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kentochronicles · 3 years ago

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This is literally one of the greatest fan fictions I’ve ever ready - amazing writing, characterisation, and work @charnelhouse - instant follow, and looking forward to more 😍

keep your vigils on the road

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector x F!Reader, a third pairing ;) Wordcount: 4.2K Warnings: Explicit AF. Rough smut. Gore. Oral. Mental Health Strugs. Choking. Summary: They're on the run. It's kind of a vacation. A/N: potential spoilers for Moon Knight and future episodes if my guess is correct.

Steven’s on the run.

He should have known that it was going to lead to this. His life is in tatters. It has erupted quite spectacularly. He’s wanted for multiple murders that he didn’t commit.

The thing is - Marc didn’t either.

“Wear this,” you instruct, passing a baseball cap into his hands. Your voice is gentle and soothing as rain. He misses the London rain. He misses those lush hilltops of England. The sand here is baked. The air is dry and smells like toasted crackers. He’s wading in deep water here.

Then again - he never thought he’d be in America. He never thought he’d be driving cross country with a girl so completely out of his league it’s almost silly.

“Treat this as a vacation,” you advise him. He’s positive you’re telling Marc something else. He’s positive you are trying to keep him from the truth about how dire their situation is.

All he understands is that you have deep pockets and connections in high places. You’re able to get them fake passports and bundles of money. There are safehouses dotted across the USA that they are burning through. “We have to keep moving,” you sigh as you scroll through your phone - as you chew your lip when you read another mysterious message. “No more than two weeks per spot, maybe three if we don’t cause a ripple.”

“How would we cause a ripple?”

“Murdering more people.”

“Alright,” Steve nods. “Well - we’ll be on our best behavior, yeah?”

“I’m not worried about you, Steven,” you remark in such a way that it makes his heart flutter. He doesn’t really think about the implication that his other would - indeed - murder more people.

Their landscape changes continuously. The mountains to the desert. Oceanside. Lakeside. A forest. A canyon. Hot springs. Waterfalls.

“Never thought I’d see any of this,” Steven murmurs as they watch the orange sun spill down the back of Mount Rainier. It turns the snow the color of juice. “Mental,” he adds as an afterthought - after his fractured brain puts together all of the events that have led him here. The Jackal and then Egypt and the failed mission and then all the death and coming to drenched in blood that was so thick it felt like syrup. He had left a trail of bodies in his wake. A nest of limbs and blank, slack faces. I’m sorry, he thought. I’m sorry I didn’t-didn’t -

And then everything hit him. The corpses. The scent of iron and cordite and piss. There was a distinct aroma to death. Steven never thought’d he’d have to learn that and yet…

What’d I do? What’d I do? What - how? Marc?

It wasn’t me! Fuck - this is not good. This - this is really -

It was you who had jumped into action. “Calm down,” you ordered in that firm, kind voice you had. “I’ve got this.”

You had whisked Steven off into some back room under a Cairo hostel. “Trust me,” you assured him. “Trust me. I have people I can call.”

He doesn’t remember the flight to the states. The journey flickered between Marc and him and it was the first time he wished that he didn’t have the body. Instead - Steven was stuck swallowing his own tongue and heartbeat as the tiny plane you ordered bounced and jerked.

Five hours in, Marc finally reappeared in the plane’s bathroom. He was eyeing him over the sink, his figure blurred by multiple fingerprints.

“Finally showed up then?” Steven spat. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

Marc ignored him. “I’ve been going over this - over everything.”

“Yeah. And?”

“There has to be another.”

“Another what?”

“Another us.”

***

In America, Marc calls you baby. For him, this really is a vacation.

Khonshu has been unnaturally quiet, bubbling at a low hum in the depths of his body. The mission failed. He failed and Khonshu has nothing more to say. He’s brooding. He’s out of ideas. It does not matter. He does not have to think too fast about how to fix the cracks. He’s been alive for thousands of years. He is good at waiting.

