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real-fanta-sea · 3 years

Note

Hello!!💚😊 do you still write kiss requests?? For Trevor/Mike ship and can I request something for 'bury the hatchet' mission with 11 or 57 number? I really love to see how Trevor saves Michael so😍😱

Thank you!💗

Hi sweetie! I'm sorry it took me so long, but it's finally here! Find it under "keep reading". If you prefer AO3, click here to read the fic. tw mentions of violence, kissing, kinky old men

"Get the boyfriend!"

"The WHAT?" Michael huffed out, along with a small puff of fog, as he crouched behind a thumb stone that felt too small to shield him. Of all things, why would they think they were dating? Like, that were the signs? Can't two guys share a trailer, a bed, a shower, a coffee mug, cigarettes, whiskey bottles and take-out receipts without arising suspicion? Can't two consenting adults watch each other read a porn magazine while relieving stress? Is it a sign of marital status to carry someone over a threshold while high on... whatever was Trevor high on? Michael cringed inwardly as a bullet grazed the top of the stone and made the falling snowflakes find refuge on the back of his neck. There was no time to mull that over. The crunch of footsteps and angry commands closed in, and he had to act fast.

He did the math frantically. His pistol still had 16 bullets ready to be planted into the brains of whoever he aimed at. There was another full magazine in his jacket pocket. Good. Michael peered above the top of the stone, now chipped into a monstrous row of teeth. The silence has been ruptured by the sound of breaks. Judging by the urgent stomping, there were far more than 33 men to bury that night. Michael ducked and ran towards a statue of an angel reclining over another piece of stone, big enough to hide him under its sorrowful wings. Finally able to stretch out, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. He remembered the last time he had to fight off so many people and cursed when he shot a look back towards Brad's grave. At that time, there was no blanket and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him. At that time, dance macabre was all too real for comfort. But it was not a time to die; he convinced himself. Not in the freezy shithole called North Yankton. Not without a fight.

Just when he peered over the side of the sculpture, the world around him slowed down into a strange state of blue trance. He shot four men in a matter of seconds, retreated to his cover, and resurfaced again behind a different piece of stone. All he could feel was a stinging sensation on his face as he collapsed with snowflakes, a soft crunch of virgin snow below his feet mixed with the recoil of the gun in his hand, going off in time with the rhythm of his heart. He wouldn't have minded if the state of focus and tranquillity remained his primary state of being. To be faster than others, not feeling the bullets licking skin and flesh off of his body, killing without remorse - he missed such balance in his retired life.

Not many voices filled the graveyard when Michael finally threw his pistol away and snatched a gun from a random unlucky henchman whose blood was rapidly cooling on the ground. The relative silence unnerved him. The math didn't add up, and even when he cracked his neck again to relieve some of the pressure, the popping sound didn't fill the space enough to be comfortable again. Only when he ascended from the aisle, ducking, eyes darting all over the dark place, he noticed how fast he was breathing and that his hands were shaking.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, that one extra burger, coke and pizza every now and then, when he couldn't sleep, did hurt after all. Maybe Mandy was right to nag at him for smoking too. Before he could make an oath to himself to start exercising once he got away from the situation. Before he could even turn around in awe, the bushes behind his back rustled and gave birth to a furious Chinese man. The newborn didn't spare a second to hit the back of Michael's head with something Mike later identified as the butt of his gun and knocked the dumbfounded Michael unconscious.

It didn't take long for Michael to wake up, but the world was swirling around him into a smudged black-eye blue mush, and it reeked of puke. There was a horrible echo of voices nagging in his throbbing head, and it took a lot of him to recognize two twitching shadows dragging him through the muddy snow. For a split second, he felt weightless as the shadows threw him inside a gaping black space and the thunder of the van door being shut made him shriek in pain.

For what felt like an eternity, his existence was reduced to watching a streak of orange light running towards his chest and vanishing before it reached his head. Michael scrutinized the small cut out in the wall that divided his dark cell and the cockpit of the van and marvelled at the sounds emerging with every blink of the orange light. The slight rocking of the vehicle only served to make him more nauseated in between his scattered thoughts. Why haven't they killed him was among the first coherent questions his brain was capable of producing. Why would they want him alive? The light blinked away rapidly and brought about the noise of radio static and two voices fighting over what frequency to tune in. Get the boyfriend. Why was the question coming back then?

Michael groaned as the deafening sound of Channel X pinned him to the ground again. Boyfriend. He recognized the music. He remembered. They thought Trevor would pay whatever price they demanded in exchange for his safety. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he didn't try to stop it for a change. How they could still think that after witnessing their bickering at Brad's grave, Michael wasn't entirely sure. What he knew with paralyzing certainty was that no one was coming to save him, and it was Trevor's fault. In between the blinks of light and throbbing pain, his memories ran back to the moment Brad unknowingly shielded Trevor as it often did in the past ten years and wished once again Dave either pulled the trigger a second later or aimed for Michael's head.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or thankful when screeching breaks interrupted his daydreaming session. Judging by the high-pitched angry Chinese, they either had some very unfortunate flat tyre, or they ran into trouble. Or, which was something Michael didn't want to think about, they arrived at their lair and discussed the best way to make a chop suey from his guts. He shifted slightly, shaking off the inappropriate thoughts his mind offered him. It did him no good to think about alternate universes where all his problems were gone, and he was roasting under Los Santos sun by his pool.

The sliding door opened, and Michael was immediately hit into the face with a sluggish white light and smell of iron. Just one glance at the tiles plastered all over the walls, hooks idly clinging in the draft, and he knew exactly where they were. A shiny tray with a handsaw grinned right back at him from the centre of silhouettes of men. Oh god, he was so screwed. So fucked over. He made a mental note to kick Trevor in the balls when... IF... he sees him again. A pair of hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the car, his head bouncing off the ground when it hit ice-cold concrete. Michael shivered. Was it really all there was for him? Would the famous Michael Townley, the phantom of the north, end up minced into Flormart burgers? A curse escaped his lips when he imagined the limp, tasteless slice of pickle and an unnaturally orange slice of cheese tiredly melting on his flesh in someone's microwave. He could withstand any torture but that.

"Hey you, you are awake, aren't you?"

Michael winced inwardly and squinted his eyes against the bright light. "Oh, am I? I didn't know! Are you a doctor or something?"

There was a prompt leathern shoe planted into his face. Michael hissed upon contact, the smell of cheap shoe glue imprinting into his memory. So much for a well-meant, friendly sarcasm.

"Ok, I got it. I'll shut up."

"You better should, pig!" There were several snorts around him, obscured by the bright light. Michael's cheek throbbed. If he was a pig about to be made into bacon strips, he swore to take them with him. The guy who kicked him circled around like a shark.

"Now, tell me. Where does your boyfriend keep the drugs?"

Michael just snickered and shrugged as best as his tied arms allowed. The shadows stepped closer, towering above him. He felt another kick; this time, the shoe bit into his ribs, making him hiss.

"ANSWER!"

A pair of hands yanked him onto his knees. The floor crushed into them, a painful reminder he should have picked up yoga when his wife told him so.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The sole of the shoe pushed into the middle of his back, stretching his muscles to their capacity. Michael's forehead was pearled with sweat. He could barely breathe. Any further, and he was sure he would throw up.

"Do you think we are stupid?"

The pressure worsened. Michael gasped for air.

"We've seen him carry you over the threshold, and we know from a reliable source you share the bed with him,"

A picture of Ron shaking in the middle of a hostile office, surrounded by the same shadows, flashed through Michael's mind before he blinked it away. Another mental note was taken. Kick Ron's balls right after kicking Trevor's.

"AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAIM YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE KEEPS HIS ASSETS WHEN WE KNOW YOU SQUAT ON HIS DICK EVERY NIGHT???"

"Believe it or not," Michael gasped and tried to turn just enough to look the bastard who stepped on him in the eye, "I don't know anything. Oh, and it's not me who squats; I am more of the top kind of guy."

It occurred to Michael the Chinese guy who led the interrogation had a strange sense of symmetry because before he knew it, he had another pulsating bruise spread over the other side of his ribs. He wanted to think the remark was worth it, even though his body told him otherwise.

"Hang that fag on a hook - let's see if he remembers with more blood in his brain."

For a second, Michael panicked. There were too many hands grabbing and groping him, turning him, and he remembered how he, as a little boy watched spiders do just that with flies in their webs, both horrified and fascinated. He has always considered himself a spider in such situations. Oh, how the turntables! He now was the fly, and the spider was walking away.

"HEY, WAIT!"

The hands kept him floating in the air, and the man stopped in his path, turning around.

"Hm? What is it?"

Michael's eyes rounded, even though he desperately tried to fight the trepidation. "You are terribly wrong about this. I am not his boyfriend, just an acquaintance. I have no idea how you guys are affiliated, but whatever this is about, it all runs down to money, right?"

The man folded his arms on his chest slowly, visibly taking pride in Michael's panic, but his thin lips kept shut.

"I'll pay you if you release me. Generous money, actually. That's what you guys want, right? That's what everybody wants."

The man took a few steps closer, right under one of the beaming tube lights. Michael gulped when he saw the grin on his handsome face. It took him a surprisingly low effort to come close to Michael and grab his jaw in a vice grip.

"Have your whining ever worked on anyone?"

Michael shook his head ever so slightly. He got a shark-like grin in response.

"What we want is to know where your lover, Trevor Phillips, keeps his merchandise and take what is contractually, thus rightfully ours. Tell us, and maybe we will let you go."

His eyes were as black as Trevor's when Michael last saw them, yet there was no shadow of affection in these. The man who looked at him was by all means already dead inside. The hand slipped away from his jaw, but Michael could still feel where his new friend left purple imprints.

"I thought so. Never mind, after the night spent upside down, I hope your point of view will change. HANG HIM!"

All of a sudden, there was a roar of an engine from somewhere above. Michael tried to locate the sound, but it glided away, much to his captors' disdain. There was a cacophony of stomping and foreign words bouncing off the walls, mixing in with the cry of sliding door and hum of the engine coming back.

"HEY!"

His voice was too weak against the noise. No one noticed him twitching; no one cared he was still there.

"HEY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHAT'S GOING ON!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was the answer from one of the men, along with a sting of a gunstock on his eye. Michael didn't need answers anymore, though, as the barking of shots and cries of mowed down men crept through the open door. Not so silently, he cursed Trevor for dragging him right into the middle of mafia wars, something he had no desire to see up close. Leaving him in the graveyard alone with a mob? One kick in the balls. Letting them kidnap him and hang him like a piece of ham? Two kicks in the balls. Letting the mafia kill him in a shoot out? Thousands of years of haunting Trevor and another kick in the balls as soon as they both reincarnate. Gunshots from outside closed in on him.

Michael tried to break free from the ropes but only managed to swing back and forth.

"Oh FUCK, I'm going to KILL HIM! YOU'RE SO DEAD, TREVOR!"

"MICHAEL!"

At first, Michael thought he was hearing things. In his state of panic, his brain couldn't get a grip of how the hell Trevor knew where to find him, let alone come and rescue him after he almost shot him. Then he thought that some kind of vessel must have busted in his head, for the familiar voice was accompanied by an even more familiar tall outline topped by a crown of ruffled dark brown hair. He couldn't help but blink rapidly a couple of times, dumbfounded in the middle of the slaughterhouse.

"JESUS, MIKEY!!!"

There were rushed steps, a sound of a gun falling to the ground, followed by two trembling hands cupping his face. Michael closed his eyes and relied on other senses to confirm his suspicion. First, there was a smell of late-night coffees, morning cigarettes, diesel fuel and cheap soap he bought for Trevor not so long ago. Second, there were two big hands, fingers brushing around the edges of his bruises in a way they did years ago when they both were different people, but somehow they did remember how to soothe him. Third, there was a deep-set voice trembling with worry whispering his name. And finally, when Michael opened his eyes again, there were the amber eyes, glazed, terrified and hurt. There was no doubt anymore. Trevor came back for him.

"Oh god, I was so fucking afraid!"

Michael couldn't keep angry when faced with the first shy tears welling in Trevor's eyes, but his ability to speak left him as they fell down and disappeared into the blackness of Trevor's shirt. So instead, he let Trevor's hands caress him, oddly at peace with the gentle touch on his face.

"To think I almost lost you again!" Trevor bit his lip. Something about the droplet of blood blooming under his teeth left Michael breathless. "I was so angry, infuriated much, yes, but then I imagined you laying there with Brad and..."

Trevor gazed into Michael's eyes with such urgency it immediately reminded him of their first kill. The fear mixed in with the red gleam in his eyes, the sense of irreparable, coming back from the past to haunt them. Lost in thought, Michael didn't register the swift movement right in front of him and was caught by surprise by a feeling of having his lips pressed against Trevor's.

They were hot, trembling, and tasted of cigarettes and blood, a mixture Michael desperately tried to forget about. Where they first gently touched his, as if they couldn't believe he was still alive and well, they pressed harder in mere seconds, making Michael's eyes flutter shut. It was difficult for him to admit, but Trevor's lips were the only drug Michael craved for long and lonely ten years. For once, he let his nagging reason get hushed by the shy movement of Trevor's lips, and all the hatred slipped his mind momentarily.

At length, Trevor broke the kiss, and still holding onto Michael's cheeks, he gently propped his forehead against Michael's. Michael let him take a break, listening to his shallow breathing, and their thoughts were buzzing almost audibly where their skin touched.

"Oh god, to think I almost lost you..."

"It's ok, T; I'm still hanging on."

"Yeah, but what if I didn't turn around and follow that convoy? What if they killed you?"

"You could say I would hang around for a bit, and then they would kick me out."

Trevor raised his head and furrowed a bit. "What's that with you and emphasize on hanging?"

Michael raised eyebrows at him and waited till the realization would dawn on Trevor. It took three seconds for Trevor's eyes to round and his mouth to form a perfect 'o'.

"Oh, yeah, uh, I see. Wait a moment, sugar."

Michael's feelings on Trevor holding a knife were usually on the border between panic and deep fucking rooted urge to run for the hills. When Trevor approached him and swung it around his face, Michael was momentarily inclined to the second option, twitching nervously under the cold gleam of the knife. Trevor eyed him with palpable exhaustion.

"Stop wiggling goddammit, do you want to get cut?"

Michael pouted at him.

"Hey, don't give me THAT face, pork chop! It wasn't MY idea to tie you up and hook you here!"

Trevor's knife slowly cut through ropes, murmuring as it bit through thick threads. The very tip brushed against Michael's leg, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its cold touch.

"But I have to say this is kinda hot, eh?" Trevor's grin was back, the brightest light in the room. "How about we try it again when we get back home?"

"What the FUCK are you talking about, Trevor?"

Trevor leant in, still grinning, his knife gliding against Michael's waist.

"I mean, I will send Patricia shopping,"

The knife dipped lower, slipping under Michael's shirt. He gasped, inwardly cursing for giving Trevor the tiniest bit of gratification.

