening even more uncomfortable than it already was

“I mean, mm, I wouldn’t… really mind spending some time with you. Especially with Anastacha. I say we do it. We can do it on Saturday maybe,” He suggested. Nacha looked back at him with a beaming smile.

“Oh, really? That’s great honey,” She gleamed. Francis glanced away with a scoff and rubbed the back of his neck. It was a slip up, he knew it was. But he couldn’t help but take it to heart.

“Uh, heh, yeah,” He started, his voice cracking with an anxious blush forming on his face, “I’m sure it will be. It’s a plan,”

feeling the discomfort radiate off of Francis made Nacha dizzy with embarrassment. This is my sign to leave. You got what you wanted, anyway. She thought, rubbing her own shoulder and clearing her throat.

“Well, I should get going,” She stated as she stood up, straightening out her skirt, “You have work soon. And… you need your sleep,” She was in a bit of a hurry to leave as she walked towards Ana, “Come here baby,” She whispered as she lifted her daughter into her arms. Francis stood up as well, nodding 

“Alright,” He stated rather flatly. Part of him didn’t want her to leave. The other part begged her to. He walked over to the door, waiting for her to follow and opening it for her as she approached. 

“... Bye Francis,” Nacha greeted hesitantly. But before she could walk out the door, Francis’s hand was on her cheek. And before she could think about it, His lips gently landed on hers. Just for a moment, just to say goodbye, it couldn't hurt. He pulled back after a moment and gazed at his ex, who’s eyes seemed to be glistening with tears.

“Oh,, Francis…” Nacha whispered. She gently placed Ana back down on the floor, letting her crawl back to her toys, and carefully pushed the door closed again. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned back in, kissing him again. He let it happen for a few moments. Truly, he had missed her. Her skin, her smell, her passion. Everything that tempted him and got them into this mess in the first place. But he still restrained himself. He couldn’t ruin this again. Now it was more than just him and his lover. If he fucked up again, he would be screwing things up for his baby girl, too. 

“Mm,, Nacha,” He tried to interrupt. Nacha sensually sighed into his mouth. She had been starved of him, craving for months. She couldn’t handle just a taste, she needed to take a bite. “Francis…” She moaned into his mouth, letting her hand tangle into the hair that laid on his neck. He grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her back.

“Nacha!” He barked,, making his lover flinch and his baby look up. He lowered his head, already feeling remorse for snapping. 

Silence. Again, the apartment was filled with silence. Agonizing, writhing silence. 

“Nacha,” He said in a more gentle tone, his guilt lingering behind his words, “The baby, sweetpea. The baby,” Tears welled in Nacha’s eyes

“I’ll… I’ll put her in the playpen. We can go into your room instead,” She scrambled to fix, but he shook his head,

“No, honey. No. You… You should go home,” He suggested as he turned away, not wanting to see Nacha begin sniffling. A pit formed in her chest as the rejection began sinking in,

“But…” She started, but a shivering weep cut her off, “Please, Please Francis. I miss you so much, honey,” She sobbed, placing her hand on his shoulder and making him tense. His throat began to grow sore, threatening to make him join her wallowing. He shook his head again,

“I miss you too, Nacha, I do. But… I- I just can’t. I can’t do this. Not today, not now,” He tried to explain. He turned back to her, letting his hand rest on her face again. His voice was gentle, as if to console her, yet firm, as if to remind himself of what he was putting at risk.  “Another time, honey. I promise. Another time.” 

“Why… Why not?” Nacha whimpered. Francis hung his head down, “I…” He sighed, using his free hand to wipe his eyes, “I just can’t do it, okay? Please, go home, honey. Bring Ana home, and take care of yourself. Please,” 

“Okay,” Nacha whispered. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her forearms, then nodded, “:Alright,” She said a bit louder this time, as if to assure it to herself. She gathered her baby into her arms, and returned yet again to the door. 

“Have a good day at work,” She wished, her tone flat and lifeless. Francis silently nodded, “I’ll see you later.”

The door shut behind her. And the silence was back. A heavy sigh left the young man’s chest as he plopped down on his couch. He put his hands over his eyes with a groan

“Mmm… Oh my god,” He groaned before taking a deep breath, trying to rub the stress out of his face. He laid back, letting his arms cross over his chest. He was too worked up to sleep now. He was nervous, excited, feeling sick to his stomach as he processed what went on between them. 

At least he had a day out with them planned. 

[mouseonamoose]

I absolutely loved Demonology. It was an extremely generous gift to the fandom and to the GO mythology as a whole. I loved how you fleshed out Aubrey as a real character and the story being told through her perspective was so effective and clever. I was amazed at how true to the character of Crowley you were so that you were able to write him so authentically into new scenarios. Each chapter was such a surprising and original adventure but with a beloved friend. I loved the humor and pain in this story and so glad it wasn't any shorter than it was. Also, I was reading it at the Denver airport when Crowley made that quip about Aubrey's smell so I felt very connected to the story at that time, very funny private moment. I think this was the most enjoyable story I have ever read and also, got me to see why I personally related so strongly to Crowley. I have found validation as well as escapism from the perennial grief I feel at this time of year. So thank you thank you thank you.

I also read the Aziraphale story, which I felt had some very funny, LOL moments and was heartbreaking. I do wish that you had felt the freedom to write a healing journey before you saw season 2 and the stuckness that Aziraphale was still in. I think it can be really cathartic and beautiful to imagine what it would take for them to become healed. That was the magic of the Crowley story because you actually delivered the answers you promised which is so rare in any book. You showed us the magic that it took with trust and time and expression for Crowley to restore his heart.

I'm going to go back and read the story all over again.

The imagery that stuck with me the most was Crowley wedged up in the corner of the ceiling, and also the most glorious chapter where he shared his poetry with Aziraphale. Also I am a plant lover so all that stuff with the tree and Bud was just phenomenal.

You are an extremely gifted writer and I hope you continue to write and publish and I really, really hope you write some more stories from this universe. If there are any others please please let me know!

Oh, thank you. I'm blushing! I am so grateful that you found both valuable, and shared this with me.

I think, having done both Demonology and Angel-Centered now, I have come to this conclusion: anything but a satisfying resolution for Crowley would have been a disservice to his character; anything but unsatisfying heartbreak for Aziraphale would have been a disservice to his character. I don't mean this at all in a harsh way, regarding Aziraphale, and I have no doubts that he and Crowley both will have a well-deserved Happily Ever After. But, in therapy? And especially within the confines of the sort of fanfic I was writing (e.g., as much as possible, avoid adding to canon; as much as possible, only extrapolate and comment upon canon)? What other sort of option could there be, for Aziraphale?

I don't know.

Or maybe I'm just experiencing the same bittersweet frustration about Good Omens, right now, as everyone else, and that's clouding my thoughts.

You sent a follow-up message, clarifying you'd appreciate recommendations for other Good Omens fic. I am terrible at providing recommendations, unfortunately, but I hope others will be happy to offer some. There is one I can think of, though! Factory Settings is superb. I'm blown away by the clear confidence in the plotting and characterizing. I wouldn't mind it being our S3.

[ccycloneblogging]

Idk way but seeing catnap chasing dogday is quite funny.

But idk way but I can see player/angle. Just standing there like it a normal day like there not even trap in the factory

I had a lot of fun drawing that little chase, but you are also so right.

In fact, that inspired me to actually write some fanfiction! All below the cut, but sadly no drawings to go along with it (for now).

"Angel!!!" It was a screech, mixed with a pitiful whining and another plee for help.

Only to be promptly followed by heavy footsteps and the sound of furious hissing.

Angel gave a heavy sigh, leaning against one of the upright picnic tables as they simply watched the scene before them.

DogDay, a small cartoon dog with sunny orange fur and a personality to match, was bouncing around. Desperately, he was trying to avoid the large purple paws of the feline chasing him down. Every clawless swipe had missed so far, but the cat's aim was getting better.

"Angel, Please!!!"

Angel sighed again, raising a hand to rub their temples. Two hours. Two hours ago, Angel had first found this little pup handing in a rotting cell. Two hours ago, they freed him and returned his legs. Two hours ago, their life was quiet.

They had begrudgingly allowed DogDay to follow them, concerned the pup would be helpless. They were pleasantly surprised to see he could handle himself, but his looney behavior leaved much to be desired. Simple tasks became jokes, stealth was no longer an option, and Angel was almost positive they could hear a faint laugh track playing every so often.

The worst part?

Ever since they freed the dog, CatNap became unpredictable. Ollie had warned them that this monstrous cat would hide in the shadows and hunt them, but this? This wasn't something any of them had expected.

CatNap gave a rather loud hiss, lunging forward with a powerful pounce. The orange pup was helpless, unable to dart to the side this time, and was tackled to the ground.

The two toppled over, again and again as they came to a stop on the hard paved floor of PlayCare. Once more, CatNap returned to a smaller size like DogDay, though he had him pinned to the ground.

DogDay wheezed, trying to force air back into his lungs. It wasn't easy, as CatNap firmly sat on his chest.

"Apologize." CatNap's voice was distorted, thanks to his voice box being broken long ago. His white eyes narrowed, his tail thrashing.