There are no people for Marc to fight. There are no sewers he must climb down or villains to defeat in alleyways. He’s running for his life and yet it is so much better than the day in and day out curse of being Khonshu’s fist of justice.

Plus - he’s playing outlaw with you. He’s a fugitive with you. They’re mostly fucking around rather than laying low, which is probably not a good idea, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters that much anymore.

You and Marc go to a rundown bar called Black Kettle in Carmel and makeout like hormonal teenagers. The music is all from eighties hair bands and the regulars keep to themselves, actively trying to ignore the way he gropes you. You’re nearly in his lap and he keeps slipping on the peeling leather booth. His hand clasps the nape of your neck as his tongue slides warm and deep into your mouth.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he growls between kisses and under the shriek of Axl Rose and Woah-oh-oh-oh! Sweet child o’mine. He senses Steven watching them in the reflection of a butter knife. He doesn’t really mind.

The ceiling is covered in a vine-tangle of Christmas lights. Paper stars hang from rafters. He touches you over your jeans - pushing his thumb against the zipper as you grind into it. “Don’t tease,” you pout, your nails skating the back of his scalp - catching in his mop of curls. He hasn’t cut his hair in an age. He’s barely shaved and his stubble rasps across your chin and jaw leaving your skin chafed to a near-ache.

“Bathroom?” he asks because he’s so hard that he might just blow before he gets inside you.

“Beach,” you counter and then they’re out of that bar and flying down the street. He’s got his hand in yours as he drags you toward the dark band of the coast.

The sand is white-soft. It feels like walking on silk. He is careful with you. He is nothing like what he usually is. He’s not rough or demanding. He coaxes. He seduces. He tugs off your pants and underwear and lifts your pelvis to his mouth where he slicks his tongue through the seam of your sex. He laps and suckles as you writhe and cry out. His hands cup your ass. He feeds himself all the while murmuring how good you taste and how stunning you are and how he is happy.

He plants his forearms on either side of your head. He braces his weight as you grasp around his cock and guide him inside you. It’s tight and burning hot. You are soaked from his tongue. He fucks you first in shallow thrusts - three inches in before he draws all the way out. You cling to his shoulders, your thighs framing his hips.

“Please, Marc,” you beg. Your eyes wide and striking beneath the cool sheen of a crescent moon, the continuous crash of the surf not far from his feet.

“More?” He drops his head and noses at your cheek and then into your hair where he smells sunscreen and salt water taffy. They ate so much ice cream earlier that you’d had to lie down for an hour and what a blessing it had been - to have the ability to do nothing. “Do you need more?”

You nod frantically - desperately trying to raise your hips for more friction. He grins as he delivers a sharper stroke - one that seems to hit the back of your cunt and force an oh from your throat. He crushes his mouth to yours until his breath is your breath - until your whimpers are his - and every sheathe to the hilt stretches you - molds your body around his shaft. You’re mine. You’re ours. He plucks your clit and your walls go unforgivably tight - so tight his release bombards him - shatters him, causing him to finish before he can pull out. It’s over - oozing from your pussy and rather than panic, he just uses his fingers to plug it back in. A strange feral sort of marking.

“Not smart,” you chide.

“I’m an idiot,” he says before lowering his head to taste himself and how you flavor him.

***

Marc talks to Steven in the mirror or Steven talks to Marc. Just depends. There’s blocks of white space between them, you see? There are definite moments where they are both blind and deaf to whatever their body is doing.

There’s a third alter. A third man. The same one who had to have committed all those murders back in Egypt and then London and then Turkey.

“Why don’t we just ask her?” Steven hates being in the ether - the muddled world between reality where he must wait. It’s gotten easier. It’s gotten less heavy, but it’s still unpleasant.

Marc wraps his fingers around the porcelain rim of the sink. His knuckles turn bone-white. “I don’t know. She hasn’t brought it up so maybe she doesn’t even realize it’s someone else.”