"then I'll take some nice silk rope,"

The dull side of the blade ran through chest hair lush between trembling peaks of his nipples.

"tie you up and make some sweet, sweet love to you, cupcake!"

Trevor's lips were so close, his breath on Michael's lips again, who was petrified with anticipation. His heart hammered against the patch of goosebumps on his chest, and if the last bit of rope didn't snap and let him slide off the hook, Michael would have leaned in himself and stole that kiss. But, instead of the sweet release, he was sent to the cold ground head first, folding like a rag doll upon impact.

Not only Michael sustained another hit on his head, swearing and kicking around, not unlike the turtle Amanda bought for the kids and that he and Jimmy used to torture by putting it on its back, laughing about the way it tried to turn over, but it was Trevor who was laughing his lungs out, folded in half. Michael tried to stab him with a menacing glare, but it didn't help in the slightest. Gathering the last shred of strength, Michael scraped to his feet and balling fists full of Trevor's jacket, he threw them both against deadly green tiles.

Trevor's laugh died out soon after the impact, but the grin remained despite Michael pinning him down. At first, Michael's intention was to beat him up, partially to let the frustration out, partially to get revenge for the stolen kiss, but he was taken aback when Trevor's hands closed over his fists and squeezed gently.

"Whatcha gonna do, Mikey?" Trevor uttered in an irresistibly husky voice that sent shivers of excitement to all the wrong places, "Beat me for saving your life?" Michael growled.

"You fucking..." but the words he wanted to say got sucked back into the vortex of emotion running free in his ribcage. No, beating wasn't what Michael's mind supplied him with when it came to what to do with Trevor. He could barely resist the vivid pictures of Trevor, hair running down his slender back, undressing in front of him, leaving marks on his neck and long scratches speaking volumes about how Michael liked to celebrate their victories. And then, on that day, Trevor was there. Older, but just as tempting, daring, enclosing Michael in the smell of both freedom and slavery with each exhale. Michael took a deep breath. He couldn't help but give in to the craving.

Trevor yelped when Michael crashed his lips with his so hard their teeth clinked together. That was the thrill he wanted to relive, and as soon as Trevor's hands rested against his lower back, pulling him closer, Michael surged deeper and dared to brush his tongue against Trevor's. The choked moan he managed to draw out fueled his fingers in their haste, letting go of fabric and instead bury themselves into Trevor's hair, pulling him closer. Trevor's skin could have combusted any second with the heat it emitted, and Michael couldn't resist yanking him closer, eager to get burned once again.

"Mikey... Jesus Christ!"

Trevor could barely breathe, so much Michael could tell by the heaving of chest caught between the wall and his own body. He was proud of the trembling in Trevor's touch, of shallow breaths and flushed cheeks right in front of him. He still got it.

"What?" Michael grinned impishly and let one of his hands slide down Trevor's back and squeeze him. Trevor yelped in surprise but didn't try to wriggle out of the embrace and even giggled when Michael let his hand rest there. Trevor leaned in closer, his breath sending shivers down Michael's spine as it touched his ear.

"Let's go home, cupcake."

#trikey #gta 5 #trevor philips #michael de santa #real_fanta_sea.fic #kiss prompts

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imagineonechigaco · 5 years

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DARKNESS - Kevin Atwater x Reader

Opening your eyes you were surrounded by more darkness, your head was pounding and you felt like throwing up. The last thing you could remember was helping Nadia get some decorations out of the boot of Erin’s car, where was Nadia?

You tried to move around but you could feel your hand and feet both tied up, your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you could tell that you were in a car boot. Your mouth was taped shut, you slowed your breathing and listened for any noise.

“There going to find you, please let me go.” You could hear Nadia’s muffled voice but you couldn’t hear who she was with.

“HELP, PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME!” You heard Nadia scream followed by the radio being turned up. Using this noise to cover what you was doing, you tried to kick out the lights from inside the boot.

You gave up with that not having any luck, so you tried slamming your feet into the side of the car. You felt the car starting to slow down, you started to prepare yourself to kick out at whoever opened the boot. As soon as the boot opened you started kicking your legs, your eyes met the eyes of your kidnapper. Greg Yates. He managed to get the drop on you, hitting you in the stomach with a tyre iron and then hitting you in the face. Groaning, you curled up in pain you were pretty sure you had broken some ribs. Greg was quick to throw Nadia into the boot with you, un-taping her mouth. He started talking about the sunrise but Nadia interrupted him, you stared up at Greg.

“Let me and Y/N go!” She sounded as firm as she could with her shaky voice.

“Ohhh, all the girls say that. Please don’t kill me, I’ll do whatever you want. Pretty soon you’ll both be begging for your lives. Towards the end you’ll cry for your mummy.” Greg stroked Nadia’s face as he said this.

“Not me.”

“Oh you will. Y/N wasn’t even meant to be here Nadia, it was your fault. I had to take her.” His angry eyes landed on you, and in that moment you truly feared for your life.

“If you kill us, Hank Voight is going to track you down and make you wish you had never been born.” She spat at him when she had finished speaking.

“Enough small talk for now.” Greg put the tape back over Nadia’s mouth. “If either of you two does anything I’ll hurt the other one.” He finished by slamming the boot shut, immersing you both into more darkness.

All you could think of was seeing Kevin again, and apologising for that stupid argument you had before work and telling him how much you loved him. You couldn’t even remember what it was about, and now you might never get the chance to sort it out.

After driving through most of the night you felt the car slowly coming to a stop. The boot opened, sunlight blinding you. Greg grabbed a hold of Nadia, chucking her into the boot of another car and then doing the same for you. The car started moving again, you moved closer to Nadia rest your head against her shoulder trying to comfort her.

It didn’t feel like you had been driving for very long when the car came to a stop, when the boot opened you tried to get your bearings having no idea where you were. You were both dragged into a room and thrown on the floor, Greg crouched down in front of you green nail polish in his hand. It didn’t take him long to paint both yours and Nadia’s nails, he stood up and started making his way towards Nadia.

You swung your legs round, effectively tripping Greg up. You went to kick him but he was quicker, he grabbed a hold of your legs and pulled you towards him. He slammed your body against the ground, your head bounced off the ground disorientating you. Greg used this moment to climb on top of you, closing his hands around your throat cutting off your oxygen. You fought as much as you could, your eyes going blurry, everything began to fade out. Just before you lost consciousness you saw Nadia knocking Greg off you, he instantly turned his attention to her dragging her away as everything went black.

You forced your eyes open, immediately knowing you were back in the boot of a car. Alone. You couldn’t hear anything, panicking you started kicking the inside of the boot hoping someone would hear you. Your ears were ringing, and your vision kept going blurry. You remembered what happened just before you lost consciousness, you shifted around in the boot hoping to feel Nadia beside you but there was nothing.

Voices pulled you out of your thoughts about Nadia, you lost track of how long you had been conscious in this boot. You could only just hear voices over the ringing of your ears, you heard someone at the boots of the car. You watched the boot open and prepared yourself for whatever Greg was about to do. The blurriness cleared slightly and you could see Hank and Antonio, you hated how they were looking at you. Hank cut the restraints on your hands and feet, both helping you up onto your wobbly legs. Hank touched your bruised face his face angry, you felt your knees buckle before you could hit the ground Antonio caught you picking you up.

“Nadia, where is she? Is she safe?” Your speech was slightly slurred. You felt pain radiating through your body, you slumped against Antonio finally feeling safe.

Before Antonio could reply Kevin had raced up to you. “I’m here baby, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.” He gently took you out Antonio’s arms apologising when he saw you wince. Kevin’s worried face was the last thing you saw before the darkness consumed you once again.

——-

There was a constant beeping, you shot up in the bed, breathing coming in quick pants. Someone placed there hands on your shoulders, not knowing who it was started fighting them off. You felt trapped, felt like you were back in the boot of that car.

“Baby, calm down. Y/N, it’s me.” Kevin spoke.

“Kev.” You relaxed back into his arms, recognising the hospital room from the last time you briefly woke up.

“Y/N baby, I’m so glad you’re okay.” You looked down at the hand Kevin grabbed, your body froze as your eyes landed on the green nail polish.

“Nadia, Kevin where’s Nadia? Did you find her?” The look on his face said it all and you could feel the tears already falling.

“She’s dead Y/N, we found her body yesterday on the island.” Kevin

“No. It’s all my fault, she saved my life Kev. If she hadn’t of saved me she would still be alive. It’s my fault she’s dead.” You sobbed into his chest, his arms soothingly rubbing circles on your back. The door to your room opened and the rest of the team walked in, Hank headed straight over to your bed.

“Y/N this wasn’t your fault, none of this was. Nadia would never want you to take the blame for this. We’ve got the son of a bitch and we’re going to make sure he pays for everything he’s done.” You nodded, knowing deep down he was right.

“I was so scared Y/N. I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought I’d never get to apologise for that stupid argument we had.” You had settled back into Kevin’s arms, he was stroking your hair and pressing kisses to the top of your head.

“I didn’t think I’d survive this Kev, I love you.” You turned around pressing your lips to his.

You knew your road to recovery was going to be a long one, but you knew you’d make it. You had Kevin and the team, and you had Nadia. She had saved your life and you owed it to her to fight.

#chicago pd #one chicago #hank voight #antonio dawson #kevin atwater

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psychovigilantewrites · 5 years

Text

Chapter 7 - Queasy

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word count: 11,285

Trigger warning: this chapter contains sexual content, violence, gore, and mentions of torture.

A/N: I’m so sorry for the wait, guys! This is my longest chapter yet, and I’ve really put my all into it. Thank you for all the kind words of encouragement! It really helped me get through my bad days.

One would assume that the docks would smell like the sea.

Wrong.

It smelt like shit. Literally.

A lot of Gotham’s sewage ended up in the sea , and trash that wasn’t from the sewage ended up there as well. Gothamites liked to pollute, and it made the docks smell.

But if you held your breath and closed your eyes, it still sounded like the sea.

The crashing waves, the sound of the breeze ruffling your hair, the rapid gunfire-

Oh right.

You were in the middle of crashing Red Hood’s illegal shipment party.

Dodging a rain of bullets, you hopped across some shipment crates towards a group of hired guns to incapacitate them with a flying kick. You hit the large muscly man- who was wearing sunglasses at night, for some reason- flat in the chest with one leg. With your other, you kicked aside the weapon in his hand, which flew straight into his partner’s head, making him stumble backwards.

Taking the two of them down, and looking back at the other eight unconscious bodies behind you that you had dealt with in under two minutes, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself for you excellent work, before running off to where Bruce was.

Bruce had went on ahead to confirm the shipment and catch Red Hood, well, red handed, while you covered his back and deal with security.

You ran past the crates and metal containers that created a maze.

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s breathless voice in your ear, “Shipment is confirmed, call GCPD.”

“Okay, I’m coming your way,” you replied.

You dialled GCPD on your phone.

“Suspected terrorist attack at Dixon Docks.”

You hung up. Terrorist attacks always made the police rush more.

Finally, you heard the sound of gunshots get louder and you turned a corner to see Batman’s looming dark figure in a direct fight with Red Hood.

“Where’s Robin, B? Got bored of her already? Throw her away like the two before her?” Red Hood jabbed, dodging a punch from Batman.

All Batman did was growl and never stopped attacking.

“When are you going to tell her that she’s disposable? It’s not good to keep stringing women along, you know?” he poked, “Especially those you call your children.”

Batman succeeded in tripping him, making Red Hood stumble backwards for just a second. A shout distracted you from the fight, making your head snap in the direction of Moehler barking at his workers to hurry with loading wooden crates onto the back of a truck a few feet away.

You ran past Batman and Red Hood and towards the two men who were loading the last crate.

“Ah, there she is!” you heard Red Hood chuckle.

You were almost there, you needed to stop them before they could drive off with the weapons. Suddenly, you felt something grip your ankle, making you trip forward.

It was as if you were falling in slow motion, the ground slowly approaching your face. The next millisecond you heard a loud bang, and felt a sharp pain at your right earlobe.

As you broke your fall as to not hit your face, you realized that the thing around your ankle was Red Hood’s grappling hook, wound tightly to stop you from approaching your goal.

Struggling to get up, you felt a wave of disappointment crash onto you when you heard the sound of the truck’s engine start, and the tyres screech as it hurried to drive away. Before it could escape your view, you threw a tracking device you had attached to the armor of your uniform at the truck, which you saw suddenly bounce away as Red Hood shot it out of reach of the truck from behind you.

He ran from Batman’s attacks and towards the port, jumping onto a speedboat, and the two of you silently watched as he gave you the middle finger, while Moehler drove the speedboat away.

You untangled yourself from the wire around your leg and stood up, watching his figure get smaller and smaller into the darkness. That fucker actually gave you the middle finger. You could scoff at how juvenile it was if it weren’t for the fact that you were blaming yourself for letting the truck get away.

“You’re bleeding,” Batman’s gravelly voice made you jump.

You touched your right ear, and winced. You were sure a bullet had grazed it when Red Hood tripped you earlier.

“Huh,” you stared at the blood on your fingers, “I didn’t even notice.”

“You called Gordon?”

“Anonymous tip to GCPD,” you informed.

“Terrorist attack?”

“How did you know?” you smirked.

“You’re predictable.”

“Ouch,” you faked, “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

You glanced at him, earning yourself a scowl.

“It was like he knew my moves,” Batman suddenly expressed, “Like he’s familiar with me.”

“Sounded like he’s also familiar with my predecessors too,” you added.

Batman stayed silent.

“On top of the fact that he’s very familiar with my uniform,” you continued, “He seemed to know the moment I reached for my shoulder that I was going to throw a tracker at the truck and shot it out of the way. Not to mention that signal button a while back too.”

More silence.

“And the fact that he knows we’re your children,” you pointed out, “Which means that you have to assume he knows all our identities.”

A clenched jaw.

“Do you know who he is?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Nothing.

“I trust you to know which information you tell me- or don’t tell me- is beneficial to me or harmful,” you lectured him in frustration, “Which means I’m not going to go digging around. So you better tell me when you figure things out. Trust goes both ways, Batman.”

“I’ll deal with the police.”

Sure enough, you heard the sirens slowly approaching. You glanced again at the dark sea, illuminated poorly by the distant city lights and the hidden moon, wondering who was under the red helmet, and what he meant by ‘disposable’.

***

Jason fired one loud bullet into the ground, breaking the chaotic commotion that came with unloading the crates in one of Moehler’s warehouse turned into base operations. He watched down at them from a raised platform, the two dozen or so hired by Moehler stopped what they were doing and turned to him, along with Moehler and some of his associates- mainly relatives.

“How many did we manage to get?” Jason asked.

“All of them, Red Hood,” a tall brute with distasteful face tattoos answered smugly.

“But just barely,” Jason snapped.