"You took my legs."

"You lost our game. You knew the risks."

"But you chained me to a wall! And left me there!"

"I came back for you." The cat huffed, his purple ears flat against his head. "It kept you safe from the minis. Or so... I thought it would."

"Angel!" The dog whined, tilting his head up to spot the human a few feet away. Without hesitation, he shot them the most pitiful looking puppy eyes he could manage.

Two hours of this.

Angel would have theorized that CatNap was simply territorial, but frankly? They didn't need to guess. Yes, CatNap wanted to serve the Prototype. Yes, horrible things occurred and he made efforts to stop Angel from cutting off the red gas.

But CatNap made no attempt to hurt them.

He watched them running around, only providing small obstacles to stop them - which only encouraged DogDay's wackier side to show more. Angel was convinced that this cat, though loyal to the prototype, had his heart set towards something more.

"You two are acting like children." They frowned. They shouldn't be scolding their enemy - if they could even call CatNap one. "If you two are going to do this, can you at least play a little quieter?"

"I thought he had died!" CatNap hissed. "You stole him from me! I thought -!"

"...What?" This got DogDay's attention as he snapped his head back to look up at the cat. "Angel freed me, and we were chased around by the minis for a bit. They saved me."

"I... I saw the human." CatNap's frown deepened as he flexed his claws. "I needed to see if they harmed you, so I went to your cage. I found minis, eating and bloodied orange fur scattered around the cell. I found your belts, torn and cut. I thought..."

"Oh, Moonbeam..." DogDay's voice softened, reaching over to the cat to gently pull him in for a hug.

Angel rolled their eyes again.

At least Huggy had been simple. Hungry beast, shove off catwalks. Miss Delight? Hungry creature who went insane? Smash into a wall.

But CatNap? He seemed to love only two things. The prototype, and this odd dog. Even the severed legs hadn't been an issue. They were in the next cell over, casually walking around on their own. DogDay hadn't experienced any pain reattaching them. The belt on his waist and some torn fur were the only signs that he had been ripped in half to begin with.

It didn't make sense to the human, and it certainly wasn't adding up how this cat needed comforting from the same one he had torn and held captive - or even why the dog was providing such tender moments so easily.

CatNap looked furious, still trying to stare daggers at the human. Though... It was impossible to take him seriously as DogDay nuzzled into him. Even more so when a soft purr escaped the cat.

Whatever.

So long as the cat wouldn't try to kill them, and Angel could escape this hellhole, they wouldn't ask any further questions. All they really wanted was to go back home and sleep in their own bed, preferably away from any sort of cartoon.

...Though deep down? Angel had a feeling that dream would be impossible now.

[lxinesux]

i’m holding my breath for you

Characters: Tasm!Peter Parker

Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader

Summary: Reader regrets her time with Peter and attempts to push him away to get her friendship back. Peter does not take it well. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Blood, Fingering,Loss of Virginity, Floor + Counter Sex, Creampie, mildly dark!Peter, Possessive Sex

A/N: There’s a read more because this gets smuttyish pretty early. love creepy peter, hes just a liddle freak 😭. this is the unexpected second part of a story i posted in june-ish. read the first part here!

It had happened, it was real.

He got to touch the untouchable-make you cry out and cum and squirm. He did that. He had been the first to do that.

He’d wanted to fuck you-either with his fingers or his cock-but you were way too spent. He teased you relentlessly in the shower-chasing water droplets that ran over your body with his mouth, touching you all over, kissing you roughly against the shower wall.

You were irresistible, adorable, as you shied away from him, trying to keep his hands above your waist.

“I don’t think…I can’t…”

You could. You could come again. Over and over and over until you couldn’t stand. But he didn’t want to push you. That had been your first orgasm with another person. Stamina could be worked on later.

You were in your head, too. He could tell. You were never the most talkative but there was something going on between your ears he desperately wanted to know about.

Did you regret it? What happened?

Fuck. Did you not trust him anymore?

Was there a way for him to regain that trust?

-

He corners you in the kitchen, the smallest room in the entire apartment. It was very easy to do, given how small you were in comparison to him.

“We have to talk.”

“About what?” You turn away from him, trying to organize the groceries you bought on your measly paycheck. There wasn’t much, and he could tell you were avoiding him. You could only pick up and put down the same clementine before it became personal.

“About…that.”

“No, we don’t.”

His heart breaks a little.

He thought he’d made his case very clear and apparent.

He was in love with you. Had been for a very long time.

“I haven’t felt the way I do about you since…”

The silence lingers heavily in the kitchen. Your spine is ramrod straight, shoulders tensed. And you’re not looking at him.

Looking like a perfect soldier. Looking like you weren’t human, but a perfect robotic clone. The portrait of frigidity.

His stomach twists. Okay. Alright.

“Forget I said anything. We can just…we can go back to where we were before.”

“Can we?”

The knife between his ribs twists. Wonderful. Great.

“I don’t see why not. We can just..forget this happened.”

“Peter…”

He brushes past you, “Gotta head out.”

“Peter, wait-”

“‘Ts fine. There’s nothing left to say, fresh restart. Factory settings. Just…stop.”

And you do stop. You watch helplessly as he crawls out of the window and into the frigid night air.

-

Peter was avoiding you entirely.

You attempt to wait up for him, now that he’d made a habit of going on patrol without you. But more than once, you would fall asleep.

You found yourself missing him. The smell of his skin, his hair tickling your nose, the feeling of his arms around you while you slept.

The few times you saw each other in the apartment, he was curt if he made conversation at all. Not even a good morning or good night, just ‘hey’ and ‘bye.’

You’d rather be in the basement at Oscorp getting your brain scrambled than deal with this pain.

-

You had gone on your own patrol and had gotten back way past mid morning in an attempt not to run into Peter. You’d changed into your civies and walked through the front door-

There’s a stranger in your apartment.

She must have not seen you or if she’d seen you, she didn’t care. The entire apartment smells like breakfast-smoky and sweet alongside the bitter sting of coffee.

And she’s wearing Peter’s favorite t-shirt.

It’s fucking Lucy. Lucy from fucking accounting. She couldn’t figure out how to use the copy machine. The goddamn copy machine!

And she was in your shared apartment.

She had slept here, had slept in Peter’s bed, your bed.

She fucked your Peter.

The kitchen isn’t that large, the aisle blocking off the living room is short enough that the two of you make eye contact as soon as she turns her head.

“Lucy, I told you to-” Peter’s voice comes from behind you.

“Get the fuck out of our house.”

How dare he. How fucking dare he. Fucking sleep with some random girl beause you wanted space? You wanted his friendship back and he fucks LUCY?

Her lips are parting, like she wants to say something. Her hand is on her hips, like you’re just some girl in competition. Like you didn’t know how to break her neck in a millisecond, like you didn’t have the training to ruin that pretty face.

In an instant, she was an enemy and your programming slams into overdrive. You’re up and over the counter in a millisecond, the t-shirt bunched into your first.

Superhuman strength is a blessing and a curse. You only mean to maybe shove her lightly.

What you do instead is leave a Lucy sized hole in the cheap door to your apartment. She lands at the end of the hall. Every door on the floor is flung open, revealing shock and amused faces alike-all of them turned to you.

-

“You’re so lucky we weren’t evicted,” He sighed, “And that Lucy was only a little bruised.”

A little bruised was an understatement. Lucy has a contusion in her shoulder that’ll take weeks to heal.

You tried not to look too pleased at the news as you helped Peter install the new door.

“She’s lucky she was only bruised,” You breathe through your nose.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Why did you even bring her here? Couldn’t you guys shack up at her place or something?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back before morning.” He actually has the grace to look guilty, maybe a little sad.

“Whatever.”

More silence.

You chew diligently on your bottom lip until he speaks.

“I’m sorry. It’s been weird these past few weeks. I think…I think it’d be best if I moved out?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, you’re actually comfortable like this? We nearly fuck, we kiss. You mauled my one-night stand! You push me away, you try to reel me back in. Forgive me for getting mixed signals!” His hands move into his hair, running his fingers through it, “I can’t do this anymore, I really can’t! Seeing you, it’s like…it’s fucking torture. I can’t do it.”

“You don’t talk to me for weeks and this is what you have to say!? You think this is easy for me?! God, Peter! I don’t know how to feel about you! I’m a fucking lab experiment gone rogue! I’m barely a person! What part of that screams girlfriend material to you!”

“I’ll let the landlord know I’m getting off the lease. I’ll be out at the end of the month.”

“So that’s it?”

“I can call Stark back, so you aren’t by yourself. I know you hate that. I don’t want you to have to be alone. We just…can’t be alone together. Not like this. Not until I’m over this…”

“Fuck you, Peter Parker.”

The new door slams, the hinges cracking.

-

You’re awake for hours, waiting for him to come home. You smell him before you see him.

Blood. You smell blood, thick and salty, and wrong on Peter.

His suit has been shredded along his abdomen, the blood making the spandex cling to the open wounds.

He nearly falls through the window and you catch him before he hits the floor. Guilt is swift and immediate.

Wordlessly, you help him to the bathroom. He doesn’t fuss, doesn’t put up a fight.