“A little fucked if she thinks that we killed those people, innit?”

“She’s - she’s just a very forgiving person.”

It’s true. You have a whole life that they really don’t know about. They don’t even remember how they first met you. You had simply slipped into their routine - not even blinking at the fact that he was a vigilante in a moon-bright cape and Steven worked in a gift shop, but could decipher ancient texts in under a minute.

You had resources. You had numbers to call. He woke up covered in blood from a new slaughter and you simply pulled him into the shower and washed it from his skin.

Marc stares down at you as water sluices between your tits - dampening the soft curls above your cunt. He notices the water cling to your lashes and catch on your bottom lip.

“Hold still,” you order as you drag a wash cloth across his chest, down his arms, between his fingers and legs. He stares in wonder - in shock. You glance up at him, pausing as you register the look on his face.

“What?”

“Why are you here? Why are you doing this? You should get out…I’m…fuck I’m dangerous.”

You drop the cloth and cradle his cheeks. You tug him down and he goes willingly and the kiss is dirty and innocent at the same time. His mouth move furiously against yours. Your nails dig into his face. He lifts you up with all of his magic strength and holds you against the wall and with one quick thrust, he’s inside you.

“You’re not dangerous,” you sigh and he fucks you harder.

***

Steven doesn’t mind the safehouse in California. They’re in a place called Riverside where the air is stamped with the scent of citrus. There are lemon trees. Orange and tangerine trees. Old Spanish style architecture. Mexican fan palms that brush up against the powder blue sky. Bougainvillea the color of magenta and peach-pink. The buildings here are newer than in London. Nothing like Egypt.

It doesn’t seem to matter though. He spends his days in the house with you. He goes hours with his mouth on your pussy and yours on his cock in some yin and yang position where they curl around each other. The house is secluded away in the hills. One-story. Easy escape routes.

He sleeps well here when he’s in control of his own body. He enjoys wrapping himself around your back as the air conditioning ticks and rumbles. The heat is unforgiving. The sand is closer to dirt and it sticks to his tongue and in his nose. His skin goes golden brown. You pick up Yorkshire Gold and it reeks of home.

Still - he would rather be here with you.

He holds you in the shower, his cheek resting on the rounded curve of your shoulder. He’s already hard, cock nudging against your inner thigh. The shower is lukewarm as it pelts them. The humid wet-air inside this tiny tile box smells like your fancy jasmine shampoo and eucalyptus and ivory soap. You thread your fingers through his curls, gently tugging on it as his hands coast down your back and then the hump of your ass. He knows every part of you now. He knows how deep he can sink his tongue. He knows how to curl his fingers just right. He knows how to kiss you and it’s not how Marc kisses. He uses less tongue and more pressure.

He wouldn’t mind living in you. He wouldn’t mind devouring you in some pseudo-Kronus way or maybe you could devour him and he could be your rib. After all, he has never felt safer than when he is with you. You always have the answers. You always know what to say when his world gets disturbingly small.

Should he ask you about the third man? Would that break the spell of this? You letting him hold you under the sheeting spray of cool water.

***

Marc comes to with blood in his mouth. He scans the room where there is absolute wreckage. Broken furniture. Wispy white stuffing spilling from tears in fabric-covered cushions. The tv is a smoking mess as it lies silently on the floor. The screen cracked.

Something burns in his palm and when he glances down, he grimaces. There’s a gun in his hand, his thumb idly stroking the barrel. He drops it abruptly and it clatters.

There’s a dead man on the floor. The top of his head blown clean off. Red is soaking into the cheap linoleum. He shouts your name, panicking.

“Here,” you call from behind. Your voice is weak and hoarse. When he turns, he finds you huddled against the wall. Your hand rests on your throat, your lashes fluttering.

“They broke in,” you explain. You are very far away. Your stare is somewhere else. The dead man is not a policeman. He is not FBI. He’s in all black with a red emblem on his chest.