Jason felt the mood subtly shift. They knew why he was mad, and now, he could smell their fear.

“Can anyone tell me how Batman knew?” he calmly asked.

Everyone was avoiding eye contact with him, looking either at each other or their own feet.

“When I find out you know how this information got leaked, and trust me, I will find out, I will come after you and your family,” he simply shrugged, “So someone better step up and confess. Right. Now.”

Jason waited for 3 seconds, and then-

“It was Dave,” a bald brute stepped closer to him, the head of Moehler’s security detail, “We heard that he got arrested last week. It must have been him.”

“One of your own got arrested, and knowing that our meeting could have been compromised, you decided to keep quiet?” Jason articulated.

The man gulped, “We- we didn’t know for sure.”

“Didn’t know for sure?” Jason started chuckling softly, before pointing his gun at the man, “Tell me why I shouldn’t gun you down for your incompetence. Or are you still unsure?”

“His wife called and told me she hadn’t heard from him in three days,” his eyes now wide and pleading, “Only yesterday we confirmed that he had been arrested, but that’s about it. Our inside man said that the arrest report said he was arrested for public urination. We didn’t think much of it then.”

Jason thought for a split second, deciding whether or not to kill him.

No, it wasn’t a strategic move. The story sounded genuine, and if he killed too many people without actual cause, everyone would start to hate him and could want to start a coup. He needed to be specific about his rules.

He put down his gun and started chuckling, earning a sigh of relief from the man before him. He gripped the mans shoulder and squeezed hard- showing both friendliness and threat.

“Fine, we all make mistakes, right?” Jason laughed.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “Sorry, boss.”

“Just be sure not to overlook things like this again,” Jason warned and gave him a hard pat on the back, “Now, I have another issue to address.”

The relief of the room just now was turned into tension again.

“Who was the brave man who shot at Robin to stop her from getting to the trucks?” Jason asked, “I have a reward for him! A token of courage, if you will.”

“It was me, boss,” the same man with the inked face answered proudly.

“Oh, it was you, huh?” Jason grit, “What’s your name again?”

“Snake, sir.”

“Snake?” he burst out laughing, “Okay, okay. What are you waiting for, Snake? Get up here!”

Snake strutted to Jason’s side, smirking all the way. Jason put an arm over his shoulder.

He saw that some of the others were already shaking their heads at their colleague’s ignorance.

“So Snake,” he started, “You were really brave tonight. You know why?”

“Because I tried to stop Robin?” he answered.

“Yes,” Jason agreed, “In fact, you shot at her, am I right?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grinned.

“Even when I specifically ordered everyone not to?” Jason asked softly.

Snake tensed.

“If I remember correctly,” Jason announced to his audience, “I said that anyone who tries to kill or harm Robin without my orders will be severely punished, didn’t I?”

Silence.

“DIDN’T I?!” he bellowed.

A mumble of “Yes’s” and “Yeah’s” were heard.

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, “Now, my fellow associates, what should I do with our buddy Snake here?”

No one dared answer him.

It didn’t matter. Jason already knew what he had to do.

“Oh, right,” he pretended to remember, “I was going to give you a token of my appreciation.”

BANG. BANG.

A loud wail came from Snake. He fell to the ground and started crying and screaming. Jason could hardly blame him. He did just shoot both his kneecaps.

“What do you say to daddy, Snake?” Jason stepped on one of his knees, “Daddy gave you a gift, didn’t he?”

“F-FUCK YOU!”

Jason shot at his elbow, making him scream even louder. “Manners!”

“T-thank y-you,” Snake gasped in between sobs.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Thank y-”

BANG.

Jason gave him a gift right between his eyes.

Whenever Jason killed, he didn’t feel better or worse. Killing was just part of the job, just merely strategic for him.

But killing the guy who almost killed you if it wasn’t for the fact that he pulled you down and made you trip using the grappling hook he had?

He felt better.

He took a deep breath.

“Whoever defies my direct order again, will get worse than this fucker!” he yelled, “No one touches Robin but me. Even if it means you get taken down, you don’t. Shoot. At. Her. GOT IT?!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Now someone clean this up,” he nudged the body with his foot, “Before the shit comes out.”

The part he hated most about killing and disposing of bodies was when the muscles relax and he has to deal with shit and urine that comes out. Not everyone will shit and urinate themselves when they die- it depends on whether they were holding it in to begin with- but when it doeshappen, it’s disgusting.

And Snake looks like he’s just full of shit. Whatever. He’s glad he has people to do the dirty job for him now.

“Moehler,” he growled, “I need to speak to you.”

Jason hopped off the platform and walked straight to the straw haired American-German man.

“Where are we with Black Mask?” he asked.

Roman Sionis. He was one of the defiant ones who refused to work together with Red Hood. Black Mask used to own all these gangs; Moehler’s, Ibenescus’- and Jason had snatched them from underneath his nose.

He wasn’t happy about it.

“Still putting out hits on you,” he gruffly stated, “And also taking down my men.”

“Why haven’t you dealt with him yet?” Jason hissed through the voice scramble of his helmet.

“He’s got a whole armory, boss,” Moehler complained, “And many men who are still loyal to him.”

“They’re not loyal, they’re afraid,” Jason corrected, “I’ll deal with him.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Moehler added.

Jason had already picked out what he wanted beforehand, as per agreement with Moehler, and all he has to do is bring it back with him to his safehouse. The rest of the weapons were to be sold to various gangs or anyone who was interested, and he would take 40 percent profits, as per agreement with Moehler.

Besides Batman’s interference that night, everything was going smoothly. Yet, he was stressed.

He needed to blow off steam.

Ah, right. It was time to enter phase 2 of his plan.

***

You fell on the comfort of your bed, and looked at the time. It was nearly three in the morning. You stretched like a cat, relieving your body from the aches and pains. You had already showered and refreshed yourself, along with slapping a bandaid on your grazed ear. It wasn’t too deep.

You checked your phone, and saw that Sexy Hunk From Library had left you a text about half an hour ago.

Sexy Hunk From Library: You up?

You grinned.

You: Yes! Hi. Sexy Hunk From Library: Hello. I thought you were already asleep. You: Nope. Just on Netflix. As usual. Sexy Hunk From Library: Let’s get on video.

Your heart raced at his directness. Before this he would ask you politely, or played coy with you. But now he wasn’t asking you if you wanted to get on video, he told you to.

And you liked it.

You took the initiative and dialled him first.

“Hey,” you heard his warm, yet tired voice first before you got the video feed and saw him lying on his bed.

Shirtless.

You gulped.

“Hey, you,” you smiled. You were sitting upright, your knees brought to your chest as you leaned against your propped up pillows.

“You hurt yourself again?” you saw him frown. His room was dark, and his face illuminated by the light from his phone.

“Oh, this?” you automatically touched your ear pinna where the bandaid was, “Yeah, I made an impulsive and stupid decision to pierce my cartilage at a really dodgy looking shop, now that I think about it. It got infected.”

For some reason, Jason thought it was funny, because he burst into a laughing fit.

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked, “Stupid decision indeed.”

“Hey!” you giggled, “Like you’ve never made a stupid decision in your entire life.”

“You caught me,” he conceded.

“Well, what was it? What’s the most stupid thing you have done in your entire life?” you demanded.

“Hmm,” you saw him bite his lower lip as he thought about it. You licked yours. “Well, I’ve done many stupid things. One of them is not going to that library sooner. I could have gotten to know you way beforehand.”

You blushed. “You know, I’ve never actually asked you what your age was.”

“My age?” he laughed, “Why? Do I look old?”

“No, no,” you quickly denied, “I’m just curious.”

“Guess how old I am.”

“Twenty-four?” you guessed.

“Woah, back up a few years,” he shook his head.

“Twenty-two?” you tried again.

“Close,” he nodded, “I’m twenty-one this year.”

“Argh, so close!” you said.

“How about you, princess?”

“I’m eighteen this year,” you told him.

“Phewh!” he gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, “Thank God for that.”

“Why?” you giggled, “Any specific reason why you would be relieved that I’ll be legal this year?”

“Of course,” he answered as a matter-of-factly, “There are so many reasons why I would be relieved.”

“Like?” you prompted.

“Like, I want to get into your pants?” he said bluntly, causing you to laugh out loud.

“Very direct, Jason,” you chuckled, “No sugar-coating at all.”

“Why would I?” he raised an eyebrow, “You should already know that I like you. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, not to mention hella clumsy.”

“Clumsy?” you shrilled.

“Yeah, I mean, for some reason you always get injuries. That cut on your forehead, now the infected ear,” he listed down, “I'm pretty sure if I got to know you longer I'd have more to add.”

“And that's a turn on for you?” you skeptically asked.

“No, but it makes for good entertainment,” he grinned, “But in all seriousness, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” you blushed, “You’re not too bad yourself. But actually…”

“What?”

“The legal age of consent for sex in Gotham is seventeen,” you stated, “So you shouldn’t have had to worry too much. Unless you thought that I was younger than that.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that,” he responded, “And hold up. There’s no way I would have thought you were younger than that. You’re too… developed.”

“Developed?” you laughed, “Interesting choice of words.”

“What can I say?” his expression changed, his voice lower, “I’ve stared more than I should.”

Oh, you were really blushing this time.

Not to mention the heat that shot down between your legs.

“Naughty,” you teased, “Unfortunately for me, all you wear are baggy hoodies so I can’t exactly stare back.”

“Hmm,” he hesitated for a while, and then raised his phone up high, so it could capture the rest of his shirtless upper body.

You tried to keep your reaction cool, because even in the dim light, you could see his ripped body. His pecs looked hard, and his abs- you wanted to lick them.

Your favourite part was the V that cut into his pants, teasing what was underneath.

“So what do you think?” he winked.

“Uhm,” you gulped, “Very nice.”

“Very descriptive,” he chuckled, and then brought his phone back down, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“My turn?” you panicked.

You weren’t exactly wearing the sexiest choice of pyjamas. It Dick’s old and faded Superman t-shirt with shorts.

“Yeah, your turn,” he pressed, “I wanna see what you wear to bed.”

“O-okay,” you answered.

Slut. Your mother was back.

You straightened your knees and gave Jason a view of your upper body.

“Nice t-shirt,” he said stiffly. You thought you saw his jaw clench. “Superman fan?”

“It’s my brother’s. I’m more of a Batman and Robin fan,” you answered, smiling to yourself at the inside joke.

“I can see your nipples,” he pointed out.

Your eyes widen. Right, you weren't wearing your bra, so he would have been able to see them poking through the soft cotton. You brought your phone back closer to you.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” he smiled devilishly, “I think it’s hot.”

“I think you’re hot,” you blurted.

Whore.

“Very direct, angel,” he mocked your previous choice of words, “Oh yeah. Remember last week I said I had a dream about you?”

Oh, you remembered very well. “Uh-huh.”

“Well,” he began, “Wanna know what it was about?”

“I do, actually,” you bit your lip, “I was curious. Especially after you said that you were… finishing it.”

“It’s inappropriate,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“Which means it was sexual,” he stated.

“It’s okay.”

“Well, we were at the library,” he started without hesitation, “At the bookshelves. I had you against one of them, and you were in my arms.”

“What were we doing?” you prompted.

“I had my tongue in your mouth,” he smirked, “And I was touching you.”

You were rubbing your thighs together, and you realised you were breathing slightly faster.

“Where?” you pressed on.

“Your tits,” his voice was now husky, “Your hair. Everywhere.”

“Oh.”

“Want me to go on?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your free hand secretly cupping your sex underneath your shorts.

This was all new to you. Very new. You have wanted this so bad. You wanted to be naughty and inappropriate with boys you found attractive, but mother always stopped you.

It was too late for mother to stop you now.

“You were grinding against my dick,” he went on, “It felt really good.”

“I bet,” you grinned.

“Princess, are you really trying to be smart with me while I’m talking dirty to you?” he reprimanded lightly.

“It depends,” you shrugged.

“On what?”

“Whether or not you have your other hand down your pants like I do,” you boldly stated.

Jason really had the power to completely take off your mask, making you expose your true self to him. The one you had so desperately tried to hide from your parents, your peers, your family. Maybe it was the fact that he was basically a complete stranger that you could just cut off after. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t know you enough to judge you.

Whatever the reason was, it made you more confident, which evidently caught Jason off guard because of his current shocked expression.

Which turned into a much darker, and sinister one.

“Caught me,” he gave a side smile, “I’m really hard right now. Been hard after I saw your nipples.”

You let a finger between your pussy lips and felt that you were soaking.

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows.

“What?”

“I’m wet,” you grinned at him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Do you wanna like, you know?”

“Wanna what?” you teased.

“Wanna touch yourself with me,” he continued, “You don’t have to show me anything. Just, let yourself loose.”

You pondered for a while.

The masked you would never ever do anything of this sort. But you figured that there was no harm in letting your mask slip completely from time to time if it wasn’t hurting anyone.

Besides, you’ve always wanted to do this.

You leaned back completely on the propped pillows, the camera on your phone only framing your head and your upper chest. You took off your shorts and spread your legs, brushing against your clit with a finger.

You moaned softly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he concluded excitedly. You saw that he was moving, busy with something using his other hand which was out of frame.

“Are you taking off your pants, Jason?” you asked.

“Yep,” he simply replied, “Aand, there. My dick is now free from its confinement.”

You giggled, now looking at him. His camera also framed his face and upper chest. His eyes were closed and you could see the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

He let out a short yet deep moan.

You bit your lip and started circling your clit.

“So, where was I?” he opened his eyes, “Oh, right. You were grinding on my dick. And, you were even begging me.”

“Begging you?” you sighed in pleasure.

“Y-yeah,” he confirmed, “You were begging me to hurry up and fuck you.”

His voice was sensual. The way his words rolled off his tongue was smooth like butter. You loved it when he said the F word. It sounded sexy.

“And did you?” you desperately asked.

“Not yet,” he told you, “No, I wanted to tease you more, so I just started finger fucking you-”

“Oh,” you sighed.

For some reason, you remembered when Red Hood stuck out his middle finger at you earlier. You imagined that very same long, thick finger inserting itself into your pussy. You tried to shove that thought away.

“Are you the loud type or the quiet type, Princess?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admitted, “I was never in any situation where I needed to be quiet or loud.”

“Means that we just have to find out, huh?” he teased.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, i’d like that.”

There was a moment of silence where the both of you were just enjoying the pleasure you were giving yourselves, looking at each others expressions on screen and listening to the heavy pants of each others laboured breathing.

“What happened next?” you prompted.

“Your begging was too much to handle, so I started fucking you,” he continued, “You were loud.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, even if you're the quiet type, I don't think you'll be able to stay quiet if I'm the one fucking you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Mmm,” you hummed, lost in the fantasy of Red Hood fucking you hard until you screamed.

Jason. You meant Jason.