You peel off his suit gently, careful of the-are those claw marks in his chest? Before you can grab the first aid, his fingers are loosely wrapped around your wrist. He pulls you towards him. Pressing you against him, his sweaty bloody body touching your skin. He lets out a tense breath.

“Peter-”

“Just let me hold you. Just for a little bit.”

You can’t say no to him. You let him run his fingers through your hair, rub your back. Gently, you lay your head on his shoulder, trying to be careful of his wounds but selfishly trying to soak up all the emotion and touch you haven’t felt in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” He breathes out after a long stretch of silence.

“I..I’m sorry, too.”

“I kept trying to push you.”

“I was trying to protect you from me.”

He takes your face in his hands. His blood feels tacky on your cheeks. He brings your foreheads together, his breath warm against your lips. You remember what it was like to kiss him. How he’d begged for it, begged for something so simple as that.

The thought makes your body pulse in ways you don’t want to think about. Not right now. His thumb rubs against your cheek, leaving your flesh tingling in its wake.

“I don’t need you to protect me. Let alone protect me from something I want.”

“I told you before, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

He chuckles weakly before letting you go. You grab the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet but still feel his eyes tracing along your back. When you turn, he doesn’t shy away from his staring, a goofy smile still plastered on his face.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Peter, can you focus?”

“So mean to me,” He pouts when you come near him, “I’m injured and you won’t kiss me better?”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Healing factor is making you loopy. Sit up straight, I’m going to disinfect your wounds.”

“Yes ma’am,” In the same scratchy voice that he had when he-

Ugh. You are not thinking about that right now. Even if he’s being too handsy, running his hands over your hips, up your sides. Trying to pull you into his lap.

“I can smell it, ya know? Super senses.”

You want to dose him with the rubbing alcohol bottle just to get him to stop talking. His blood was clotting nicely and you’ve since surmised that most if the blood on him wasn’t him as you feared.

“Smell what?” You dab him gently instead. A tight, clean gauze dressing and the deep marks should go away in a few days. You apply the clean cotton and begin to wrap him up, seconds away from applying skin safe tape.

“When your cunt’s wet, when I turn you on. Like now. Can smell it, always have. That’s how I know you want this too, you’re just scared.”

Your noses touch when you look at him earnestly, “I am scared.”

“I’m scared, too,” His fingers move through your hair, his eyes scan your face, “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t wanna lose your trust.”

It feels good. The silence surrounding you doesn’t feel as oppressive knowing that you’re both in it together. Your eyes close without your permission, lounging once again the comfort of just having Peter touch you again.

“I trust you, Peter.”

You feel his face move further toward you, his lips inches away from yours.

“Say that again,” he whispers breathlessly, “Please, say that again.”

“I trust you.”

-

It was the closest thing to confirmation he was ever going to get, but he’d take it.

His lips press against yours, a soft peck. Another and another until he can feel your body relax. He’s been so starved of you, greed fills him when your lips part. He lifts you up, possessive hands firm on your ass.

God, you were soft. So soft and warm. He wants to devour you, piece by piece.

He puts you on the bathroom counter, your legs hike up over his hips. Your pussy is pressed against the tent in his pants through your thin sleep shorts.

He won’t pull away. His lips leave yours only briefly to catch his breath. Your shaky hands move through his hair and he shutters.

“Missed you so bad,” He whispers, “Missed you so fucking bad.”

His hands move up your shirt, his warm hands traveling up to your bra and then running back down to your thighs.

You whimper, your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. His lips trail pecks from your mouth, across your cheek, and down your neck. The soft noises you make control him. You’ve never experienced pleasure like this and he wanted to be the only one to give it to you.

The only person you’ll ever have. The idea of anyone else seeing you melt like this makes him suck the sensitive skin of your neck between his teeth.

“Peter-“ Slightly desperate. Begging almost.

He pets your hair, “Shh, baby. I’m right here. Do you feel me?”

He pulls your hips tighter to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. When you hiss between your teeth, he can feel himself leak precum.

“Y…yeah…” You move minutely against him, “Yeah, feel you. Feels good…”

He kisses you again, just to taste the words. He pulls away just to get your shirt off. New skin for him to put his mouth on. He unhooks your bra easily, how starved he was for your flesh. He mouths along your collarbones, leaving bruises with his mouth that would linger on your skin.

He kisses down your chest. Your nipples are hard and pink and distracting.

“Peter, Peter, I-“

His tongue swirls around a nub, the other is tortured by his fingers. He pulls it away from your flesh. You try to move your chest further into his face. Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. You gasp and writhe.

Fuck, you’re getting so wet too. He can feel it against him, dampening the front of your panties and his Spidey suit.

His cock aches. He needed to be inside you, couldn’t take getting pushed away again. He was going insane. He was going to jump out of his skin if he had to wait any longer.

“Get down.”

“Wha?” Your voice is thick and heavy. Your eyes are glazed over. It’s making it so much worse.

“Get down, lean over the counter.”

For the first time in weeks, you do as you're told. Your panties are around your ankles before you realize it. He spreads your ankles apart.

Your pussy is pink and glistening. His mouth waters while he admires it. You whine.

“Nah baby, don’t be embarrassed. Most perfect thing I have ever seen…” He kisses along your shoulders, down your back.

His hand moves between your thighs, “You’ve never had anything inside this sweet pussy, have you?”

Your cheeks are flushed, “No…”

He smiles, reaching around your front and pressing against your clit.

“Oh my god-“

“Breathe, baby,” He presses the tip of one finger against your opening, “Gonna open you up so I don’t hurt you. It’ll feel good, I promise. Just breathe.”

One finger slides in instantly. In and out, hearing the sound of your soaked cunt. He can see your legs lock at first as you feel the awkward pressure. You relax again when you get accustomed to one finger. Another slides alongside and you keen as the press against that spot inside you.

“Too much…” You whimper.

“Pretty girl, I know you can take more,” His fingers speed up slightly as you leak against him, “Fuck, you’re so tight. Been dreaming about you cumming around my cock…”

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth opens just slightly. Your hips move back against his fingers. You might be trying to say something, but the only thing Peter can hear is-

“Ah, ah, fuck, please…”

Your face in the mirror is gonna make him lose it. He gently tilts your head back.

“Look at yourself,” He whispers in your ear, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, “Look at what I’m doing to you…”

Another finger, his free hand returns home to your clit. You don’t avert your eyes, even though you really want to. Watching your own skin flush, your pupils unfocuses, your jaw slack.

“‘m so close…so close…”

Embarrassing for you, arousing for him.

He pulls his hands away from you. You whine, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “No!”

You feel the tip of him press against your hole. Protests die in your throat. He’s big. So big, you don’t know if he’ll fit. He might tear you apart. You feel so empty though, open and ready. If he doesn’t do something, your heart is gonna explode in your chest.

You trust him.

He’s trying so hard to be patient. You’re a fucking velvet vice around the head of his cock and he wants to feel you all around him. He pushes in farther, letting out a strained moan.

Your breathing picks up, your eyes squeeze shut. He knows before you say. He can feel your walls pulse, your thighs quivering-

“Cumming, Peter, fuck I’m gonna-“

He nearly finishes right there and then. Your cunt tightens impossibly around him, trying to milk him for all his worth. Your body crumples, nearly hitting the floor. He holds you while you shutter through it, kissing along your temple.

He guides you gently to the floor, laying you on your back before boxing you in with his own. He guides your thighs over his hips.

He slides in much easier after your first orgasm. By the time he’s fully seated inside you, you already accept your fate. He takes a minute to look where you're conjoined, your puffy pussy taking all of him.

He pulls out just enough before slamming back in, watching your face. Your groan, your head lulling back. He does it again, and again. Shallow, slow thrusts to get you used to the weight of him. He’s seeing stars behind his eyes, watching your face contort while he overstimulates you on purpose.

“You’ve got more in you,” He pants out, “I know you’ve got more in you.”

Those swallow thrusts change into deeper, faster ones. Hitting that spot inside you over and over. Your skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat, his blood is drying on your body. The sight of it is making him insane. Peter leans over and starts sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your neck. His teeth trace your jugular.

“One more,” He breathes in your ear, “Gimme one more…”

Your abs are twitching underneath him, whimpering and whining and clinging to him. You say his name over and over, like it’s the only word that exists in your brain.

His thrusts get more sloppy, feeling your own second impending orgasm build pushes him toward the edge.

“Gonna cum inside you…” Not a question, a statement.

No going back.

You only cry out, seeking out his mouth to drown out the embarrassing noises you’re making. He licks into your mouth just as you tighten and gush around him again.

With one final thrust, he cums deep inside you. He bites down hard on your lower lip.

Now, he’s got your blood on him. No matter how small the amount.

“I love you,” He whispers against your skin, “I love you…”

You nod, struggling to catch your breath. You lean your head against him.

“If you love me, really, you’ll help me clean up.”

He laughs. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve heard in weeks.

“Fine,” He presses a noisey kiss to the crown of your head, “Shower?”

“A shower shower,” You say, “No funny business.”

“I promise nothing.”

“Christ, Peter, at least wait until I can stand…”

It’s a start.