“They?”

“There are - there are two more in the bedroom.”

“Did they hurt you?” Marc’s tone is blisteringly harsh. He is both confused and pissed off. He doesn’t like this. His hands itchy with blood and the house covered in a thin film of dead bodies.

“No,” you say and he knows you’re lying. There’s subtle swelling beneath your eye, but he won’t point it out. At least, not tonight.

He gazes down at the body. Just a body. Just an unknown. There are others after them, then. He puts that much together. He isn’t just running from the law or the government or - whatever

“That wasn’t me,” Steven announces from his reflection in the shattered television screen. “Must have been the other one.”

“Must have been,” Marc says under his breath.

“This place is compromised.” You rise up on unsteady feet. You square your shoulders and shove yourself away from the wall. It’s quick - a flickering shift in your expression that now means you are ready to plan and strategize and move forward as opposed to back. You never go back. You never think of what they have left in their wake. “I’ll get the car ready. You pack.”

***

You drive fast. Rubber squealing and burning underneath the tires. They’ll have to ditch this vehicle for another. It’s never really an issue. He knows that you carry credit cards that are connected to a mystery source. Infinite funds.

You punch the radio on and it’s The Wallflowers. It’s Third Eye Blind. It’s James Taylor. It’s Donna Summer. In the rearview mirror, Steven mutters about wanting Coldplay. Marc twists the knob to another station and something ruthless and jerky spills out. Something modern. Alternative.

“Who is he?” Marc finally asks.

You lift one perfect eyebrow as you shoot him a sidelong glance. “Who?”

Your fingers are clenched around the steering wheel and you’re flooring the gas as they go into the deep blue-black horizon of another territory. There’s another mountain range. There’s cacti. There’s sand. There’s husk-dry craters where there once were lakes. There’s a new city. A gas station. There’s the moon.

“Don’t play dumb.”

You are silent for what feels like hours, but is probably just a minute. You inhale sharply as if you’ve been stabbed before you release a long, winding breath. “Jake.”

“Jake?” he repeats before he starts wracking his brain for any sort of memory of a “Jake”. How can he be unaware? How can he not know about another person in his head or in his body or in his bones?

“He was the first,” you tell him. “The first one I met and then it was you and then it was Steven.”

That explains the rest. How easily you picked up after “Jake” tore a violent hole through various countries. How you adapted to Marc and Steven.

“He’s a killer,” Marc says.

You bristle. “Pot. Kettle.”

“I kill bad people.”

“He does, too,” you snap. Your gaze is still hard on the road. “He might just be a bit…reckless.”

There’s nothing else to say. Marc settles into the passenger seat and keeps glancing up into the rearview mirror, in case “Jake” decides to make his appearance.

You drum your fingers over the steering wheel. The headlights burn neon-streaks across the shadowy highway. It’s desolate out here. It’s empty. He opens the window, he needs some air. The wind burns its mouth across his cheekbone - it ruffles his hair. His chest is tight.

Finally, Marc lifts his arm and touches your cheek. “Are you safe with him?”

He’s seen what Jake can do. He’s seen the broken things he has left in his wake. “Yes,” you reply, leaning sweetly into Marc’s palm. “He’d never hurt me.”

His hand slides from your cheek to your hip to your thigh. You’re still in a sundress because it’s spring in the West. There’s a spot of blood under your eye from those three corpses now rotting in their Riverside house.

Was it a house though? Was it their home? For a minute, perhaps. Now home is the road and the car and you sitting beside him.

The hills are dark and bald. The sun has not yet risen. You spread your legs and he moves his hand further until his knuckles meet the cloth of your panties. He curls three fingers around the crotch of the fabric before tentatively grazing his fingertip through the slit of your sex. He is murderously slow. He is lazy about it. He watches your face as he strokes your cunt. He gloats at the way you bite your lip and the furrow between your brows and still - you do not beg him.

“Just fucking do it!”