“I was- mmm- I was super stressed out today,” he explained, eyes closed. You could see one shoulder and the top of his bicep making small movements, probably stroking his cock.

You wanted to see his cock so bad.

“What happened?” you breathed.

“Long story,” he grunted, “A colleague annoyed me. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

You understood, and also made a mental reminder to ask Jason what he was working as while waiting to apply for the police force.

“Then what- what do you want to talk about, Jason?” you asked, pleasure slowly building up, heat spreading from your core to the rest of you.

You’ve never been that turned on in your entire life. Granted, you never put yourself in any situations that would have aroused you. You’ve never seen porn.

But you knew that at that moment in time, you were horny as hell.

“I want to talk about how perfect I think your tits would look like,” he said, “If they were bouncing in front of me right now while you ride me.”

You moaned loudly at his words. He was good at dirty talk. You liked it very much.

You wondered if Red Hood liked your tits, since he got to grope them quite a bit.

“You sound sexy,” he commented.

“So do you,” you replied, “Fuck, Jason. I’m so horny.”

“Me too, princess. Me too,” he agreed, “I really want to fuck you.”

His eyes were hooded, looking at you through his own screen. You saw that his arm movements were getting faster.

“I want to lick your cock,” you said, before laughing to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, a smile appearing on his lips.

“I never thought I’d actually say that to someone,” you confessed.

“There's always a first for everything, angel,” he jested, “Hmm, now you've put the mental image of me fucking your mouth in my head.”

“And how does that image look?”

“Looks like I can come to that image alone.”

“Mmm, I think I’m getting close.”

You started speeding up, feeling all your juices leak and spread onto the whole of your pussy.

“I want to hear you come,” he groaned, and picked up the pace and force. You knew, because you heard a sound coming from Jason’s end.

A wet, slapping sound.

“Jason, your dick sounds are really hot,” you panted.

“Your expressions are really hot,” he responded, “Also your moans.”

“Mmm, Jason,” you breathed, “I think I’m-”

You felt a tightening in your core as you sped up your rhythm, your eyes closed shut and your mouth open in a silent scream. You built and built and built until-

“Fuck! Red!” you cried as you felt your pussy flutter and you reached your peak.

“Shit, fuck- ah!” he gasped. You opened your eyes immediately to see him with an almost angry frown and biting his lip too hard.

You felt your clit tingle when you saw him in that expression.

He opened his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“That felt good,” he panted.

“Yeah,” you giggled.

“Red?” he asked, looking amused.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“When you came, you said- well, moaned- Red,” he pointed out.

“Did I?” you panicked. You really didn't have any control over yourself when you were at that state of ecstasy. “You must have misheard me. Why would I moan a colour?”

“You tell me,” he smirked, a twinkle in his eye.

“I really don't know what to say,” you denied.

What the fuck? You moaned Red, as in Red Hood?

“I guess random things slip out when people come. It's fine. But I’d like to do that again, baby girl,” he smiled sleepily at you.

Baby girl.

“Me too, but, uhm,” you mumbled, “Please don’t call me that? Everything else is fine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologised, “I didn’t realise-”

“No, it’s fine,” you shook your head, “It’s just that- this guy I really despise likes to call me that. If you call me that, you’ll remind me of him.”

“I get it,” he frowned, “Why don’t you tell him to stop?”

“He won’t listen,” you almost laughed at the prospect of Red Hood apologising for calling you that.

“Who is he?”

“Some jackass I ran into and for some reason won’t leave me alone,” you rolled your eyes.

“That sounds serious,” he pointed out, “Is he a stalker? Why don’t you go to the police?”

You snorted.

“What?”

“Uh, sorry,” you mentally slapped yourself, “I mean, I don’t think the police can do anything about this guy.”

“Why, is he like the president or something?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Or something,” you revealed vaguely.

Jason looked genuinely concerned about your safety. You found that so sweet. You might actually consider a long term relationship with him.

“Well if you see him when we’re out together, tell me, because I’ll beat him up for you,” he assured you.

You thought about what would happen if Jason and Red Hood got into a fight and resisted chuckling to yourself.

“Of course. I won’t even stop you,” you humoured him.

“Good,” he yawned.

“You should go to bed,” you yawned back.

“Mmkay,” he mumbled, eyes drooping, “I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you acknowledged.

“Goodnight, princess. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, handsome,” you winked, and ended the call.

You sighed and lied down, staring at the ceiling.

It was definitely a different feeling, doing it with another person over video call. Jason had a way with words, making your experience even more intensefully heightened.

You enjoyed yourself a lot, but after ending the call with him and rethinking about everything, you suddenly felt a wave of guilt crash over you.

Because you just whored yourself out, you pathetic bitch!

There she was again.

You wondered if you could ever get rid of her.

You buried your face in your pillow and tried your best to ignore the haunting voice of your mother in your head.

You felt guilty for thinking of Red Hood too. This would have been the second time you orgasmed to him. And you’ve only orgasmed twice anyway, which meant that you’ve orgasmed to him every single time you masturbated, which meant that you couldn’t orgasm to anyone else besides Red Hood, which meant that-

You groaned.

You didn’t want to overthink your obvious sexual attraction to Red Hood, because how could you ever face him and fight him again the next time you see him?

***

Jason chuckled to himself as he cleaned the cum from his abdomen.

He thought that you were hotter, sexier than he ever imagined you to be. Phase 2 of his plan was going way too easy. You were already thinking about him.

You were thinking about Red Hood when you came.

It was too easy.

He shook his head and laughed. He guessed that Batman never taught you how to resist seduction.

He chuckled again before closing his eyes.

Too easy.

***

You gagged.

You felt bile rising from the back of your throat, your stomach feeling queasy and uneasy, as if your stomach acids were full and overflowing. Like if you were to do a handstand that very moment, all your stomach juices would come out down your oesophagus.

“Robin, don’t look away,” Batman asserted next to you, “Don’t be queasy.”

You took a deep breath- wait, bad idea. It smelled like blood.

You gulped and willed yourself to look at the three decapitated heads that were pierced by 3 pikes, spearing through the cut off neck, blood slowly dripping down the wooden stick.

The spears were driven into the wooden panels of the bar floor in a row, the warm dim light only barely illuminating the scene before you. All were male, all were brunettes. One was staring blankly at you, his pompadour messy, while the other two had their eyes shut in an expression of grimace.

At least you were at a bar on a Saturday night.

“If you look away, you’ll miss things,” Batman explained to you.

Batman had tapped into the GCPD radio feed like he did so many times before, and someone had called 911, describing an armed man with a red helmet had started to attack some people at Black Bass Bar in the East End, on Murphy Avenue. The both of you were patrolling The Bowery when Batman heard the call.

Despite rushing to the location much faster than the police department, Red Hood was already gone, leaving an empty bar with shattered glass all over the floor and three heads on pikes, their bodies dumped in the far right corner of the room.

Each body were missing every single finger except the middle.

Now that you looked at the heads, you couldn’t stop. You felt an eerie pull towards them, an unsettling feeling of anxiety settling at the pit of your stomach.

It was different from the mauling the Ibenescus faced at the club. Indeed, the mauling was more gruesome and the thought had disturbed you quite a bit, but you figured the adrenaline rush that Red Hood had incited that day due to the fight had prevented you from fully taking in and processing what had happened.

Because as of now, the room was empty and quiet. You weren’t in a hurry, and you were forced to take in everything.

It felt like the first time you’ve ever seen a dead body. You didn’t know why you were afraid of a cold empty shell, yet you couldn’t stop looking.

You couldn’t believe that you were justifying Red Hood’s actions. You couldn’t believe that you were sexually attracted to him. This served as a reminder as who he was-

A sick, depraved human being.

You closed your eyes at an empty attempt to try to forget the image, but it was too late. It was already seared in your mind.

What did these people do to deserve such a cruel, undignified death-

“Hmm,” Batman hummed, making you open your eyes, “Red Hood must still have trouble with the human trafficking ring.”

“What?” you frowned.

“Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu,” Batman pointed to the two heads from the right, “And Jarick Bucinschi.”

Right, you could see it now.

Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu were cousins of the main 4 brothers that lead the human trafficking ring- the ones who were mauled. Jarick Bucinschi was a Slav who married into the Ibenescu family and joined the ring.

You had read it all in the case file when the Ibenescus’ got murdered just over a week ago. You were too preoccupied with being disturbed by the heads to recognize their faces.

From what you read in their files, these people kidnapped women and children to sell them off to disgusting people to be prostituted or harvested for organs.

You didn’t feel sorry for them anymore.

But that didn’t make the scene before you any less gruesome.

There was blood smeared all over the floor, and some footprints all leading out, already oxidizing and turning into a shade of dark brown.

“I wonder why they’re so insistent,” you voiced out, walking towards the bodies in the corner, “The others submitted to Red Hood just fine.”

Batman was bending down and looking at the heads where the neck were cut off, the sounds of police sirens from outside getting close.

“Not everyone,” Batman answered, “It’s only been a week since Red Hood showed his dominance on the underground. These people and their families have been controlling their rings for decades. They wouldn’t submit so easily.”

“So who else?”

“Black Mask, officially. What’s left of the Ibenescu ring was supposed to submit too, but like Gordon said before, it was a massive operation with several people the Patru Frati appointed to directly work under them. The cousins must have thought that now the leaders were gone, they would be the next in line to take over,” Batman deduced.

Patru Frati. The direct translation of ‘Four Brothers’ in Romanian.

“So what is this, a statement? A warning of sorts?” you guessed.

“It seems so,” Batman straightened up and walked towards where you were, observing the headless bodies, “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me what happened here,” he asked.

A test.

“He sliced off their heads pretty cleanly,” you pointed out, “He’s skilled with a sword, most probably a katana.”

“What else?”

“Obviously the middle finger he’s trying to show us again,” you grumbled, referring to the amputated fingers, “I don’t know if he cut them off post-mortem or not.”

“Yes, there’s too much blood from the decapitation,” Batman agreed.

“How much do you want to bet that he did it while they were still alive, that fucking psycho,” you muttered.

“What can you tell from the amputation?” Batman pressed.

“That he’s mocking you, just like how he was at the docks,” you concluded.

“Jesus Christ,” a tired sigh came from behind the two of you.

You turned to see Gordon grimace, not unlike the expressions on the heads.

He looked at you, and then to Batman with concern, “You sure she’s not too young to see these things, Batman?”

“I’m fi-” you started.

“She can handle anything I can,” he replied sternly.

That made your heart swell.

He looked at Batman through judgemental eyes, and then proceeded to walk over to the bodies.

After a few moments, he chuckled, “How old is this guy?”

Batman gave him a glare.

Gordon shrugged, “Just an observation.”

The forensics walked in, and immediately scowled when they saw the two of you. They were never big fans of Batman and Robin, because the two of you would arrive at locations first and “contaminated the crime scene”.

You smirked, your nerves slowly calming down the more people arrived. It made the atmosphere less eerie.

Because the truth was, you weren’t fine. You thought that Gotham could throw anything at you, and you would be able to stomach it.

You were wrong.

“I trust you have the files on these three,” Batman told Gordon.

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded, “These three were always able to get away without getting charged. I almost gave up at one point. I don’t want to say good riddance, but… well…”

“We’re done here,” Batman stated, and you started to follow behind him as he proceeded to walk out.

“Wait,” the commissioner stopped him, “You should know that there’s a gang war brewing, according to my informant.”

“As expected,” Batman acknowledged, and walked out.

***

“Did he really need to take all that time and effort to make such a statement?” your voice echoed in the Cave.

Bruce had taken out his cowl and was sitting at his large computer table, logging the events of that night. You were standing next to him, leaning against the table with a mug of hot chocolate in your still gloved hands.

“I mean,” you continued, “Isn’t killing them already enough of a warning?”

“You have to understand that these criminals kill on almost a daily basis,” Bruce explained without taking his eyes off the screen, “Dead bodies are part of the job. They’re desensitized to death.”

“So in order to strike fear, he has to do more than just kill,” you pieced everything together, “He has to make it look painful and... degrading.”

“Exactly,” Bruce paused typing and turned to look at you in the eye, “You did well today. Are you okay?”

“I can handle whatever you can handle,” you grinned, repeating his own words.

“Good,” he praised, “Things will only get worse. You will see worse things.”

“More so than people getting mauled by robot dogs and decapitation?” you rolled your eyes.

“Lazlo Valentin is still in Arkham,” Batman reminded you, raising an eyebrow.

He was right. You never had a Professor Pyg case before. From what you’ve read about him, you thanked your lucky stars.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “And let’s hope he stays there.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “However, it is perfectly normal for these things to keep you up at night. Will you tell me when it does?”

“I will,” you promised.

You tossed and turned that night.

You didn’t want to close your eyes, because you didn’t want to see the scene again. But it wasn’t any different from staring in your dark room.

You were afraid to fall asleep, because you had just woken up from a nightmare. The heads again. This time staring at you with all of their eyes wide open, the glassy emptiness of their expression somehow pulling you in closer.

You couldn’t stop looking at those eyes.

The overwhelming sense of anxiety of dread drowned you, and you woke up, sweating despite the cold temperature.

“Fuck,” you groaned, and squinted at the sudden bright light of your phone when you looked at the time. It was already 5 in the morning, the sun would be up in less than two hours.

Thank God it was a Sunday.

When you finally managed to fall asleep, you slept in late. It was already midday when you woke up and went down for breakfast. Bruce gave you a break from training that day, because he somehow knew that you had trouble sleeping.

That was fine, you had another mission that day.

Your mission was to get over your fear of mutilated bodies.

So you sat yourself in front of your laptop on your study desk. You would have tried going to Gotham Public Library- a replacement for the one you lost- if it wasn’t for the sensitive nature of your research.

You first went through Bruce’s files on the more gruesome cases in Gotham. He wrote very detailed description of the cases, along with pictures he snapped from the camera in his cowl. You were glad you weren’t around when some of these criminals were active.

Most of them were in Arkham Asylum. The Joker, Lazlo Valentin, Victor Zsaz. After Jason Todd died, Bruce made sure they would never get the taste of freedom ever again- unless rehabilitated.

We’ll see how long that lasts. They always find a way to escape.

So the crime in Gotham were now dominated by gangsters. They were harder to charge, because they were slick and rich. Filthy rich.

They could bribe the judge, the jury, the officers- anyone. And they had the money to hire the best lawyers, and somehow also get rid of incriminating evidence.

Hence, the heavier crimes you saw when you started as Robin were gang related.

You wondered for a second how Jason Todd dealt with the surplus of mentally insane criminals. He’d probably know a thing or two about brutal deaths.

You caught yourself chuckling, and then felt immediately bad.

Your phone buzzed.

Thinking of ex-Robins, Dick was calling you.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Hey, sis! You busy?” his warm voice comforted you.

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files,” you told him, “What’s up?”

“Can’t I call to just ask you how you’re doing?”