[cultofdixon]

That’s one hell of a goodbye

Negan Smith • She/Her Pronouns • Youngest Dixon!Reader • You miss your brothers. You were separated from them since the beginning…then this “savior” found you and grew a liking to you that he did everything to bring your family back. No one said…that blood wasn’t going to be shed for such • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Anxiety / Injuries

Requested by: Anon

Negan stepped out of his car walking the old yet familiar neighborhood to clear his head when he heard footsteps, fast paced ones. He quickly picked up his own to follow the sound and when he reached the house he normally visits, a woman aimed her gun directly at him trying her best to keep standing even if by the looks of it. Her leg was bothering her.

“I ain’t here to hurt yea. I’m unarmed” this was true. On these trips he takes alone, he leaves his gun and knife in his car.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. You’re hurt. I can—-“

“I’m just peachy. Were you following me?!”

“I don’t even know who you are, darling—“

“DONT CALL ME THAT” She snaps, causing herself to stumble a bit as she lowers her gun to crouch a bit gripping her leg. “Fuck”

Negan slowly approaches her as she gave up trying to aim her gun but she did stumble back trying to avoid him getting to her. “Listen. I’ve got a community. With a doctor. He can patch yea up”

“You think I’ll just roll over and trust you right off the bat?” She scoffs continuing to pull herself away.

“No. But this could be a start.” He extended his hand and the woman hesitantly took it. Letting him full on pick her up so that none of the weight would rest on her leg.

Next thing the woman knew she was being carried into this building that looked like an old factory, but she was taken to a well set up room. Something she never exactly had but it looked like the rooms she stayed in when wandering the destroyed world.

“Who’s that Negan?”

“She needed help, mind getting the doctor and tell him to meet in my room?”

“Sure. Is she—-“

“She ain’t a danger. Ain’t bit either.” Negan states pushing the door open with his back and laying the woman down on his bed as she quickly sat up.

“Your name is Negan?”

“Heard it before?”

“No, you don’t look like a Negan…that’s all”

“What do I look like?” Negan laughs. “A Jeff?”

“Not that either” She laughs a bit bringing herself to the edge of the bed. “Just a unique name I guess”

“What’s yours? Given I brought yea here and getting the doc to check you out”

“Right. Right! Makes sense to share my name too…it’s Y/N. Y/N Dixon”

Negan sat in the conference room staring at Simon after being told about the massacre in one of their outposts. The grip on his bat could’ve snapped it in half if he continued to hold it as tight as he did.

“Get the vans ready, and given these people have some connection with our man Gregory in the Hilltop?” Negan gave Simon a look only he understood. “Go get the patrols to keep an eye on these people. Block a few roads. Narrow them in until my big reveal”

“On it, boss” Simon states making his leave as Negan notice him hold the door for a moment to let Y/N in.

The big bad scary leader of the Saviors took his bat and set it aside pushing his seat back enough to give his woman to bring herself onto his lap.

“Were you eavesdropping again?”

“Mm. I know the demon like things you do behind closed doors when I’m not around you.” Y/N brought her arm around his shoulders as he held his head low when she said such. “What happened to turning a new leaf Smith?”

“A lot of my people died. I can’t just turn a blind eye”

“Hm. Sometimes I wish I never learned about what you’ve done. But that would be asking the universe for a lot now wouldn’t it?”

“Are you leaving again?” Negan frowns keeping her close as she messes with the scarf around his neck eventually tugging it off. “Takin’ a piece of me with yea?”

“Mhm. I won’t be gone for long this time. I have a lead”

“Oh? Are you going to tell me about it?”

“Nope”

“Then all I ask is for yea to take a radio and be safe.” Negan gently rubs circles on her back as Y/N gently held his chin forcing him to look at her.

“Don’t do anything too risky, Negan”

And with that she got up from his lap leaving the room to go finish getting ready. Leaving Negan to contemplate everything.

“You’re leaving” Negan frowns finding Y/N rummaging through one of many pantries. She was fascinated by how much the community had but part of her was leaving from something she heard.

“Yeah. I have to find my brothers. I’m not going to give up even if the burning feeling in my chest is telling me something bad happened to them or they stopped looking for me”

“You can always come back to the Sanctuary. There will always—-“

“Listen. Negan…I don’t understand you” Y/N stops stuffing her pack giving him a saddened look. “When you helped me here, I thought I was getting myself into a positive situation…but then I found out you have wives and you’ve killed hundreds. You expect me to ignore that? I’ve been here a month and you’ve kept so much from me. Hell you’ve kept an entire side of the community away from me just so I wouldn’t see who you actually are”

“You don’t know who I actually am because before all this? I was just another deadbeat”

“That doesn’t excuse your actions”

“But I’m gonna be honest with you. From here on out”

Y/N gave him a confused look as he slowly approaches her keeping a respectable distance as well.

“Ever since yea came here. I stopped doing my usual bullshit. Inflicting fear onto those I have under my thumb. My right hand has an ego of his own and makes one of the communities I “rule over” go through hell all on his own. Not saying I don’t take responsibility. I just have too long a leash on the man. Besides. The wives yea knew about? Aren’t my wives anymore. They’ll be pissed and not for the fact that I took them as my trophies but because of the hell I put them through. I haven’t killed a soul since you arrived”

“Will you continue if I leave?”

“I wouldn’t force yea to stay if I said yes. But then again, I wouldn’t. You’ve changed me but none of them will ever forgive me”

“You’re going to keep your rule on these people? These communities? And for what? It’s the end of the world. No one is going to want a president. All they’d want is to survive. Remain safe”

“I’m changing a lot. But I know for a fact, I will act on my anger”

Negan sat in the RV that they highjacked from this man named Eugene who was a sobbing mess sitting in his spot in the line up while the Saviors got the rest of this man’s group in line. Including revealing those they’ve caught in one of the vans they brought.

“Negan?”

The man quickly scrambled getting his personal radio out to reply that he was there. His anxiety built when he heard Y/N on the other line.

“My lead was a dead end.”

“I’m sorry darling…you’ll find uh Daryl right? You’ll find him soon”

“Most likely only him. I doubt Merle is still around…it’s a lawless time. Someone probably took out his racist ass”

“Are you heading home?”

“Yeah. Gonna check on Sherry when I get back and give the doc the meds I found”

“I wish I was there to greet yea when you get back…” Negan frowns when she didn’t immediately reply back in any way but he soon heard a sigh. “Y/N?”

“You’re acting on your anger, Negan.”

And her end turned off. Negan gripped onto the radio tightly before putting it away and right on cue he heard the knock from his right hand.

It escalated. It escalated fast and a man is dead. A man is dead and Negan got a shiner from this brute that should’ve had a hard time getting up given the blood loss from his gunshot wound. The leader of the saviors turned to the now pinned brute while a few sobbed over the death of their friend, their love. He crouched to his level seeing him struggle against those keeping him down.

“You have quite the balls on yea, dontcha?” Negan exhaled a short lived laugh as the brute continued to struggle while one of his men, Dwight readied the crossbow in his hand right at his head.

“Daryl has caused us a lot of trouble. Give me the word and I’ll—-“

“Daryl?” Fuck. Fuck fuck F U C K! Negan shouted in his head as he kept a front when internalizing he wished he was dying. “Yea have a last name or what?”

“Like I’ll tell yea” Daryl struggled some more noticing Negan’s grip on his bat get to the level of a white knuckle grip.

“Is it Dixon?” Negan frowns as the silence grew louder especially when Daryl stopped struggling against his men. Simon took note of what he was seeing as he took his radio adjusting the frequency to match the private one between him and Y/N. Something Negan didn’t know that Simon wrote down for his own future gain.

“Daryl Dixon” Negan repeats over and over with spaced out moments until Daryl nodded. “Do these people know you also have a sister? Y/N Dixon”

Rick and Michonne instantly shot a look to Daryl as his body went limp but not from added injury, but from the shock of how much this monster knew about his personal life. Rick turned to his people as they were going through everything that was happening personally and united but he tried to find a way to get them out of there that when he shot Michonne a look, she shook her head. Knowing what was going on in his mind and how it will most likely kill Daryl if he acted…then he wouldn’t be able to reunite with his remaining living blood.

But that didn’t stop Negan from acting on his anger. His anger toward Daryl’s action and toward his own.

Once Daryl was pulled back to his spot in the line up and the man couldn’t help the silent tears that spilled as they only got worse when Negan held his bat with both hands and simply gave up.

“Back to it”

Then another life was taken, causing more pain than he had initially thought. But in his mind he had to make a point…

He’ll never change Y/N frowns holding the radio in her hands as her own tears fell from her eyes. “Simon”

Simon took a step away from the group once the RV drove off with Negan and Rick. Raising his radio to his face. “Yeah?”

“You’re a monster for this”

“Someone has to tell you the truth”

“Is he taking Daryl back to the Sanctuary?”

“Most likely”

“ETA?”

“I’ll chime in when we leave.” Then Simon turns his end of the radio off looking over to Daryl who kept his attention glued to the life that was taken, that he’ll forever take the blame for.