A ragged, coarse voice - not Steven’s - bursts from the rearview mirror. Marc jerks and he looks up, but there is nothing there aside from the reflection of the dark night at their backs.

He frowns and then glances at you. There’s recognition in your expression. There’s a knowing. Did he come to say something? Did he come to speak to you, Marc?

Marc glares before leaning forward and latching his mouth to your throat, he shoves two of his fingers inside you and your foot goes down on the gas. It jolts them both and he does not let up. He finger fucks you ruthlessly - your pussy making wet, sucking noises with each thrust. Your hips buck and your head falls backward and he bites the vein in your neck. Low, broken noises sound from his chest as he fills you up - as he jams himself inside you to the knuckle.

“Let me make you come,” he grunts. “Let me make you feel it. Pretty fucking baby. I love how tight you are - how wet you get.”

You gasp softly - elegantly - like a maiden. A wisp of a moan. You’ve got your hands on the wheel and your foot nowhere near the brake and it’s all calm on that front aside from your pussy clamping down on his fingers.

“She likes it when you twist your fingers up and rub that patch behind her clit.”

It’s that stranger’s voice in his head - in the mirror. Marc doesn’t look.

“C’mon, Marc. Make our “pretty baby” come.”

It’s mocking. It’s mean. Still - he does what it says and the effect is instantaneous. You break out with a high-pitched oh and then you’re wetting his hand - the seat. You’re gushing like a fountain and Marc can’t quite believe it. He draws his fingers from you and puts them in your mouth. It’s an act he’s never done before and yet he feels as if he has. You wrap your tongue around them - taste your own salt.

Afterward, you fuck him in the backseat and you’re still shivering from the climax. You’re warm and cold at once. You hold his head to your tit and, at some point, Steven takes over. He rests his cheek above your nipple that he’s sucked raw. He listens to the subtle thrum of your heartbeat.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads as you ride him, hips rolling back and forth on his thighs and his cock buried balls deep. “I couldn’t bear it.”

You pause and stare down at him. “Why would I leave you?”

It’s because there’s a new wrench thrown into the mix. This other. This Jake. Steven knows the world with Marc. He gets Marc. But this other one is something entirely different. Scary.

“I don’t know,” he says - averting his eyes. “I have a bad feeling.”

You sigh, gripping his face between your hands and kissing him so hard, their teeth click. “I wouldn’t. I’d never.”

Steven has never felt so physically present in his life than right then. He’s got you around him hot and tight as a fist. He’s got your softness and your kindness and your love if he dares to dream it. You had told him once - in the very beginning - that you had found him both utterly sweet and oblivious. Totally harmless.

It had hurt him initially. It was obvious that you saw Marc as a worthy partner while Steven was forever characterized as the bumbling fool. The worm.

“I thought that,” you continued. “I believed that until you’d start speaking in French or Mandarin and then solving ancient Egyptian puzzles. How you spoke of the stars and history and it was - fuck Steven - it came out of you with such conviction and it was so obvious how special you were.”

Steven isn’t sure when this journey will stop. He isn’t sure when he will return to London and the warmth of that loft. The hundreds of books. The pages crisp and lined. His thin mattress and ankle restraints.

He deepens their kiss. He doesn’t mind going North. He doesn’t mind at all. He stops fretting about the lack of rain.

***

They see flashes of Jake. They see him with you in mirrors. He is tense and angular. He is a bit laissez-faire except when it’s just easier to kill someone than leave them to the crows. They never have full conversations. He seems to only really come front and center to speak to you or fuck you or both.

Does he not like us? Steven grumbles. Bit of a bastard, yeah?

Marc agrees.

Marc and Steven watch as he bends you over the sink in the shitty motel bathroom. His pupils are pitch dark as he meets their twin glares in the mirror. His hips snap against your ass with the inexorable sound of sweat-slick flesh meeting flesh. Again and again. You groan as his hand grasps the nape of your neck like a collar. He uses it to anchor you - to hold you still as he continues to ram into your pussy - filling you up. Sometimes he tugs your head back so he can kiss you slow and rough with his eyes wide open and directed at Steven and Marc.