“You already called last week,” your voice leaked suspicion.

“I can’t call you again?” he asked sarcastically.

“Bruce put you up to this,” you stated.

He paused. And then-

“Yeah,” he confessed, “He was worried about you after… After last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you sighed.

“Well, if you’re not then you can talk to me,” he offered.

“Actually, yeah,” you agreed, “How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

“The gore?” he started, “Of course it did. It was scary. I remember when I saw my first dead body. Kept me up for days.”

“Yeah, it did for me as well,” you admitted, “But then I just got… used to it, you know? But then this asshole comes and starts mutilating people. I mean, the occasional amputated limb or decapitated head is one thing, but he arranged them on spikes!”

“Yeah, must have been a spectacle,” he said, “But, really, I know these things are part of the job and all, but it affects everyone. You shouldn’t pretend that you’re fine when you’re not. Talking to someone about it really helps.”

“Well, I’m talking to you aren’t I?” you teased.

“I guess you are,” your brother chuckled.

“So how did you get over it?” you inquired.

“Well,” he began, “It really affected me, that’s for one. I always had trouble waking up for school the next day because of the nightmares, and well, thoughts. The darkness and silence really gets to you.”

“I know what you mean,” you agreed.

“And really, I talked to people about it,” he explained, “People who knew what I was going through. And after a while, it became easier to think that you’re not the only one affected by it. Anyone normal would be.”

“And did it ever go away? The fear?”

“Eventually, it did. I kept on thinking that it doesn’t get worse than whatever that was I saw then, but oh trust me, it kept on getting worse. To the point where I just… Treated it like another case to solve,” he told you.

“So you’re telling me to just expect the worst?” you scoffed.

“It doesn’t sound like much, but it helps you deal with it in the mean time. When you expect something so horrible, but it ends up being not so bad as what you imagined,” he continued, “You’ll be relieved to see just a decapitated head.”

A moment of comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you took everything in.

“Hey, Dick?” you tried, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How did, uh, he deal with it?” you winced to yourself. You didn’t like bringing up Jason Todd because of how it affected everyone around you, which was why you never really brought him up to begin with.

You heard a long sigh.

“He came to me as well,” Dick reminisced, “He used to call me up in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. It was almost every night. He was sensitive- for a while. And then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself. He got braver and more confident. He was a smart kid too. Hardworking. I bet he probably did some weird cognitive therapy on himself to get over his fears. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

You felt a sudden spark of jealousy when you heard Dick talk about your predecessor in such a tone. You wondered if you were better than Jason Todd.

That was an issue you never really figured out how to solve.

Your constant competition with a phantom of the past.

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy then,” you lightened the mood, “Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

“No problem, kid,” he assure you, “Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

After that, you moved on from Bruce’s case files to documentaries and articles, some of them making you cry as you read them.

Because the reading material you had on the Murder of Junko Furuta was only the Wikipedia page- and it was enough to make you choke back tears. You couldn’t finish reading the article.

You wondered if you could ever be desensitized to these things. You wondered if you actually wanted to be. But what Dick said earlier resonated in you. Anyone normal would be affected by it.

Because it must take a heartless, soulless person to not blink an eye to such brutalities.

But you couldn’t stop looking for more.

And somewhere along the way, you started watching videos.

The deep web was a scary place. The highest level of the deep web was full of depravity, the epitome of human wickedness.

And the scariest thing? The internet we normal people surf on a daily basis, the ones that pop up on search engines, makes up only 4% of web content. The other 96% of the digital universe is on the deep web- the stuff you can’t just Google.

Sifting through movie pirating websites and file sharing users with questionable content, you ended up watching leaked videos of beheadings and drug cartel torture.

After a couple hours, you found yourself able to handle the disturbing images better. You were more intrigued rather than scared.

You felt better.

But that was because you were sitting on a chair, in the comfort of your own room. No smell of blood, no dim lights and eerie silence.

Now you found yourself wanting to be tested again, hating the fact that by doing so, you were basically anticipating another brutal murder by Red Hood, just to prove to yourself that you had succeeded your own personal mission.

***

There was a sort of an annoying buzz in the air.

Like a mosquito that wouldn’t stop bothering you.

You felt restless.

It had already been more than a week since The Black Bass Bar, and it was Tuesday morning, and you were in class, and you were looking out the window, shaking your knee. You felt like your joints were aching, like right before you got a cold. The last two days had been uneventful, even during patrol.

No sign of Red Hood whatsoever. No gang related crimes.

It was like the underworld was holding its breath.

Maybe even Red Hood needed his break from time to time.

That night you went on patrol like you always did during a weekday. You were split from Batman- on your own motorbike- but not too far away from each other. You were currently in Chinatown, zooming past little alleyways to find a perfect place to park.

It was around 11pm, yet the area was still bustling with life. The red lanterns that hung above you contributed little to the illumination of the town, because the brightness came from many chinese stalls and restaurants that were open, full of merry people drinking their beer at the array of large round outdoor tables that occupied half the street.

As you appreciated the smell of seafood and bak kut teh that wafted through the air, overpowering the usual smell of pollution, you suddenly heard a loud explosion coming from the direction you were heading to.

You somehow knew who you were going to meet that night.

Finally, you thought.

You were getting bored.

You wanted to see him. He got you excited.

But in a curious way.

The past week that you were researching criminal behavior and also brutal murders, you got intrigued by his philosophy, and you wanted to know more about how he thinks.

You weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s voice in your ear, as expected, “Wait for me.”

“But I’m five minutes away, Batman,” you argued, “I think it’s at that warehouse complex. I’ll circle to the loading bay.”

“Do not proceed without me, Robin,” Batman growled.

“But by the time you reach here, he’ll get away,” you frustratedly reasoned.

“You don’t know who it is,” Batman hissed.

“But-”

“That’s an order,” he commanded, “Stay-”

You pressed the button in your ear, and click, he was gone.

“To hell with your orders,” you muttered to yourself and drove high speed to the loading bay of the warehouse, the lights of the town dimming behind you and a new orange light came slowly into view.

The warehouse was old, but not run down. It was a complex that consisted of 6 blocks, and a large loading bay for trucks. Two blocks were ablaze, fire licking the wooden crates you could see from the opened metal doors.

And there was Red Hood, who just threw in a grenade at a third opened door, and walked away from the explosion calmly towards his large, black superbike.

You drove your bike to a halt right in front of his.

You expected him to get on the defense, to take out his guns, to try to escape- anything. But he just leaned against his bike with his arms crossed, like he was expecting you.

You ignored the way his biceps flexed underneath his leather jacket.

“Where’s the old man?” his scrambled voice reached your ears.

“On the way,” you got off your bike and got into a defensive position, keeping your distance from him.

“Hmm,” he simply said, cocking his head to the side like a curious cat.

“Who’s warehouse is this?” you asked.

You knew he wouldn’t do things without a reason.

“Black Mask,” he shrugged simply, “His main armory.”

“Why did you kill the Ibenescus?” you straightforwardly asked.

“They’re filth who refuse to work with me,” he simply answered.

“Why did you do it in such a violent way?” you inquired.

“As a message to others,” he replied without hesitation.

“You tortured them alive,” you pointed out.

“So?” he scoffed, “They deserve much worse for what they do. You have no idea what they put innocent people through.”

You frowned in deep thought.

“What’s your end goal?” you demanded.

“Controlled crime,” he answered.

You didn’t have time to think about his answer then, or ask him more. Batman would be there any second.

“I’m going to have to stop you now,” you told him.

“Oh, baby girl,” he drawled, “You can try.”

You attacked him in a low sweep kick, which he easily avoided by jumping, but the moment he was midair, you quickly got back on your feet and tackled him into his bike, causing it to fall over.

Before you could stand, he had one hand around your neck, restricting your airflow.

He landed a punch at your stomach, making you want to vomit. He then used his grip on you to throw you on the ground. You felt a hard blow at your ribs when he kicked you, making you cough.

He stood over you as you scrambled to get on your feet.

He kicked you again, and you gasped as the air escaped out of you forcefully through his blows.

You felt his abnormal strength from his grips and kicks. Every time you tried to stand, he would kick you on the side.

“I don’t enjoy this,” his static voice started, “Stand down.”

You struggled to roll over on your stomach to get on all fours. You secretly reached for the R shuriken on your left breast, hiding it from his view, and then turned around in a flash, throwing it at him.

The bastard saw it coming, and he dodged it. During the one moment of distraction, you shot up on your feet and attempted to punch him. He caught your fists with a hand, and lifted his other fist.

You waited for the blow to your face.

But it never came. His fists were still in the air, aiming at your head, yet it never landed. You took his moment of hesitation to throw an undercut.

You felt a small crack in his helmet when the blow connected with your gauntlet covered knuckles.

You grinned, pleased with yourself as you watched him stumble backwards, tripping over his own bike.

Even though he was wearing the stupid helmet, you felt him glare at you. His right arm reached for something, and then you were blinded by a white light.

You hissed and closed your eyes, cursing at yourself for not looking away sooner before he threw the flashbang.

You heard the sound of an engine starting, and you stumbled forward in your blind daze.

When you finally regained your eyesight, the first thing your eyes saw was a disgruntled Batman with his arms crossed, looming over you.

Judging from the slight downturned corner of his tightly closed lips, he was practically fuming.

“I almost had him,” you winced, as you felt the pain from the blows you took now that your adrenaline rush was over.

He remained silent.

“He would have gotten away and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you tried to justify.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Batman pointed to a CCTV that was very much still active.

“I still think I made the right decision,” you shrugged.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he fumed.

“I acted how I saw fit,” you argued, “You always say to follow your instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders,” he retorted.

“Wow,” you scoffed, “Just- wow.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, since I’m sure you’re going to dismiss me for tonight, I’ll be heading back now,” you walked to your bike, grimacing at the pain the whole way.

“Robin,” Batman called before you could drive away, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

You paused.

“Okay.”

*** “Take a deep breath and hold it,” you heard Alfred’s voice coming from the speakers in the small X-Ray room in the very far end of the cave.

You winced and did as you were told. You heard a beep, and then breathed normally again.

You walked out the room in a thin cotton robe and sat on a medical examination bed in the centre of the cave.

“Well, no broken ribs or fractures,” Alfred came out, holding the X-Ray image of your thorax, “Thankfully, your injuries are merely superficial.”

“Good,” you huffed, “Still hurts, though.”

“Yes, bruises tend to hurt,” he agreed, “Any other injuries I should know of? Your head, in particular.”

“No, no head injuries,” you shook your head. He specifically did not give you any head injuries.

“Very well, then. You are good to go,” Alfred dismissed you.

By the time you were ready for bed, it was half past midnight.

You admittedly felt bad for arguing with Bruce the way you did earlier. You rarely ever disobeyed him- but when you did, you would lie in bed for hours feeling guilty.

After all, he took you in, raised you, trained you, made you who you were. And you were forever grateful for that.

But sometimes he was just so frustrating.

It was either his way or the highway. But you guessed that’s the deal with most parents.

You sighed to yourself. You needed a distraction. You’ve been feeling anxious and restless the past few days.

You called Jason.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice slightly breathless.

“Hey, it’s me,” you greeted him, “Are you busy?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said.

“Would you like to hang out tomorrow after I finish school?” you asked, “I was thinking Robinson Park.”

“Really?” he blurted, “You’re feeling okay?”

You were taken aback.

“Of course I am,” you replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought that you were busy on school days, that’s all,” he chuckled.

“I’ve got nothing on tomorrow,” you explained, “I just feel like winding down for a bit. Take a stroll, eat ice cream.”

“Okay, then. See you at Robinson Park at…?”

“I finish at three, so I’ll be there around three twenty?” you told him.

“Awesome! I’ll see you tomorrow at three, princess.”

“See you, Jason.”

*** The weather was nice, considering that it was Gotham. You got lucky that it wasn’t all too gloomy that day, and there were actually birds chirping about.

You were sitting on a bench at Robinson Park in a tank top and shorts- you took the time to change before you came- watching as joggers passed by and kids chased their dogs. Suddenly, you had an ice cream cone pushed up in front of your face.

You looked up and saw Jason grinning, holding the cone.

“I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I just got this one. If you don’t like it I can go back and buy another-”

“No, no,” you insisted, taking the cone from him, “I’m fine with this. Thank you.”

He sat down next to you. He was wearing a tight light grey shirt that stretched marvelously across his chest. It was the first time you saw him wear something that showed you what he actually looked like underneath.

His biceps reminded you of Red Hood’s flexed-

No, stop it. What was wrong with you?

“So,” he began, “What’s up with the…”

He gestured to your knuckles, which were taped and bandaged. You had cuts and bruises that needed to be bandaged on your knuckles, due to Red Hood’s hard helmet.

“Oh, I do MMA,” you answered smoothly, a lie that you had perfected over the years, “It’s funny, actually. I sometimes show up to school with bruises on my shoulders, or a black eye- stuff so bad that makeup couldn’t even cover it. Everyone thought my dad was abusing me.”

You let out a well practiced chuckle.

“So you not only get injured over glass doors, but you also let yourself voluntarily get beaten up?” he laughed.

“It’s a sport, okay!” you giggled, “I’m not too bad at it.”

“I’m not too bad at fighting, myself,” he grinned, and then licked his ice cream.

You forced yourself to not stare at his wet lips.

“You know martial arts?” you exclaimed, “Wait, what am I talking about? Of course you do. You’re planning to join the force.”

“Well, yes,” he said, “But I bet you’re better.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at the size of you!” you blurted.

“And there you go talking about my size again,” he feigned a hurt sigh.

“Oh, please,” you playfully slapped his arm, “Oh, I saw a meme this morning that reminded me of you- wait, let me show you.”

“Meme?” he asked.

You looked at him weird.

“Yeah?” you said slowly, “Don’t you know what a meme is?”

He blinked at you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Have you been living under a rock all these years? Where were you in 2010?”

You saw him frown slightly, and clench his jaw.

You immediately felt bad.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you started.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, “It’s just that I’m not really on the internet much. No Myspace, or whatever.”

“Myspace?” you giggled, “Myspace is dead, Jason. It’s all Instagram now.”

“Well, let’s just say that living under a rock is quite an accurate statement you made,” he chuckled, yet no humour was in his eyes.

You tried to decipher the joke, but failed.

“Hey, wanna fight?” he changed the subject.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, spar,” he smirked, “It would be fun.”

You paused for awhile, thinking of your injuries. They were minor and usually you would be on patrol the day right after a light beating as well, so you figured why not.

“It’s on!” you stood up and gobbled up your ice cream, “Let’s find a nice spot.”

The two of you followed the park’s path, and settled on a flat area of soft grass a few metres down.

“I’m gonna have to touch you places, princess,” he warned, “You okay with that?”

“Oh, you can touch me anywhere you want,” you winked back at him.

His expression changed from excitement to a darker glint in his eye.