When Negan showed the leader of their group that he means business and that he’ll be going back to how he ran things. He returned to the Sanctuary before the vans did as he was greeted by a saddened Y/N.

“Darling…”

“You killed people…almost killed my brother?”

He held his head down as Y/N brought herself close looking up at him watching how hard he tried to avoid her beautiful E/C eyes.

“Negan did you—-“ Then her attention quickly turned to the banging on the van that suddenly her older brother Daryl stumbled out of. “Daryl. Oh my god Daryl!”

The youngest Dixon quickly ran to her older brother dropping to her knees in order to hug him. The second he latched on the best he could, he fell silent knowing a few tears fell that once his mind was sure it wasn’t playing tricks. He tightened his grasp on her.

“He killed some of my friends, Trouble” He whispers feeling her hold onto him tighter from her end as her tears spilled but hidden in his shoulder that she soon realized was injured.

“You’re hurt”

“Y/N…we have to leave” He whispered.

“You need to see the doctor. I’ll—-“ then Y/N was pulled away by Negan causing the rage to stir in her brother but he was quickly pulled away by a few saviors and then taken to see the doctor they have. “Let go”

“No. He’s gonna see the doc. Then put in your room. Alright?”

Y/N frowns thrashing in Negan’s grasp until he finally let go when it was just the two of them in the loading dock. The tears spilled down her cheeks causing the knife to dig deeper in the man’s chest.

It didn’t take long for Daryl to get patched up and tossed in this unfamiliar room but there were a few things that stood out to him. The first thing he picked up was an old Polaroid of Y/N when she was little and forced her brothers to join the picture. Merle of course not looking at it and Daryl only complying because it was his sister. Then her army green jacket with a patch on the arm for the biker gang Merle was temporarily in. And a few things that were most likely found in the now but scream his sister. Then she finally entered the room met with an angry yet confused older brother.

“You fucking that guy?”

“Woah! No!”

“Are you sure?! Cuz how do you have all of this with a monster like—-“

“Because he changed for me! He changed for me. Then your group triggered that part of his mind that I can’t reach…”

“Why didn’t yea kill him when you first realized—-“

“I didn’t realize until a month of being here and I’ve been here for six now…I—-“

“STOP SAYING YOU THOUGHT HE CHANGED! You learned the hard way just like I did when it came to Merle saying he’d never do meth again. He “changed” but never truly did.”

Y/N turned away to avoid her tears being noticed because she knew Daryl would be upset with himself and apologize. But he was just being honest.

“He saved me Daryl…he…kept me from losing myself when I had endless runs to look for you” She frowns keeping her head down. “I know you and your friends will never forgive him. I can’t for going back on his word…”

“Y/N…you know this place” Daryl frowns grabbing his sister’s shoulders to get her to look at him. “We need to leave and tear this place down with it”

“I can help you leave…but I’m not leaving with you”

“Y/N”

“Daryl” Y/N brushed his hands off of her looking him dead in the eye with the seriousness she held even in this weird reunion. “If I leave without a word, he’ll come after all of you”

“Please…we’ll end him and you go out free”

“The thing is Dar, I’m not trapped.”

The two didn’t share a word for a few days and Daryl was brought to a cell. But suddenly his door opened and Dwight was with Sherry in their streets. The man gave Daryl his crossbow and vest back as Sherry shined a light on blueprints of the building they found. The two that caused a lot of hell for him before the Sanctuary, were now the two helping him out but little did Daryl know that their escape was planned by his sister.

That kept Negan busy, but also in the know of what the future plan is.

“He’ll come after me, darling. I’ll never be safe even when it’s just the two of us”

“Well, you’re leaving this hell behind. You’ll always be haunted, but you’ll never be alone. And knowing my brother…”

He knows when to stop looking

Daryl stood beside Rick and Maggie, including a few of the community heads that were once under Negan’s thumb watching the place burn once they got all the good people out. He took in a deep breath before walking away from the scene ignoring the concerned questions from his family.

As the fire continues to go and the smoke rises from the ruins of the Sanctuary, Y/N stood within the nearby tree line watching everyone leave in the night as she felt Negan gently take her hand after burying his bat for his own sort of send off. She carefully takes out the Polaroid from before looking at it and remembering the past she never thought she’d wish to go back to knowing she never will.

This was one hell of a goodbye

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy and Luca get better acquainted.

Word Count: 4,586

Notes: Warnings for depictions of torture, blood, pregnancy, use of a slur, and references to past sexual assault.

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Chapter 21: Deep in the Dark

Tommy frowned, reaching into his pocket. He pulled from it his watch, checking the time again, the furrow in his brow only deepening. 

Lucy had promised that she would be back before lunch. And it was well past lunchtime, now. Glancing out the window he was standing in front of, he glowered at the lowering sun, as if that would somehow persuade it to ease back up higher into the sky. 

He hadn’t thought too much of it, when Lucy didn’t show up right on the dot of noon. It was possible that one of her errands had run long and set her behind, or that the talk with Lizzie had taken more time than she’d expected. And then he’d gone and gotten distracted by a meeting, and a particularly panicked phone call from the manager at one of his factories, and had to talk through with Arthur their plans for security at the boxing ring, and before he knew it, a few hours had passed by. And still no Lucy. 

His fingers shifted anxiously against the cigarette he was holding. If she were running this late, surely she would have called him.  

Maybe she was around, and he’d just gotten so lost in his own head that he hadn’t noticed. It was unlikely–he doubted that there was much that could cause him to ignore Lucy–but it was possible. 

He wandered out of his office and over to Michael’s, which Ada had commandeered since his injury. She was sitting at the desk, making notes in a diary when he poked his head in. 

“Ada, is Lucy around?”

“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

He could feel the very beginning thrums of panic starting to build in his veins. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t here, and no one else knew where she was. She hadn’t called…

His first thought was that it was the Changrettas. Luca had gotten ahold of her, somehow. Snatched her up off the side of the road or in a deserted alley. Slit her throat or shot her through the heart, or gutted her, or–

“Tom?” Ada asked. He didn’t say anything, just rounded on his heel and marched back to his office. How? How could Changretta get a hold of her? All the places she’d needed to go to for her errands were in the heart of Small Heath. No way that Luca or his men could get to her there. 

But Lizzie’s house was closer to the outskirts of their territory. He hadn’t been happy about it, but she’d insisted on that particular home, and she wasn’t a primary target of the vendetta, so he’d finally agreed. 

Closing the door, he went to his desk and snatched up the phone, dialing the number for Lizzie’s house. He had been avoiding Lizzie, that was true, shameful as it might’ve been. He just couldn’t deal with her and all…that right now. After the vendetta was done, he would worry about how exactly he was going to handle her and the baby. Or, if things went badly for them, he would be dead, and none of it would matter anyway.  

Frankly, after her little fit over his refusal to break up with Lucy, Lizzie was the last woman in the world who he wanted to talk to. But if it was for Lucy, he would happily brave a conversation with her. 

It was possible that Lizzie was the last person to see Lucy alive. Hell, Lucy might still even be over there. Or had just left, and was on her way back to him at that very moment. 

His fingers flexed on the receiver as he listened to it ring, jaw clenching, closing his eyes against mental images of Lucy laying dead in a ditch, dead in the gutter, dead in a field…

Another thought entered his head, and his eyes snapped open, jaw tightening so ferociously it was a wonder he didn’t damage any of his teeth.  

If Lizzie had done fucking anything to her…

He knew that Lucy was feeling guilty. That she thought it was her fault. That she was keeping him away from a real life with Lizzie. It was a topic he’d been trying to figure out in his head how to best approach with her. How to make her understand that he didn’t want to be with Lizzie. Not now; probably not ever. 

If Lizzie had found and pricked on that nerve, if she had been cruel enough about it, if she had told Lucy that she needed to leave, would Lucy listen to her?

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat at the idea of Lucy slipping quietly back into their home, tearfully packing a small suitcase, and whisking away to the train station, leaving nothing but a note addressed to him in her delicate, loopy handwriting.

Tommy blinked hard, trying to shake the vision away, even as just the idea of it was enough to break his heart. 

The phone kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy woke up to her shoulders aching, a dull throbbing in her right temple. Eyes remaining closed, she lazily rolled her neck from side to side, wincing at the way it popped and increased the pain in her head. Slowly, foggy memories of Luca’s backhand, of her head cracking against the doorframe, of taking a boot to the face, all came back to her in an unfocused haze. 

She was captured, then. Not dead. At least not yet. 

Ears straining, she could pick up little more than the sound of water dripping somewhere, and what might have been the creak of a rope. A distinctively damp scent was in the air. Rot and moisture. Like wet earth. But there was also smoke. The distinctive, almost trademark scent of the coal that burned within most Birmingham factories. And it was cold. Enough so that gooseflesh erupted across her skin.

Finally, with a very quiet groan, she opened her eyes. Almost immediately she had to close them again, the hazy light beaming down from the single bulb in the ceiling causing shocks of pain to shoot up her temples. Angling her face away from it, she eased her eyes open more slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light of the room.