Fucker.

He is silent. He is always silent. Haughty and smug as you come on his cock. He spreads the lips of your cunt so he can flick his thumb over the tiny bundle of nerves. You go boneless, collapsing into the sink and he wraps his arms around you, hauls you to his chest.

“It’s alright,” he coaxes as he carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on the ugly, flowered bed. “It’s alright, princess. Jake’s got you.”

And then he kisses you all over, stretching you, kneading you, licking you messily beneath the mirrored ceiling in the trashiest room they could find in Nevada.

“Stop antagonizing,” you finally chide once you are limp and sated. You roll away from him and onto your stomach. He grabs your hips and lifts them so that he can stuff his face between your legs from behind. He inhales crudely. His eyes glinting at the ceiling while the others stare down.

***

You are an obsession for Jake. You are a lover for Marc. A dream for Steven.

You are not easy to possess because even when one of them does have you, you are still split into thirds One slice for each of them. Now, it is a group of three (and Khonshu) trying to make peace in one skull.

They are still on the run. There is an invisible monster at their heels and most of the time they forget because they’re concentrated on the journey. The leather passenger seat. The landscape. The horizon line. Their fingers inside you. Street tacos shared on an empty beach.

Just this long road of cracked asphalt and scorched earth as they go straight West. As they go North or South, but never back East where the world is still waiting.

“Don’t question it,” you tell Marc and Steven about Jake. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him in under control.”

“Okay,” Steven relents. “Alright - as long as he’s treatin' you as he should.”

“I don’t care if you have it taken care of,” Marc rumbles. “He seems like a fucking mess.”

“It’s fine, baby,” you singsong as you ride shotgun. “Let’s go”

It's probably not fine. But Marc has learned that you're stubborn as a fucking mule and there's no changing your mind when it's set.

Just chill. Just relax. We've got the time.

You roll the windows down and he drives 100 miles an hour. It’s all dry desert air until they hit the coast and then it’s balmy. You crank the music up until the volume shudders and pounds and it’s some band that Marc doesn’t know, but Steven does and so Marc let’s him take over because why not?

They’re on the run and it’s the happiest he’s ever been. No justice to deal or alternative lives he has to keep balanced. It only seems to be a matter of avoiding whatever is chasing them. Maybe - Khonshu will fill in if the danger truly gets rough.

Marc tucks his baseball cap down over his nose and grabs your hand as they walk down some nameless avenue near the bay in another silver city. They go to bars and motels and diners and safehouses on quiet suburban streets.

He could live at the ends of the Earth and be content if it was just like this.

They speed out into the dark, following the egg-shell stream of headlights and yellow road paint and the concrete median. Marc laughs. Steven laughs. Jake is silent. It all comes out at once. He thinks he’s probably ignorant - oblivious - that there is something coming that could end this for all of them. He doesn’t really care. He swings the wheel and goes faster. You lean over, pressing your face into his shirt. You call him beautiful.

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kentochronicles · 3 years ago

Note

I’m a bit late, but baby this was so good as always!! Always so soft for Jay 🥺

Jason doing his best to revive you, his girlfriend, after suffering the same fate he did in the hands of the Joker. He couldn't and didn't accept that you were dead, so he goes back to the Lazarus Pit with Damian out favorite brat and brings you back to life- but give it an angsty ending <3 i fucking love angst even if it kills me. Also i went crazy for the bf jason when you're on your period, it was hilarious!

Come back to me

Main Masterlist

Word count: 815

Warnings: death, a bit of violence, angst, kinda happy ending??? its an ending I'll tell you that

A/N: Y'all I am SO sorry this took so long but I'm officially done school!! so hopefully i can get back into writing i have so many requests to get through. This is kinda rough and short as I'm still getting back into the swing of things but I hope you enjoy :)

Y/N!” his voice echoed across the room. He pulled at the chains with all his strength but it was no use. He stopped making threats long ago, knowing he couldn't reason with the clown but that didn't stop him from pleading with him to leave you alone.