You got into your usual defensive position. You figured you were just going to go easy on him.

You went in for a right hook, which he dodged easily. And then a jab. He dodged again. You weren’t really aiming to hit him, as it was just a sparring session.

You kinda just want to tackle him to the ground.

So you went in for a low sweep, which he surprisingly avoided too. You frowned, thinking he was much better than you thought he was.

“I thought you said you weren’t too bad?” he gave you a smug look.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and then an idea popped into your head.

You wanted to just tackle him to the ground? So that’s what you did.

You ran head first in his direction, body bent low just like a football player, and tackled him to the ground.

He landed with an “Oof” on his back, but before you could even think of your next step, he had his hand around your neck and flung you off of him.

You laid on your back, letting the wet grass seep into your clothes, wide eyes and in shock.

“Oh, shit. Are you okay? I’m so sor-” Jason approached you to help you up, but you reflexively backed away from him.

It was illogical of you to back away from him, especially since he didn’t hurt you, but that move he made, it seemed too familiar.

“Fuck, princess,” Jason panicked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You just caught me off guard and it was like a reflex. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked up at Jason’s wide, blue eyes. He was slightly sweaty, and his lips were apart, breathing heavily. He looked kind and concerned. You shook your head and laughed to yourself at your own ridiculousness.

There was no way your Jason could be Red Hood.

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, “I wasn’t expecting that move, that’s all. Come on, help me up.”

You held out your hand, and he pulled you up.

“Could you help brush off the grass from my back, please?” you asked politely.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded and then proceeded to do as you asked. He didn’t even hesitate to brush off the grass off your butt. After he was done, he gave it a small slap, and grinned cheekily.

“Naughty,” you eyed him, smiling.

The two of you continued walking on the path, deciding silently not to continue sparring. You bickered and joked for around half an hour, before you needed to go back.

“I had a good time, Jason. Thank you, I needed this,” you said.

“No problem. You can call me anytime,” he suddenly hesitated and avoided your eye, “And uh, I’m sorry about just now. I really didn’t mean to.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” you dismissed.

“No, it’s not fine,” he grabbed your hands and stood in front of you, close.

So close, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face and count the little white scars that littered his skin here and there, even some freckles, and you could see how long and thick his eyelashes were.

“I’m really, truly sorry,” he whispered, lifting your chin up, “I would never ever hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, consumed by his closeness and the icy blue of his eyes.

“I’m not a creep,” he chuckled lightly, “So you can trust me.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

“You’re really pretty close up,” he laughed nervously.

You hadn’t realised that the two of you were inching closer and closer together, until you felt his lips brush against yours lightly, as if he was asking you if it was okay.

You crashed your lips against his, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from him. He tasted like vanilla and strawberries- from the ice cream he had before.

The kiss was short and sweet- as you were in a public area. You broke it off and blushed.

“So, uh,” he panted, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” you sighed back, “I’ll see you around.”

Once you were out of his view, you squealed to yourself as you rejoiced at your first kiss.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood and the outlaws #dc comics #dceu #dc universe #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 5 years

Text

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 8)

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

(Chapter 4)

(Chapter 5)

(Chapter 6)

(Chapter 7)

Since we don't know solids on the ages of the characters, I’m guessing here. I know in real life, it's like 14 years for the actors, but Daryl mentions Merle was in juvie when he got lost in the woods as a young boy, so I'm just making shit up here. I’m putting the age gap as 8 years because it's my story and I can looool. I put a lot of effort into researching shit for my stories, even to the point of looking into him in Survival Instinct because there's a lot about him from before what we see in the show and I pride myself on getting things right. But sometimes, ya gotta make shit up, alright? :’)

Also, do you guys like my banners on my multi-chapter fics or should I go back to using a gif at the top?

------------------------------

Daryl sat in the front of the truck, head in his hands as his chest heaved, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. It felt like someone ripped his beating heart right from his chest and stomped all over it and he was struggling to reign it in. Ignoring the dead that were slapping at the windows, looking at him like he was their next meal. It had only been one fucking day since they got back to the truck. He didn't know how things managed to go ass upwards so fucking easy. But then again, of course he did. Merle. It was always fucking Merle somehow.

Daryl was driving through some kind of ghost town, it was eery and empty as he drove down the road, past some stores. Charlene was snoring softly, her head leaning against the glass of the window. He kept stealing glances at her every so often, just enjoying being able to admire her without an audience. Some movement in his rearview caught his eye and he squinted, watching as his brother was stood in the bed of the truck. He was tugging on his jacket like something was on him.

“The fuck?” Daryl muttered, trying to watch where he was going and look back at Merle. Without warning his stupid fucking brother flung himself from the moving truck. Daryl slammed on the brakes, the tyres squealing as Charlene flew forward, her head connecting with the dash as a pained cry left her lips. Daryl's eyes widened, he didn't know which way was fucking up. With Merle flinging himself from the truck and now he had just injured the girl.

“Shit, are ya alright?!” he asked, looking panicked as he glanced through the window, seeing his brother rolling around the pavement like he was on fire. What the fuck was going on?

“Huh?” she asked, blinked dazed as she gingerly touched her head. Daryl blanched when he realised he had cut her head, a little trickle of blood just above her eyebrow. He wasn't sure what to do, he needed to see what the fuck was wrong with Merle before the biters got him, but he felt bad at leaving her there when he’d just fucking conked her head on the dash.

“Just...Fuckin’ stay here!” he said firmly, hopping out of the truck and running over to his brother.

“The fuck Merle?!” he hissed, grabbing him as his brother tried to shove him away frantically for a minute.

“Daryl? Fuck Daryl! Put it out man! I’m gonna burn to death!” Merle yelled alarmed, making Daryl shake his head bewildered.

“Put what out? There ain’t a damn thing there!” he growled, yanking him up to his feet.

Merle was sweating, glancing at himself before he relaxed just a little. Daryl squinted at him as it all clicked.

“Merle...Do not fuckin’ tell me this is a bad trip,” he seethed, clenching his jaw.

“Must have been. That fuckin’ LSD...thought I was on fire,” Merle panted, he’d worked himself up with the panic. Daryl growled, shoving him hard.

“Acid?! Ya fuckin’ took acid in the middle of the damn apocalypse?! Ya want to get us killed?!” he roared, unable to comprehend just how stupid his brother could be. Merle wasn't even looking at him though, looking at the floor wearily as he glanced about.

“I think we need to get inside ‘fore all these weird-ass spiders get us.” He muttered, shaking his leg like one was on him. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply as he tried to squash the urge to deck his brother.

“What's going on?” he heard from behind of him, turning to see Charlene, not listening to his demand that she stay put, now stood right there. Today was a bag of shit and then some.

“I told ya to wait in the damn truck girl,” he growled. She didn't seem fazed though as she held a rag she had found in the truck to her head. Her whole head was pounding and Daryl noticed she looked a little pale. Good goin’, ya’ve probably give her fuckin’ brain damage… He needed a moment to think, and spotting some dead in the distance didn't help any. His brother was having a bad trip and the girl was injured.

“Inside, now!” he ordered gruffly as he grabbed Merle and helped him into the store just over the road. When he got him inside, he dropped him to the floor without a care and left his brother grumbling to himself. Charlene walked in and sat on the counter, watching warily as Daryl walked over.

“Let me see,” he sighed, grabbing her chin and tilting it a little. She winced, squeezing her eyes closed as she tried to turn her head from his grasp. He didn't let go though.

“What's that noise?” she muttered, screwing her eyes tight as she shook her head a little. It worried Daryl that there was no noise, he had probably fucking concussed her.

“Shit girl, m’sorry,” he lamented, finally letting go of her chin. Her head was hurting and she felt weird, he was still stood between her legs and she lay her head on his shoulder. He tensed a little, feeling guilty as shit for doing this to her.

“I’m gonna get ya some water,” he said softly, easing her off his shoulder and trying not to look at how she looked disorientated or in pain. He glanced around, noticing their packs were all still in the damn truck. So was his bow. He growled to himself before he looked over to his brother who was slumped against the wall, looking pale and worn out.

“I need to grab our shit, both of ya just stay here,” he ordered as he strode to the door, casting a wary glance at them both. He left quickly and ran across the street where the truck was. It wasn't wise to stay here and he’d get them both back in the damn truck soon enough. He hopped inside, rummaging for the bags and grabbing his bow, but then he heard it. Biters, a lot of them. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror and his heart stopped dead in his chest as he saw a fucking hoard seeming to materialise out of nowhere. He shut his door quickly, his heart thumping painfully in his chest as he glanced over to the store. The door was closed but he hadn't been able to lock it since he was out here and he doubted Merle or Charlene would with their mental states. He didn't know what to do. The dead were right there, ambling down the street, and if he got out and ran into the store, it would lead them right to them and he knew his brother and the girl were in no state to run from a group this big.

He held his breath as the dead started to walk by the truck, staying completely still so they didn't know he was in there. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slow and deep, hoping to fuck they would all just walk on by and then they could leave in the other direction. There was so many of them, he hadn't ever seen a group of them this big before and he was shitting himself if he was honest, how their groans filled his ears as they walked past the truck. He heard a noise that wasn't the dead and he furrowed his brow, wondering what it was and why it seemed to register in his mind, like he had heard it before. He heard it again and his heart dropped. It was the glass. He turned to look out of the window, he couldn't see through all the dead walking by but then he heard the glass shatter, and he knew it was the large glass window from the store.

“Shit. Shit shit shit!” he hissed, grabbing his bow and not knowing what to do. He couldn't just dive out of the fucking car with so many of the dead pricks right there by the truck. He couldn't even see what was going on, the truck was on the other side of the street and the dead were creating a thick barrier.

He heard a gun go off, making his blood run cold as he tried so fucking hard to see what was going on. The adrenaline was running through his veins as his heart thumped hard against his chest. He couldn't see shit and he had no hope of getting to them, or them to him with the hoard in the way. All he could do was fucking wait and hope to god they got away.

It felt like hours until the dead finally moved on, only a few stragglers left behind. Now he could see, his stomach clenched painfully seeing the large front window gone, shards of glass everywhere. He hopped out of the truck, dodging the few remaining biters as he ran over frantically. He fought the urge to call out for them yet, not wanting to draw any more attention from the dead. He burst inside, eyes scanning the area as dread settled in his stomach.

There wasn't any blood, and that was a good thing, but there was no sign of either of them and he didn't know what the fuck to think. He searched the small store, finding nothing at all. There wasn't another exit or any other way to get out and he wasn't sure if they had somehow got out the broken window and dodged the dead or...don’t go there, not even thinkin’ that shit. He swallowed thickly, running back to the safety of the truck and slamming the door. Trying to figure out what the fuck to do now. They were gone. Just fucking gone and he wasn't sure how to find them, if there was even anything left to find.

His chest felt tight as he tried to push the emotions away. He needed to find them, they had to be out there somewhere. She had no one but his brother to keep her safe. His brother who was high as fuck and on a bad trip. And she was injured. They didn't even have their packs, they had no food or water. They had nothing. His chest hurt the more he thought about it, knowing he needed to find them as soon as he could. If they did manage to get out, they were on bided time with the state they were both in and no supplies. He didn't like the thought of her being left with his brother alone either when his brother wasn't in his right mind.

He wiped his eyes, stuffing his feelings right down so he could get his head on right, trying to think of where they could have gone. It was just a long road with a few stores and some houses. There were only two ways they could have gone. But the problem was if Daryl chose the wrong way, it would take him in the opposite direction than his brother and the girl. He hated how this had to happen, like enough shit hadn't happened already, now they had to deal with this. He scratched the scruff on his chin a minute, eyes darting either way. Being sat here with his thumbs up his ass wouldn't help any either, he just had to pick one and hope to fuck that he picked the right way.

A thought hit him then, well more like a memory, one that was so painful it made him feel raw but it might have been the only clue as to how to find them.

“I don’t wanna go Merle!” a young Daryl whined, his wide blue eyes looking fearful at his older brother. A 5-year-old Daryl was terrified, hearing the sound of his mother being beaten in the bedroom. Begging and pleading for forgiveness as his father screamed at her, calling her so many names that Daryl didn't even understand.

“I ain't askin’ little brother,” Merle growled, grabbing the scruff of his shirt and dragging him from the house. Daryl was too young to understand just why his brother was doing this, that he was protecting him.

“How am I gonna find ya?” Daryl squeaked, looking imploringly at his older brother.

“Follow the sun for a few minutes and wait, I’ll come find ya baby brother,” Merle said softly as he gave him a little shove. Daryl nodded, making his way into the woods behind their old rickety house. He followed the sun for a few minutes like his brother had said, and then he sat hugging his knees against a tree. He wiped his eyes and sniffled, shaking his long light brown hair from his face. Sure enough, Merle did find him. He wasn't really sure how long had passed as he sat there waiting, shivering in the cold. But Merle came for him, lifting him up and carrying him home once it was safe.

Follow the sun. He wasn't sure if Merle even remembered that. Daryl had no choice, it seemed that every little thing that happened in his life was stored away in his brain, coming back to haunt him when the time came. This time it may have actually been useful though, he wasn't certain but it seemed good enough to start. He started the truck's engine, pulling out slowly as he headed in the direction of the sun. now he just had to figure out where the hell they would be hiding. If they even made it out that was.

-------------------

If you’ve read this and also my poll or Tumblr post, I don't want you getting confused. This isn't the separation I was referring to. That would be Charlene on her own and for a little longer than this one turns out to be. Just to clear that up.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon writing #twd #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic #merle dixon

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i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind · 5 years

Text

You’re Still Here

This is my first installment of my @badthingshappenbingo card. What started out as a small oneshot, became quite a long installment.

This is set sometime in S2, before Shepherd and Roman learned Jane’s loyalties lay with the FBI.

Thanks @lurkingwhump for always being there to bounce around ideas with me and for convincing me to start a card. Feel free to leave requests on my card :)

I hope you enjoy :)

It was late, the rest of the team had long gone home. Jane sat in the office by herself meticulously filling out paperwork from today's events.

Roman had pulled her away on yet another Sandstorm mission, where they had had an altercation with some armed guards. No one had been killed and thankfully she seemed to be the only one who had walked away with minor injuries. The rest of the mission had gone as planned, but like all of the others, seemed completely random and pointless to her.

She signed the last of her paperwork, standing to put it on Weller's desk. A sharp pain radiated through her side, causing her to drop her stack of paperwork. Caught by surprise at the intensity of the pain, she stopped in her tracks, bringing her hand up to clutch her abdomen. She prodded the area softly, clenching her teeth when she hit a particularly painful spot.

She must have taken a hit to the abdomen when they were fighting those guards. She thought back, trying to gauge when the injury must have occurred. Coming up short, she shrugged.

She groaned when she realised all of her freshly filled reports were scattered all over the floor. She bent down slowly, not wanting to aggravate her side further, and picked everything up. Sitting back at her desk, she started the painstaking process of putting everything back in order.