She was dangling above the floor, bound by rope tied around her wrists, hanging from a hook in the ceiling with her arms above her head, bare feet a good foot or more above the floor, made of a dark gray stone. She had been stripped out of everything save her white button down shirt and trousers. Her holster, coat, boots, knives, even her socks and rings, were all gone.

The room was fashioned out of the same dark gray stone as the floor. There were no windows, no pictures on the walls. The door in the center of the wall in front of her looked to be made of heavy, dark wood. There was no furniture, save a single, wooden chair and a small table in the corner to her right. 

And seated in the chair was Luca Changretta.    

“Hello, Miss. Winters.”

She blinked, slowly, another soft groan leaving her lips. One side of her face felt crunchy with what she had to assume was dried blood. Probably had cut her head open when he smashed her temple into the doorframe.

Luca stood, reaching down and grasping the handle of a bucket that he’d had stored under the table. She could hear the water sloshing in it as he slowly approached. He came to a stop a few paces away from her.  

“I’m going to trust you not to try to kick me. If you do, I’ll have your ankles bound too. Do you understand?”

Lucy looked at him with half lidded eyes, weighing her options. Kicking him was unlikely to accomplish much, unless she managed to get her legs around his throat and choke him out, or manage to break his neck. He was a lot bigger than her, not to mention prepared for any attempts she would make to fight back. And she was weak, her head still fuzzy and body aching.

She nodded slowly, genuinely. This was a situation where she would have to bide her time. 

Luca smiled at her, an expression that, despite the authentic softness she saw in it, made her skin crawl. A pulse of fear lodged in her throat, her mind fully processing just how vulnerable she was in her current position. 

Luca came to stand beside her with a hum, setting the bucket down and pulling a wet rag from the depths of the water inside. It dripped copiously as he rang it out, water splashing back into the bucket until the rag was not soaked but simply damp. Taking hold of her head, he brought the rag to her face, and began to clean the blood off of her. 

“Shh,” he murmured, when she hissed in pain. “It’s alright.”

She wanted to twist away from him, but she had nowhere to go. The way that he was holding her head was nothing like how Tommy–who seemed to have an obsession with cradling or touching her head and face–did. When Tommy touched her there, it felt protective. Tender. Like he just wanted to have her as close as possible. Like he wanted to comfort her and remind her that she was always safe with him. 

Luca touched her like a warning. A threat. His long fingers stretched along the length of her skull as if testing whether or not it would be a viable option to try crushing it in his palm. A reminder that at any moment, all he had to do was sharply twist her head with the other hand, and he could snap her neck. 

Lucy swallowed around the bile rising in her throat. She could not let him know that she was afraid. “Where are we?” she asked softly as he continued to clean her face. 

“The basement of a church,” Luca said, surprising her. Again, came that soft, but insidious smile. “Some of the more suspicious of my men think that keeping you in a holy place will help nullify your power.” He seemed to find the superstition funny. 

Finished with the rag, he tossed it back into the bucket, picking it up and carrying it over to the table, setting it down on the floor. It wasn’t lost on Lucy how he did not turn his back to her until she was far enough away she would not be able to reach him with her legs. 

“Originally,” he straightened, pulling himself to his full, impressive height and wiping a hand down his face. He was dressed in just trousers, boots, a waistcoat, and a button down shirt. His suit jacket and overcoat, she saw, were folded over the back of the chair he’d been seated in. His hat was on the table. “I didn’t take my mother’s warnings about you seriously. Not until you threw one of my men’s heads at me.” Hands in his pockets, Luca paced over to stand in front of her. She was bound so high above the floor, that they were almost at eye level without him having to bend down. She wondered if they had done that on purpose. 

Luca leaning in close, breath warm on her face. “So now you have my undivided attention.” 

Lucy fought to keep herself calm. To keep the mask in place. But her heart was pounding in her chest and her shoulders were aching a little more with every minute that her arms remained bound above her head. 

“We’re still in Birmingham, aren’t we?” she asked, and tried to remember all the churches that she knew were in the city. She had never paid that much attention to them before. Everyone knew how much she hated churches. How she never went inside one unless she had no other choice.   

Luca cocked his head. “How can you tell?”

She shrugged, as best as she could, then immediately regretted attempting to. Her shoulder blades twinged in protest. “The smell.”

Luca hummed, looking moderately impressive, but unworried. 

“Is Lizzie okay?” Lucy asked, dreading the answer. 

“The whore?” he snorted. “Yes. I just gave her a little bump on the head. We were there for you, not her.”

She let out a soft breath of relief. Lizzie was alright. And she could raise the alarm. Let Tommy and the others know what had happened. Maybe, after Lucy had been knocked unconscious, Lizzie had heard or seen something that could help Tommy find her. 

“She’ll tell them what happened,” she said to Luca. His lips quirked upwards.

“Are you so sure?”

She felt her face fall without her permission. Because she wasn’t. True, her opinion of Lizzie hadn’t been at its best for a while, but they’d had a good discussion. Things seemed to have the possibility of getting better between them again. 

Surely not even Lizzie would be heartless enough to use the situation as a way to try to get rid of her, would she?

But try as she might to convince herself otherwise, Lucy could not entirely be confident that the answer to Luca’s question was a no.

Luca chuckled darkly, seeing the answer in her face, taking a step closer. 

Lucy forced her eyes not to stray away from his.  

What Lizzie did or did not do wouldn’t make that much difference. Not really. Soon as she didn’t show back up at the office after a few hours, Tommy would be looking for her. He wouldn’t stop until he’d found her. He’d put every man they had on the streets to work looking for her if he had to. 

Lucy lifted her chin. “He’ll come for me.” 

Luca grinned, expression gleeful. “I know. I want him to.” He reached out, and cupped the side of her face with one huge hand that carried with it the promise of endless pain and violence. “I want him to see what’s left of you once I’m done.” 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie’s head was howling with pain, her vision blurry when she first blinked open her eyes. She was sprawled out on the rug of her sitting room, curled on her side. Slowly, painfully, she pulled herself upright, back leaning against the side of the couch, having to take several pauses to breath deep around the nausea that swirled in her gut. 

When she was finally sitting up, she took stock of the damage.

The backdoor that had been kicked in had been set back carefully against its frame. It would still need to be fixed, but from the outside she suspected no one would be able to tell that it was only leaning against the frame with its hinges half broken off. The front door was closed and bolted, and on a quick glance she couldn’t pick out anything from the mantle that had been stolen. The only other evidence of a scuffle was the slight tear in the wallpaper where Luca had smashed her head into it. 

Her hand went to her belly. Please, please be okay in there, she silently begged, closing her eyes.

Why, oh why had she so stubbornly refused Tommy’s offer of posting some Peaky boys to guard the house? 

She knew the answer, of course: because she had wanted to distance herself from this kind of shit. Because she wanted her baby to know nothing but nice things, not blood and gunfire and paranoid, violent men itching for a fight. And because she had wanted to make a good impression on her new neighbors. Her window for accomplishing that was short. Once she started showing, if she hadn’t gotten into at least some of their good graces, she would be labeled the neighborhood tart. 

Hell, that was still likely to happen. But at least if she was able to become friendly with some of them, she might have a chance at holding onto a few friendships despite being an unwed mother. 

If Tommy would just do what he’s supposed to and fucking marry me…

The thought clawed into her mind, latching in there like a leech determined to suck away any joy she had left inside her and leave her angry and jealous and bitter. Lizzie tried to shake it away, and winced at the pain still throbbing in her head. 

Thinking of Tommy brought another memory to her mind. 

“Lucy,” she choked out, scrabbling at the armrest of the couch to help leverage herself up. Again, she had to pause, leaning against the couch in case she lost her footing, waiting for the world to stop spinning before forcing herself further into a fully standing position. 

There was a smear of blood on the front door frame, and more puddled across the floorboards in the entryway. Whether it was from Lucy hitting her head against the doorframe or Luca kicking her in the face, Lizzie couldn’t be sure.  

“You can tell Tommy that we took her. Or not. The decision is yours.” Luca’s voice echoed in her head. Hand bracing against the wall, Lizzie was unable to tear her gaze away from the pool of blood in her entryway.

It would be so easy to not say anything. Just keep her mouth shut. Call someone to come out and fix the door. She still had some of her own money stashed away to pay for the repairs herself. Clean away the blood. Tommy would never even know that Luca had been here.  

 And without Lucy around, maybe Tommy would finally…

Lizzie cringed at herself, disgust and guilt nearly closing off her throat. Christ, had she actually just been thinking about leaving her to the mercy of the Italians? All just out of a little uncontrolled jealousy? 

Lucy had come to see her. That was more than Tommy had done. Ever since she’d told him about the baby, all of their communication had been over the phone or through the agent he’d put her in contact with. And their conversations were strictly only about the house and allowance he had arranged to be sent to her. Once he’d paid for the house, even that contact had ceased. 

Lucy had always tried. Even when Lizzie had been at her absolute ugliest towards her over the years, Lucy had made an effort to show her nothing but kindness and understanding. 

If it weren’t for Tommy, Lizzie would have been entirely happy to be her friend. Often she grew frustrated with herself, at how as much as she attempted to, she could not entirely let go of her resentment towards the woman who had the heart of the man that Lizzie loved. 