Your broken body lay on the ground. The only sounds that left your lips now were whimpers of pain when the crowbar came down on you. You had stopped moving now, just laying there.

The sound of glass breaking halted his movements, from down the hallways there was the sound of gunfire and people crying out in pain. Joker dropped the crowbar on you once more.

“Well that's my cue to leave, see you around boy blunder.” He cackled as he ran out of the building.

The door burst open but Jason was only focused on your twitching body laying on the ground.

“Todd?” Damian's voice came out small as he looked upon the scene in front of him, “what happened?”

“Get over here and untie me, we gotta help her.”

As soon as he was freed, he ran over to you. You were covered in blood and dirt. He tried his best to wipe it from your face as silent tears streamed down his face. He held your limp body in his arms, shaking you slightly, “come on baby, please open your eyes.” He sniffed, “you gotta open your eyes, come on, I need you to wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open to see his tear stained face. “Jay?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

He smiled down at you, smoothing your hair from your face. “You're gonna be ok, ok? I got demon here he's gonna help out, you don't need to talk.”

You stopped him. “Jay listen, you gotta remember,” you paused to cough, blood trickling from your lips, “you gotta remember to feed Winnie on time and -”

He cut you off. “You can't say any of this cause you're still gonna be here to bug me about it, I know it.”

“Be nice to your brothers and don't be an idiot, ask for help when you need it.”

“Please don’t do this.” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You reached up to touch his cheek. Blue eyes looking into yours, filled with so much love and worry. “I’ll see you around lover boy.” Your eyes fluttered shut for the last time.

“No no no, please no, Y/N you can't do this to me!” sobs wracked his body as he tried to get you to open your eyes once again. “Please,” he whispered, pressing kisses into your hair, “I love you.”

He looked up to see Damian wiping tears that escaped from his mask, “There has to be something we can do,” he turned around to face Damian, “the pit.”

“Todd we can’t, she's gone.”

“She can’t be gone!” he slammed his fist on the ground, “she can’t be gone, because I was gone and the pit brought me back. If it worked for me it'll work for her too.”

“But think about what you went through do you really want her to-”

Jason cut him off, “if you won’t help me, get out of my way.”

They stared at each other for a beat before Damian nodded slowly. “I'll help.”

The air was hot and dry as they stumbled into the cave. The green glow of the pit illuminated the area as they reached the edge of it. Jason set you down at the edge of the pit, green smoke curling around your body as he cradled you in his arms.

“Todd, are you prepared for what's about to happen?”

“I'm gonna do whatever it takes to bring her back, I can't lose her.” he said, caressing your face.

“Then let's go.”

He slowly lowered you into the pit, both boys watching as you slowly sunk into the green liquid, the pit bubbling around your body as it slowly enveloped you. The cave was silent, both boys holding their breath as you went under.

Fear coursed through Jason's veins, what if you came back but weren't the same, or what if you hated him for bringing you back. Shut up he told the voice in his head she'll be fine, if I can do it so can she. The longer you stayed under the more doubts started to come into his mind. What if she-

His thoughts broke off as you burst through the surface. Your hair dripping wet, chest heaving for air, but most importantly, you were alive. Him and Damian rushed over to help you out.

Coughing and weezing you looked up at your saviour, he brushed the hair out of your face as he smiled down at you. But the happy moment came to an abrupt end when you opened your mouth.

“Who are you?”

tags: @batarella @bookfrog242 @mikeysrae @littleredwing89

#jason todd angst #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #red hood #red hood angst #jason todd imagine #dc imagine #dc angst #batboys imagine #mollyjane recommends #mollyjanemumbles #mollyjanes fic recs #mollyjanes friends

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