By the time she was done, it was well past midnight. Her eyes hurt and she had a pounding headache. The pain in her side had settled to a dull burning sensation, so long as she didn't move too fast.

Resigned to the fact that this was the best she was going to be able to do tonight, she stood slowly, before collecting her paperwork and heading for Kurt's office. She left her reports in a neat pile on his desk, before retreating to the breakroom.

Her stomach growled loudly - when was the last time she had eaten? Jane frowned when she realised she couldn't remember. She shrugged, fatigue pulling at her senses. She sat down exhausted on the couch, deciding she would rest for just a moment before she made her way back to her safehouse.

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When Kurt entered the NYO, he was already in a bad mood. His morning had already started out with burnt toast, a coffee stained shirt, a flat tyre and a New York cabbie who was only interested in taking the longest route to get the biggest fare out of him. Even through all of that, he had still managed to get to work first.

He stopped by his office first to discard his jacket. He raised an eyebrow at the stack of completed paperwork on his desk.

When had she had time to do this?

She had arrived back at the NYO late evening, a little worse for wear. She had sat through another gruelling session from Nas, who insisted she know every detail of each mission. It had been after ten by the time they were finished, and everyone else had gone home to their beds. He had only assumed Jane had as well.

He sighed. She had been pushing herself incredibly hard since her return from the CIA, but not once had he taken the time to ask if she was ok. He had been far too angry, not even wanting to be in the same room as her. He scrubbed a hand over his face. The anger was still there, though it had lessened a little. Deep down he knew she had truly believed she had been protecting them by not saying anything about Oscar….

But she had still lied!

She had still been a part of Mayfair’s death. She had still lied about having memories about being Taylor.

He felt his face twitch, the anger building again. He just wanted this all to be over so he could be rid of her once and for all… so he could finally move on with his life.

Deciding that her stack of paperwork could wait, he made his way to the breakroom, in search of a coffee fix that hopefully wouldn’t end up on his shirt this time.

The sight that greeted him when he entered the breakroom had his feelings conflicted.

Jane was curled up on the loveseat, her face scrunched in pain even in sleep. She was pale and sweaty, her cheeks tinged with red. He frowned, feeling his anger lesson again.

“Jane.” he said gruffly, not wanting to give into the satisfaction of touching her.

She startled awake, her eyes glazed, until recognition cleared her features.

“Kurt?’ she asked, scrambling to a sitting position. She winced, the uncontrolled movements sending daggers into her damaged side. She brought her hand to her abdomen again, not able to completely suppress the pained groan that escaped her lips.

Kurt frowned.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, but his voice came out harsher than intended.

Jane forced her face to become impassive, standing stiffly.

“I’m fine.” she ground out, before she limped out of the breakroom, using the wall for support as a wave of dizziness clouded her vision.

Kurt watched her leave, again unable to identify his emotions. He busied his hands, making a pot of coffee. He watched through the glass as Jane all but limped back to her desk, clearly in some kind of distress. It hurt him, though didn’t surprise him that she could no longer confide in him. He hadn’t exactly given her any reason to since she got back.

He decided it would probably be more damaging to her if he suddenly started showing care towards her. She would just try and find an ulterior motive. No, it was probably best if he just left her alone to lick her wounds, though he would be keeping a closer eye on her from now on.

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By the time the rest of the team had arrived, Weller seemed to have thankfully forgotten about their little altercation in the break room.

Jane had been worried that he would reprimand her for sleeping in the office, or that she didn’t seem to be in top physical condition. She knew her place. The only reason she was even still here was because she could help them take down Sandstorm. Once that happened, she had no idea where she would end up. Would they send her straight back to the CIA?

The thought made her feel sick, and she had to swallow against the nausea churning in her gut.

Her phone beeped - Patterson was calling them to a meeting.

Jane took a careful breath, as not to aggravate the pain radiating from her side. She schooled her features. Show no weakness. Pain is a dream. Business as usual.

She stood slowly, making her way to Patterson’s lab. She stood in the corner, as per usual, trying to keep as much distance from the rest of the team as she could. She just didn’t think she could handle their harsh words or expressions today.

Truth be told, she was starting to suspect something was terribly wrong. What had started out feeling like a bruised muscle, had turned into a sharp pain that radiated down her right side. That, accompanied with the nausea and the fact she thought she had a fever… she was starting to get concerned for her own wellbeing. And that was saying something... maybe she had been hurt worse than she had been willing to admit.

Not wanting to draw any attention to herself, she crossed her arms so she didn’t have to clutch her side. Patterson’s voice had faded into the background without her realising it, her body suddenly only interested in focusing on the pain in her side and the nausea bubbling up her throat.

She swallowed convulsively, her eyes darting around the room for the nearest exit.

She was so wrapped up in trying to control her suddenly extremely upset stomach, that she hadn’t noticed Kurt side-eying her. He was watching her distress with growing concern. Deciding enough was enough, he turned to her, saying her name questioningly.

“Jane?”

He knew there was something really wrong when she didn’t respond.

Jane didn’t even hear him say her name, her mind too wrapped up in the turmoil within. The pain and nausea intensified, sending her hurtling towards the nearest wastebin, sinking to her knees and vomiting up the meager contents of her stomach. Nothing but bile and acid came up, burning her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, not able to suppress the pained whimpers that escaped between heaves.She pressed her hand to her burning side, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that everyone in the room was looking at her, that Kurt was hovering over her, unsure on whether to touch her or not.

Her stomach spasmed again, sending a shockwave of pain coursing through her entire body. She gagged once more, panting heavily into the waste bin. Slowly she became more aware of her surroundings.

Completely mortified, she accepted the tissue Patterson was holding out for her, with a strangled “Thanks.”

She looked up at the rest of the team, a mixture of concern and disgust tainted their faces.

“Excuse me.” She hissed through another wave of agony, pulling herself to her feet. She grabbed the wastebin and limped painfully towards the door.

“Jane-”

“Im fine.” she ground out, her voice hoarse from vomiting.

Kurt and the rest of the team were left staring after her, feeling completely dumbstruck.

Jane discarded the contents of the bin, before making her way to the bathroom. She took a drink out of the tap, rinsing her mouth out, before she cupped cold water in her hands, splashing her fevered cheeks.

She pulled up the hem of her shirt, slightly shocked to see a bloated bulge where her usually flat stomach was. She fingered the bulge gently, biting her lower lip to contain the cry that had tried to escape.

She heard someone enter the bathroom, and quickly yanked her shirt back down.

“What's going on Jane?” she heard Weller ask. She turned around slowly, wishing she didn't have to meet his eye.

“I'm-”

“Don't just say you're fine!” he cut her off, exasperated. “Because clearly you're not.”

Jane sighed. There was no way she was going to get out of this.

“It's nothing. Just an upset stomach.” She said matter of factly.

Kurt cocked his eyebrow.

“Maybe you should go home.” he replied, and Jane could have sworn there was a hint of concern in his voice.

She shook her head.

“I just want to do my job.”

“Jane.” he said, stepping forward, hands up in a placating gesture. “Clearly you're not well. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to continue working.”

Jane's heart sank. Didn't he realise nothing but emptiness and nightmares waited for her at home?

Resigned to her fate, she nodded, moving to shrug past him, when another round of pain hit her, causing her to double over. She whimpered, clutching at her side again, not able to hide her agony.

She felt a hand on her shoulder… could hear the concern in his voice as he called out to her.

The pain, if possible, intensified, the edges of her vision graying.

She let out an anguished cry, before her world turned black, and she collapsed in a heap into Kurt's arms.

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Kurt watched in horror as Jane was overcome with pain, doubling over. Her face turned three shades paler, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He reached out, grabbing her before she fell into a heap on the floor.

He lowered her gently into the recovery position, brushing her hair off of her face. He was shocked at the heat radiating off of her face.

“Jane? Jane?” he called, trying to rouse her. When he got no response, he turned and called out the door. “I need some help in here!”

A few moments later, Zapata and Patterson came rushing into the room, stopping in their tracks at the scene that greeted them.

“What the hell happened?” Tasha asked, kneeling beside them on the floor.

“I don’t know.” Kurt replied gruffly. “She just collapsed.”

“I’ll call an ambulance.” Patterson said, pulling out her cell phone, her eyes wide in concern. She stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the other two to tend to Jane.

“Help me get her out of these clothes.” Kurt ordered. “We need to try and cool her down.”

Tasha nodded, helping Kurt sit her up and pulling her jacket and hoodie off. Jane was limp, and still hadn't shown any signs of waking. They pulled her shirt and pants off, leaving her lying in nothing but her underwear.

Tasha could help the gasp that escaped her mouth when she saw the state of the woman she once thought of as a friend. She was incredibly emaciated, her ribs and hip bones jutting out under her tattooed skin. She was muscle, and little else. There were scars zig zagging and warping through her tattoos, giving an indication as to what she went through in the grips of the CIA.

Tasha nodded down towards Jane's stomach.

“That's not right.” she said, helping Kurt roll her back into the recovery position. Kurt raised an eyebrow at Tasha. “She's so thin.” she started.

“I can see that Tasha.” he ground out.

“No… Kurt… she's so thin, but her stomach looks really bloated. Something's not right.”

Kurt followed her gaze, looking at Jane's stomach properly.

“You're right.” he agreed. He cupped the part of her stomach that was the most swollen, pushing down softly. Even in unconsciousness, Jane reacted to the pain.

“Did she get hurt yesterday?” Tasha asked.

Kurt shook his head. “Not that I know of… but I don't think she would tell us if she did.”

They both stared down at her guiltily. Neither of them had been very civil towards Jane these last few months. They had both forgotten what it was like to have her as part of their team. It was easier to have someone to blame, and Jane seemed to be more than happy to cop it.

“There's no bruising.” Kurt commented, inspecting her side again. “I don't think this is an injury.”

“What is she pregnant?” Tasha spat out, the usual viciousness returning to her voice.

Kurt frowned up at her.

“I certainly hope not.” he whispered quietly.

“Paramedics will be here in a minute.” Patterson said, returning to the bathroom. “Oh God.” she whispered, taking in Jane's frail form.

Zapata and Weller looked up at her, their expressions both angry and guilty.

“How did we let things get this bad?” she asked, clearly upset.

“This isn't our fault.” Tasha exclaimed, her voice hard.

“Maybe not, but we didn't exactly do anything to stop it either.” Kurt replied softly, placing the back of his hand on her forehead. She was still hot to the touch.

He felt her stir under his hand.

“Jane? Can you hear me?” he asked, leaning over her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, blinking heavily.

“Weller?” she asked weakly.

“Yeah it's me.” he replied, giving into the temptation and brushing her hair off her face gently. “You passed out. The paramedics are on their way.”

Jane frowned, trying to remember. Her eyes suddenly grew wide when she realised her state of undress.

“Why am I in my underwear?” she ground out, struggling to sit up.

Tasha reached out with surprisingly gentle hands, urging her to lie back down.

“Just relax.” she said, her tone the kindest it had been in months. “You have a high fever, we were just trying to cool you down.”

Jane seemed to accept that, though she still felt incredible uncomfortable and exposed. She knew how her body looked. How ugly she was. And now she was on display for the whole world to see.

“How's the pain?” Kurt asked.

Jane took a moment to assess herself. She felt awful, nauseous and sore, but the pain in her side had seemed to have dulled.

“Better actually.” she replied and Kurt could see she was telling the truth. “I don't think the paramedics are necessary.”

“I think we would all feel better if you went and got checked out.” Kurt replied, still worried about the swelling in her stomach and her fever.

“What about how I feel?” Jane ground out. “Or do I not get a say in the matter?”

“Jane…”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics. Kurt and Tasha moved out of the way, giving them room to work. Kurt turned away, unable to look her in the eye. He knew this was yet another right he was taking away from her. But his gut was telling him she really needed to be checked over. He could vaguely hear the EMT's asking her questions, and talking to each other as they took her vitals. Before he knew it they had loaded her onto the gurney, a light sheet covering her to give her at least a little privacy.

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Jane felt completely mortified as she was wheel through the middle of the office, nothing but a light sheet covering her. The paramedics had inserted an IV and administered some pain relief. She had tried to convince them that she didn't need to go to the hospital, but her 103 degree fever and her cry of pain when they palpated her abdomen, hadn't been very persuasive.

She curled in on herself, trying to hide her face from as many onlookers as possible. She could hear them murmuring amongst themselves, and wished that she would just pass out again.

Thankfully they made it down to the waiting ambulance fairly quickly and without incident. They loaded her into the back of the ambulance, and Jane nearly choked when Kurt hopped in beside her.

She stared at him questioningly. Hadn't he already wasted enough time today at her expense?

“You don't have to go through this alone.” he said matter of factly, taking the seat opposite her.

Jane chose to stay quiet. She wasn't sure if he was here because he cared and was genuinely worried, or if he wanted to keep an eye on her... to make sure she actually made it to the hospital without causing a fuss.

Jane suspected it was the latter. Why would he suddenly choose to start caring about her now? She had been hurt plenty of times in the field, and he had barely batted an eyelid. So why now?

Maybe it was because he had seen the result of the damage inflicted by the CIA. Maybe he suddenly felt sorry for her because he had seen how wasted away her body had become. How the grueling workouts she pushed herself through each day, had turned her body into muscle and not much more, and the missed meals had melted any remaining fat reserves.

Because there was no way she would let herself believe for a second, that maybe he actually cared.

She was starting to lose the battle with her stomach again. The motion of riding backwards and winding through traffic was making her feel queasy.

She placed her hand on her belly, breathing through her nose and swallowing convulsively.

“Feeling a bit sick there, are we?” one of the paramedics asked.

Jane nodded, not willing to trust opening her mouth.

“Here.” the paramedic said kindly, giving her an emesis bag. “I'll get you something for the nausea.”

Jane stared down at the bag, willing her stomach to settle. There was no way she was going to vomit in front of Weller for a second time today… especially when she had already passed out into his arms, like some kind of damsel, and then been stripped down to her underwear.

She groaned as they swung through another line of traffic, leaning over the bag panting heavily. She felt a light hand on her back, and was surprised to see Kurt had moved closer to her.

“Just breathe Jane.” he murmured. He moved away when the paramedic had the right medication, injecting the anti emetic into her IV.

Moments later, she felt confident enough to sit back up, tucking the bag down the side of the bed for safe keeping.

She stared at Kurt through wide eyes.

“What?” he asked, smiling slightly.

Jane hesitated for a moment, then asked “Why are you being so nice to me?” in a small voice.

Kurt frowned at that. He sighed.

“I'm worried about you Jane.” he said finally.

Jane's eyes searched his, and found only truth.

“Why? What has suddenly changed?” she asked, her voice confused.

He thought for a moment, staring into her fevered eyes.

“Something happened today that reminded me of a few things.” he said quietly.