But God, Lucy didn’t deserve to die over that. 

Despite her bitterness and jealousy towards her, Lizzie had never once genuinely wished for hurt or death to befall Lucy. 

Besides, Tommy would fucking kill her if he found out that she knew Lucy had been taken and didn’t say anything. 

Hand still resting on the wall to keep herself stable, she hobbled to the kitchen, where the phone was tucked away in the back. 

Or, what was left of it. She froze at the sight of a pile of twisted and dented metal and cut wires that was all that remained of the telephone she’d had installed. 

Shit. Apparently Luca had decided that if raising the alarm to Lucy’s kidnapping was the course of action she decided to take, he wasn’t going to make it too easy for her.  

Slower than she would have liked, she made her way to the bedroom and the attached washroom, checking herself over in the mirror. Bruises were blooming across her throat, but when she felt around the back of her head, she didn’t feel any blood or cuts. She wetted a rag with cool water to put on her throat to try to keep down the swelling of the bruises, and quickly gathered up her coat and handbag. After very brief consideration, she got the little handgun she’d bought for emergencies from where it was tucked away in her nightstand, and slipped it into her bag. 

Winding a scarf around her neck to hide the bruising, she pulled her hat over her head, and hurried out the front door, eyes darting paranoidly from side to side, keeping her hand firmly closed around the gun still concealed in her handbag. Just in case Luca or his men were still lurking around somewhere. 

Steps brisk and purposeful, she began the walk towards the betting shop and offices, realizing only once she was halfway down the road that she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Luca had broken into her home. The sun was setting, so it couldn’t have been more than a few hours, surely. 

It was quite possible that Tommy already knew that Lucy was missing. If she’d been supposed to be back with him by lunch and hadn’t shown up, no doubt he would be looking for her. But he wouldn’t know about Luca snatching Lucy at Lizzie’s house. That was at least some semblance of valuable information that she could offer up. 

Besides, it would be safer to be surrounded by Peaky boys, rather than stashed away out in the outskirts of their territory by herself. Maybe she would just find somewhere to stay that was closer to the yard and betting shop until this whole mess was over. The memory of Luca’s promise, to come for her and her baby once the remainder of the Shelbys were dead, sent a shiver down her spine, a hand going protectively to her belly, and her pace quickening.  

∗ ∗ ∗

“I’m not going to talk,” Lucy said, fingers flexing, running across the rope that bound her hands above her head. It felt thick and strong. Certainly not something that would fray or break easily. She would probably have to get her hands on a knife in order to cut through it. 

“That’s okay.” Luca had lit a cigarette, smoking lazily while he sauntered over to her. Slowly, he plucked the smoldering stick of white from his lips. “I won’t be asking you any questions.” He leaned forward, and very deliberately stubbed the cigarette out against her inner right forearm. Lucy hissed in spite of herself at the sharp burn of ash digging into her skin, leaving a circular welt in its wake.

“Before we begin,” Luca flicked the remainder of the squashed cigarette away. “I want to make something very clear.” He pointed a long finger into her face. “If I catch you trying to escape, I will string you up not with rope, but on fucking meat hooks instead.” He took a step back, face twisting. “It would be justice for what you and Tommy did to Antonio.” 

“You sent him to kill us in our own home. It was self defense. A reaction to your actions. Just like your father’s death was in retaliation for his men killing Grace.”

“Ah, but was that not also in response to John Shelby cutting my little brother? And for what? Over a woman who, let’s be honest, wasn’t actually in love either of them.” He shook his head. “But that’s enough talk for now,” he decided, before she could respond. “Now,” he reached out a hand, caressing the back of it along her cheek. “I’m going to hurt you.” Taking a step back, eyes and smile still trained on her, he began to walk in a slow semicircle around her. His serpent-like eyes looked her up and down, making her stomach turn and her skin crawl. Lucy tried to follow his movements, but once he stepped behind her and into her blind spot, no matter how much she twisted and craned her head, she could not see him. “Something new. Something old. Let’s start with new, first, hm?” 

He suddenly seized the back of her shirt, and yanked. It split open with treacherous ease, and cool, damp air kissed her back. Lucy’s breathing started to pick up, panic building as the vulnerability of the position that she was in grew. The way that her clothes tore so easily from her body reminded her of the night in the alley. Practically a lifetime ago, now, but still haunting her each and every day. The men laughing. The way that their dirty hands pawed, then ripped at her clothes until she was bare to their cruel touches and the painful bite of their knives. 

She flinched as Luca ran his hands along the length of her back, tracing the lines of the gnarly scars given to her that night which still decorated her skin. The remainders of her shirt hung in tatters from her arms and neck, barely concealing her front. Her fingers tightened around the rope to try to hide how badly they were shaking. 

“Already so scarred,” Luca hummed, and for a moment Lucy genuinely thought that she might throw up. “What’s a few more to add to the collection, eh?” With a dark chuckle, he moved around her to the table, from which he picked up something she hadn’t noticed before, lying coiled within the shadows. “Do you know what this is?” Luca held it up, so that she could see that in his palm he clutched the handle of a large whip. From its head sprouted nine knotted throngs of cord, drooping like individual tails as they passed through Luca’s fingers. 

“This is called a cat o’ nine tails,” Luca stroked his hand over the plaited cords again. “It was used as a method of physical punishment by the British Army and Royal Navy. I thought that it would be fitting. These here,” he plucked up one of the tails, running his fingertips along the fine throng until he came to one of the bulging knots that the material was tied into. Each strand had three knots tied into it near the end of the tail. “These were designed to lacerate the skin and cause intense pain.” He held up his index finger. “One blow is sufficient to strike off the skin, and draw blood where the knots dig in.”

Lucy knew that her eyes were wide, her face likely pallid with fear. Pain was not something that she shied away from, but the thought of those leather knots digging into the sensitive skin of her back had her trembling, and not just from the cold of the room. Her eyes darted to the heavy wooden door. Luca chuckled again, making his way around her with slow, even steps. 

She had to have been missing for hours. No doubt Luca had her well hidden. It could take them a while to find her. Her fingers squeezed against the rope, eyes staring at the door as if she could burn holes into it. 

“Tonight you will take punishment for the actions of the entirety of your fucking backstreet, gypsy razor gang. Not just those you personally partook in. I am going to whip you once, for every Italian life that you Blinders have taken. Every single one. Since even before the vendetta began.” Luca’s voice was as calm as if he were merely discussing going for a stroll. 

Just a few hours. If she could hang on for just a few more hours, then surely… 

The whip cracked, and Lucy screamed.     

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[thewritersaddictions]

Drabbles: Karl Heisenberg- Avoid You

You've been ignoring Karl. Like not talking to him during meeting, not laughing along with his horrible jokes, daring yourself to not look at him. It's rubbing him wrong. For weeks now, sure the two of you were close. You were close with everyone, Mother Miranda loved that about you. Her perfect new little daughter.

Alcina, Donna, and you got along with Alcina’s daughter did. Quiet banter between the two of you about flowers, and gardens that you wouldn't wait to help grow during the much warmer months.

Salvatore is like a little brother that you always wished you had. Always asking to do things with you whenever you have the time. But Karl is different, your relationship with him is just odd. Something you can't really place in your mind, or heart.

You live with him for fucks sake. Of course something had to be happeneing between the two of you. Was that one sided you wished not, but you also know Karl. He isn't about relationships, he doesn't do love. He's a loner and it just that simple. You wonder in moments when the life between the two of you becomes very domestic, if he knows how you watch him with a love that makes your heart beat so fast you swear you've died and come back to earth.

You wonder a lot of things, but for you to keep living you have to push him away. No more can you bare to sit with him as he works on his metal army. You can't bare to talk with him as you sit across from each other with dinner each night, so you've opted to having dinner behind your close bedroom door, staying out longer with Alcina, staying to help Donna with a new project, or helping out Mother Miranda and Salvatore.

Anything you can do to push away the feeling that has taken root in the bottom of your stomach. The sicking love that makes you have butterflies whenever Karl looks up at you with that damn cigar tucked between his thick lips.

Karl has noticed, more then noticed. He doesn't understand why all of the sudden you were here and now you'd rather not talk with him, spend time with him.

Hell you're picking others over him. At first he's boiling with anger. He feels like he's not worthy of you, he's gotten so used to your constant loyalty to him.

He feels you drifting away from him, and he's conflicted by it. He worries it's something he's done. He notices the far off look on your face at meetings. He see's how you can't bare to look at him, or talk to him.

Karl can only go on like this for so long before everything just cracks, and the need for answers comes out fast, angry, and rather unplanned.

He catches you when you come into the factory after another night spend not here, not at home. Karl had waited for you, stayed up and it wasn't like he wasn't already awake. Never ever really getting good sleep nowadays.

"Y/n?" He says your name, and it makes you stop in your tracks. You turn on your heels unable to look at him so early in the morning. You were just coming here for a shower and a new set of clothes before you had to get over to Mother Miranda lab. You bit your bottom lip the feelings in the bottom of your chest starting to bubble up. Your silence prompts Karl to walk towards you.

"Y/n, what's…" A rough hand taking hold of your bicep. His large hand wraps around it fully. Middle finger and thumb touching each other as he whips you around to look at him. For the first time since you arrived at the factory. "Please just talk to me… I can feel the fuckin' tension in the goddamn air." His voice is thick, purr like.

Grey eyes asking for something anyting you can give him. He'll take it even if it's the worst of the worst. If it ends with you walking away from the factory forever walking away from him forever. He'll just grin and bare it. You think of words, anything to say to him, but nothing of worth comes out. Just blubber, "Karl I… you have to know… I'm just…" He stares down at you. "Fine… don't tell me." Karl is acting like a child and he knows it, so do you.

He drops his hold on your bicep and just looks at you. There's a sort of sadness you've never seen in the grey eyes before. "I don't know how to… Karl things would just be…" Your thoughts are scattered in the wind as Karl realizes a few things. He's more confused then he's ever been. By his mind, and his heart. Karl also realizes that you won't ever say the truth until he gives you no other option.

"Why Y/n, just why have you been avoiding me? Huh, you don't even… you used to spend all your time with me. You just picked up and left." There's a sadness in his voice. His normal bombastic voice that echos on the steel walls. It breaks your heart, crushes it in a million tiny pieces.

There's concern, and sadness etched into the strong jawline, and lines in Karl face. You want to hold back your thoughts, but you can't bare their weight anymore. You take a deep breath Karl watches you like a hawk. Mustering up strength and gusto. "BECAUSE…" You start, Karl cocks a brow, "Because why, Y/n?" Karl coaxes you, "FOR FUCKS SAKE KARL, BECAUSE I THINK… FUCK I THINK I'M FALLING FOR YOU, OKAY?" You didn't mean for it to come out as a scream, or to shout at him.

"That's why I've been…" "Avoiding me." Karl says finishing off your senetence. You nod, frustration and the weight leaving your body. You're waiting for the ending of it all for the loud voice to scream at you, but it the exact opposite that happens. Loud sounds of his boots hit the ground as he walks over to you. Grabbing you so you look at him, eye to eye. "Y/n, are you serious?" He asks, biting his own lip.

You nod, and his face controts in seconds. The seriousness changes into a love sick, cocky grin. 'Fuckin' hell then, darling why didn't you say something sooner?" You can't help the bitch face that you give him, Karl laughs. "Well if it makes it any better darlin' I like I'm fucking falling too." Karl mutters before pulling you in to his chest.

He leans down, a hand in your hair as he leans down to reach your lips. You stand on the tips of your toe just to barely get to his lips. His beard tickles your cheeks, and chin. But the kiss is life bringing, makes you tingles in the best way. And when Karl asks for entrance to your mouth you let him have it.

Completed on: 08/10/23

Posted on: 08/30/23

House Heisenberg-

[foodfightnovelization]

Foodfight! The (OFFICIAL) Video Game

Yes, you read the title right! No it's not the fangame I made a couple months ago, this is the real deal, the whole enchilada, the ACTUAL Foodfight! tie-in game! Shortly after ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight was released, its creator Ziggy, myself, and everyone else in the Foodfight! community thought we'd found everything there was left to find. After all, we'd uncovered the workprint, the novelization, almost all the original footage, Ziggy had interviewed countless people who worked on the movie, some character models had even been found...so that was it, right? But as I hinted at in my last few posts, the Foodfight! story wasn't quite over yet.

Reese, a friend of Ziggy's, had reached out to one of the developers involved in the Foodfight! tie-in game that was set to be released alongside the movie, and shortly after ROTTEN came out, Ziggy also managed to get in touch with them. One thing led to another and we were sent a HUGE 10GB folder of art, documents, models, and footage related to the game. What you see above is a concept submission trailer created to show off the game and what it'd look like, similar to the pitch reel created for the movie itself. Needless to say, this blew our minds! If you've read my previous post on the subject, you'll know that up until now the only thing anyone had EVER seen of this game was a few seconds of grainy footage from E3 2006. To go from that to a whole stockpile of material from its development was INCREDIBLE! To learn more about how this found its way into our hands, I'll direct you to a blog post from Ziggy himself, explaining a little more about the game's developers (and relaying a truly hilarious story about Larry Kasanoff)

However, I want to talk more about the INCREDIBLE plethora of material included in the folder that was shared with us. Ziggy uploaded everything he was sent to archive.org, so I'll link it below if you'd like to peruse the files yourself, but keep reading if you want to know more about what's included!

Just to start off with, the footage from the above concept trailer and the assorted screenshots- doesn't it just look awesome? It's way more visually appealing than the finished movie ended up looking, for one thing, and it's seemingly inspired more by the early pre-motion capture footage than anything that came later on. It's also just mindblowing to finally see all this, to suddenly go from knowing basically nothing about the game to knowing so much about it! And best of all...doesn't this just look EXACTLY like a movie tie-in game from the mid 2000s? I mean, that shouldn't be too surprising, that's exactly what it is, but tie-in games of that era had a very specific look and feel and this just takes me right back to that. Remember the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory game where you're racing around on a trashcan lid, the Spider-Man game where you're running around Oscorp avoiding security robots, or the Incredibles game where you're rushing through a burning building fighting guys with flamethrowers? Doesn't this just look EXACTLY like one of those?

And you might be thinking "it's too bad we only have a few minutes of footage and some screenshots, I wish we could know even more about what the game would've been like". Well, your wish just came true! Buried deep in the files is a copy of the game's design documents, telling us EXACTLY how each level would've played out! (If you're struggling to find it, it's in AUDIO> Final Drop> FF> Docs) So not only do we get to see a ton of what the game would've looked like, we also get to see how the whole thing would've come together, with 26 action-packed levels consisting of a variety of different gameplay types. Looking at several other files, it seems like the number of levels may have been cut down to 15 later in development, but hey, it's fairly common for design docs to be more complex than the finished game. Regardless, reading about everything they had planned...this really is the ultimate stereotypical tie-in game. I mean, just look at some of these level descriptions! Isn't this every movie-based game you've ever played, all rolled into one? You can bet your boxtop if it had made it all the way through development, it'd easily have the honor of being one of the few tie-in games BETTER than the movie it was based off, although considering how the finished film turned out maybe that's not saying much.

Based on what the developers said in the article linked above, it's unclear exactly how much of the game was finished before it was cancelled, and unfortunately it's incredibly unlikely they'll ever be able to compile a build together to send our way. However, there's just SO much included in this folder it's hard to complain. Not only do we get basically a complete picture of how the game would've come together from all the documents, screenshots, audio, cutscenes and footage included, there are all kinds of additional files that are both interesting and incredibly useful.

Not only are there models and environments from the game itself (unfortunately the only character model included seems to be Dex), there are also models of the ENTIRE CAST taken directly from the earlier version of the movie! Every main character is here, from Dex to Sunshine to Mr Leonard, as well as a bunch of other models such as Dan's plane and cockpit. This is HUGE, and I can't wait to see what talented artists will do with all these resources. At the time I'm writing this, someone already ported several of the models into SFM (Source Filmmaker) and another made several animations in Blender!

I'm sure even more will happen soon, but right now this is pretty incredible. Who thought this would EVER happen? That one day we'd have models of every main character, a complete workprint of the movie from 2005, a tie-in novelization, footage of the long-sought after videogame, and so, so much more. In the span of less than a year, Foodfight! went from some of the most obscure lost media of all time to some of the most well-documented lost media of all time. We have so much there's no way I'd ever even be able to discuss it all, that's how far we've come in the past few months.

Seriously, I've barely even scratched the surface of what's in this folder. There are 3D cutscenes from the game, 2D cutscenes, concept art for the planned toy line, footage of prototypes of those toys in action, MORE gameplay footage, previously unseen storyboards not included in the workprint, raw audio of Charlie Sheen's voice sessions from the movie, tons of songs from the game, the entire score from the movie, and that's STILL not everything! I mean, holy chips! I STRONGLY encourage you to download the folder for yourself and take a look...maybe you'll even find something I haven't yet?

I really think that with this folder now out in the public, this is as much closure on Foodfight! as we'll ever get. I know I always say that and then there's some amazing discovery a few months later, but this is just such a huge smorgasbord of material that I don't even think we can count Foodfight! as lost media anymore...okay, we haven't found absolutely everything so it's partially found media at best, but could you really ask for more than all this? We have countless models from the movie, design docs and footage from the planned tie-in game, early drafts of the script, we know EXACTLY what the movie and game were going to be like before everything collapsed... now, if you're so inclined you can take all that and make something out of all of it, but me? I'm pretty satisfied just having the knowledge. Knowing what could've been before it all fell apart, getting to see so much I never thought I'd get a chance to see... right now, I'd say my Foodfight! cravings have been satiated. Unless another monumental discovery is unearthed anytime soon (at this point I wouldn't be surprised), I think there's really not much more to say. If nothing comes up in a month or two, I'll make a post showing off my personal collection of Foodfight! merchandise, an epilogue to the past year I've spent obsessing over this movie. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy the absolute treasure trove of Foodfight! material that's been discovered! Dig through it all! Make something out of it! There's so much in these files, you could create your OWN Foodfight!, with blackjack and hookers!