Jane just stared at him, not knowing how to respond to that. At her silence he continued.

“I'm not saying I forgive you, but I'm saying that I could… in time.”

Jane took a breath and blew it out slowly.

“We've both done some terrible things Jane, but I'm beginning to see that neither of us intended for those things to happen.”

Jane's head was spinning. Never did she think she would be having this conversation with Kurt Weller.

“I know you would never deliberately hurt this team… or me… but you still did, and that pain isn't going to just go away… but Jane… I am sorry for the way we have been treating you since you got back… and from the looks of thing, you haven't been treating yourself very well either.”

Jane felt her cheeks flush, and knew it had nothing to do with her fever.

“Thank you.” she whispered quietly. She could see how sincere he was being and knew he wasn't playing some kind of trick on her. She looked up at him, her chin wobbling. “You have to know I never wanted any of this.” she exclaimed.

He frowned again, but nodded.

“Just don't lie to me again Jane.”

“I won't lie to you, if you promise not to arrest me again.” she quipped.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Deal.”

Jane sighed, feeling herself relax for the first time in months.

“So what’s actually going on?” Kurt asked, his eyes looking down at her stomach.

Jane shrugged her shoulder.

“I’m not sure.” she whispered quietly. “I thought that maybe I got hurt during yesterday’s mission.”

“But you’re not sure?” he asked knowingly.

She shook her head.

“I don’t remember taking a hit that would have caused this much damage.”

Kurt frowned again.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Jane.”

Jane nodded.

“That’s just it though… the pain feels better.”

“That could just be the painkillers talking.” he replied smiling.

“I don’t think so. When I woke up in the bathroom, I almost felt relief.”

The paramedic caught her eye, staring at her with concern.

“We’re here.” he said.

They wheeled Jane into a cubicle, Kurt not leaving her side. She saw the paramedic whisper something to the doctor, that seemed to concern him. He nodded and strode straight into the cubicle.

“Miss Doe? I’m Doctor Connors. I understand you’ve been having some pain in your tummy.”

Jane nodded, incredibly embarrassed. She was thankful her and Kurt seemed to have made amends in the back of the ambulance.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Doctor Connors asked kindly.

Jane shook her head. The doctor lay the bed flat, lifting the sheet to expose her stomach. She looked at Kurt, and could see the guilt plastered over his face at the sight of her body. She was distracted by the sudden onslaught of pain, when the doctor started palpating her swollen belly. He was gentle, working his way around the rest of her stomach, until he reached the bottom right side of her stomach. He pressed lightly, and Jane couldn’t help but cry out. Kurt grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly.

The doctor put his stethoscope in his ears, listening to Jane’s belly.

“Ok Miss Doe.” the doctor said, removing his stethoscope and lowering her blanket back down. “I’m going to get a nurse to come in and run some more tests.” He lifted the head of the bed back into a sitting position

Jane couldn’t reply, too focused on breathing through the pain that seemed to have resurfaced.

“I’ll get you some painkillers.” he said, before leaving the cubicle.

Kurt sat down on the side of the bed, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Shh Jane… just breathe.” he murmured gently.

A nurse entered sometime later, holding a kidney dish filled with different needles. She administered some pain relief, and another anti emetic, before getting to work changing Jane’s IV and taking bloods. She took her heart rate, blood pressure and temperature, jotting it down on her chart.

“We’re going to set you up on some saline.” the nurse said, hanging the bag above her head. “You’re quite dehydrated.”

Jane nodded, enjoying the blissful relief the painkillers were giving her. When the nurse had left the room, Jane looked over at Kurt and smiled.

He grinned back. “You’re so high.” he laughed.

Jane rolled her eyes, trying to keep her face serious, but completely failing.

“This is some good stuff.” she murmured. She was starting to have trouble keeping her eyes open.

Kurt chuckled.

“Get some rest.” he said, making himself comfortable on the seat beside her. “They will have your test results soon.”

Jane let herself relax back into the pillow, riding the waves of euphoria from the morphine. She had never taken strong painkillers as long as she had been Jane. She was starting to see why there were drug addicts in the world.

Some time later, Doctor Connors came back into the cubicle, Jane’s chart in his hand. Kurt leant over waking Jane.

“Miss Doe.” Doctor Connors said, opening her chart. “Your white count is incredibly high, that with the fever, vomiting and the localised position of your pain, we are suspecting you have a hot appendix.”

“Ok?” Jane asked.

“When you were being brought in in the ambulance, the paramedic said that you felt relief when you woke up from unconsciousness.’

“Yeah… the pain was better when I woke.” Jane confirmed.

“Sometimes, when a patient experiences debilitating stomach pain, that then disappears, it can indicate that the appendix may have ruptured.”

Jane raised an eyebrow, eyes eyes widening.

“That can be life threatening can’t it?” she questioned.

The doctor nodded.

“It can be… yes.”

Jane blew out a lungful of air, catching Kurt’s eye. He looked upset.

“We’re going to prep you for an emergency Appendectomy. We’ll take you up for an ultrasound first to see what we are working with.”

Jane didn’t really know what to say. She hadn’t expected to hear that news. If her appendix had ruptured, there was a chance she could die. She was prepared to die, but at the hands of Sandstorm, or taking down a perp, not form something that should have been a routine medical procedure.

“We will be transferring you up to surgical shortly. From there an Orderly will take you up to Radiology. Once we have the images, we’ll get you into surgery pretty quickly after that.”

“Thank you Doctor.” Kurt said, shaking the man’s hand. Doctor Connors nodded.

“You’ll have a chance to talk to a surgeon before the procedure, so any questions you may have will be able to be answered by them.”

With that the doctor left them alone again.

Jane couldn’t bring herself to look at Kurt. Just this morning they were barely talking, and now he was her only support in a potentially life threatening medical situation. There was a part of her that wished she could call Roman and tell him what was going on. But there was no way she could do that without blowing her cover.The FBI weren’t even meant to know he existed.

“You’re going to be ok Jane.” Kurt said.

She just nodded. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t scared. Why was nothing about her life was normal? She couldn’t even get appendicitis without it becoming a life threatening situation.

“Kurt…” she said quietly, deciding she would risk him getting mad at her.

“Yes Jane?”

“I want to text Roman… I think he has a right to know what’s going on.”

Kurt pursed his lips, thinking for a minute.

“Is that wise?” he asked finally. “You could blow your cover.”

“That’s why I want to text him.” Jane replied. “I’ll tell him you’re here so he can’t come… but he’s my brother… and if…”

“You’re not going to die Jane.” Kurt said adamantly. “But if it makes you feel better texting him, then I don’t see why you can’t. Besides it will probably look more suspicious if you didn’t.”

Jane nodded. “That’s what it thought.”

Kurt pulled her phone out of his pocket. He had put it in there for safe keeping with they had undressed her.

She nodded her thanks and opened her phone, sending her brother a text.

‘I’m in hospital with a suspected ruptured appendix. Just thought I would let you know in case anything comes up.’

A moment later, Roman replied.

‘Do you want me to come?”

“No. Weller is here.’

‘I can make him leave.’

Jane smiled at that.

‘I’ll be ok. I’ll keep you updated.’

She switched her phone off, passing it back to Kurt.

“Thank you.” she said sincerely. He nodded. Roman was still her brother, even if her was a bloodthirsty terrorist.

The next hour blurred by in a flurry of activity. The orderly wheeled her up to surgical, before she was taken to radiology for her ultrasound. The technician confirmed her appendix had indeed ruptured. They sent her back to her room where Kurt was waiting.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s ruptured.” was all she said in reply.

They sat there quietly until the Surgeon came to visit. The nurse had already been in the prep her for surgery.

“Miss Doe I’m Doctor Michaels.” she introduced herself. “I’ll be performing your Appendectomy today.”

Jane nodded, not willing to trust her voice.

“Now as you know, your appendix has ruptured., which can make this surgery a little trickier than a normal Appendectomy. I will still try and go in Laparoscopically, but there is a chance I will need to open you up. It all depends on how much damage has been done to your bowel.”

“What happens after the surgery?” Kurt asked from beside Jane.

“We’ll put you on some pretty strong antibiotics. You’ll need to receive them intravenously so you’ll be in hospital for a few days.”

At Jane’s silence the doctor asked. “Do you understand everything?”

Jane nodded.

“Yes… I’m just a little scared.” she admitted.

The doctor smiled kindly, taking her hand.

“You’re in good hands Miss Doe, if i do say so myself.”

Jane allowed a small smile.

“Do you have any questions?” Doctor Michaels asked.

Jane shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

“Ok, then. Someone will be around to collect you for theatre shortly.”

The doctor left the room and Jane shifted uncomfortably under Kurt’s stare.

“You’re going to be ok Jane.” Kurt said, and Jane wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

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Not five minutes later, a nurse arrived with a wheelchair to take Jane to theatre. She looked worriedly back at Kurt.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.” he said. She tried to smile, but turned away. Then she was gone.

Kurt sighed. It had been a very emotionally taxing day. He had gone from dispising her, to being concerned for her life. It was sad, yet not surprising that it had taking a situation like this, to make him realise how much he still cared for her.

He pulled his phone out, deciding he should probably fill the team in with what was going on. He dialled Patterson’s number.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Weller? How’s Jane?” she asked straight away. Patterson had been the only one who had still been amicable towards Jane since her return. “You’re on speaker.”

“Her appendix ruptured.” he replied, getting straight to the point. “They’ve just taken her through for emergency surgery.”

“Is she going to be ok?” he heard Tasha ask. He suspected she was feeling very similarly to how he was.

“The doctor seems to be fairly confident.” he replied. “She’ll be in hospital for a few days.”

“Has she contacted Roman?” Nas asked.

Kurt couldn’t help but feel a stab of annoyance toward the NSA agent. All she cared about was the damn mission. Then again, up until a few hours ago, so had he been.

“She sent him a text.” he replied shortly.

“A text? What did she say?” she asked incredulously.

“She told him she was in hospital with a ruptured appendix, but not to come because I’m here.”

He heard Nas breathe a sigh of relief.

“Ok good. That should appease them for a while.”

“Keep us updated on her condition.” Patterson said, cutting off any chance Nas had at continuing.

“Will do.” he said, before disconnecting the call.

He sat down on the chair beside Jane’s empty bed. He was going to do better. To be better. She had been his friend before all of this… she had been more than a friend… and he had just thrown her to the dogs. They had all made mistakes, but he knew she was doing everything she could to try and fix hers. He hadn’t done anything. Had just treated her like dirt.

He had been blind to the mistreatment she had been giving her own body, but today’s events had his eyes wide open. He was going to help her get through this.

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Jane’s surgery took just over an hour. After she had been taken to recovery, her surgeon came to speak to Kurt.

“Everything went really well.” she informed him. “I managed to get the affected tissue out and repair the damage. There was a small split at the bottom of her bowel, but I’m confident that I’ve fixed everything.”

Kurt nodded, relief flooding his senses. He hadn’t realised how much tension he was holding, until those words allowed him to breathe again.

“Thank you doctor.” he said sincerely. “When can I see her?”

“She’ll be in recovery for a wee bit. I did end up having to open her up. We will see how she reacts when the anesthetic wears off. A lot of patients can feel quite sick after a surgery like that.”

Kurt nodded. He knew Jane was going to be upset at having yet another scar added to her already battered body.

“Now there is something I need to discuss with you.” The doctor said, choosing to sit on the bed in front of Kurt.”

“Ok?” he asked, though he knew where this was going.

“Jane is incredibly underweight.” the doctor said matter of factly. “We are going to have to start her on a treatment for malnutrition along with the antibiotics.She will have to meet with a dietician once a week.”

Kurt hung his head, knowing he had been a part of her emaciated state. He still couldn’t believe that no one had picked up on it sooner. Though she did wear baggy clothes all of the time, and he must admit, no one was exactly looking for it.

“I’ll make sure she cooperates.” he said sincerely.

“I would suggest also that maybe she sees a councillor. She’s clearly been through… a lot.” the doctor said, choosing her words carefully.

“That she has.” Kurt agreed.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to divulge any more information, the doctor stood.

“Thank you for your help with this.” she said. “Someone will bring her back to her room once she is strong enough to leave recovery.”

“Thank you.” Kurt said again, shaking her hand.

The doctor nodded.

“Just make sure she takes care of herself.” she said before leaving the room.

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It was a couple of hours before Jane was wheel back into her room. She had had a bit of trouble coming out of the anesthetic. She had woken to a vortex of dizziness and nausea. It had taken the medical staff a little while to get her vomiting under control. They of course had been worried about the violent heaving, having just had emergency surgery.

Finally the anti emetics had started working, and Jane had managed to get her stomach under control, the dizziness fading as the drug left her system.

She was mildly surprised to find Kurt still waiting in her room. She had thought that surely he had gotten bored by now and left. And yet… here he was. She couldn’t help the surge of happiness that filled her chest when she saw he was waiting for her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, once they had her settled back in her bed.

She blew out a lungful of air.

“Better.” she said, smiling tiredly. They had informed Kurt of her struggle coming out of the anesthetic.

“Good.” he said, returning her smile. “What’s that look for?” he asked, noticing she still hadn’t stopped smiling at him.

“You’re still here.” she whispered softly. There had been a small part of her thinking that his actions today hadn’t been sincere, but the fact that he was still here had squashed that seed of doubt.

“I told you I would be.”

She nodded, staring down at her hands.

“And I’ll be there to help with your recovery too Jane.”

She looked up at him, knowing he wasn’t just talking about the surgery. The doctor had informed her that she would need to be put on a special diet to start gaining some weight and getting healthy again.

“Thank you Kurt.” she said softly.

“Of course.” he replied sincerely.

They had a long road ahead, both in her physical recovery, but also in the recovery of their friendship. The first steps had been taken, and that was more than either of them had thought would ever happen again.

I decided to put the card at to bottom, to not ruin the diagnoses. Thank you for reading! and please feel free to make requests.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #season 2 #jane doe #kurt weller #badthingshappenbingo #jeller

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rkdaehwi · 5 years

Photo

CALLBACK AUDITION PART I : PERFORMANCE

MGA5 contestant Sohn Youngjae Performing iKON - 죽겠다 ( 00:00 - 01:54 ) Outfit

“ And suddenly you know it’s time to start something new ”

The worst possible outcome would be that he didn’t even make it back to the MGAs this year. Eric had always been a young man of great confidence, but even someone like him might take a dent from rejection after rejection and failure following more failure. Had he been denied from the very get-go he might honestly have felt his world collide yet again as he was still getting back on top after his argument with his brother. There was no bad blood left between them anymore, but Eric was still jealous of the other’s trainee position and that only meant that he had to work doubly hard to make up for lost time.

But he also knew that he couldn’t just do whatever he pleased anymore. So far he had gone through life with the mindset that as long as he did what he wanted to the world was going to bend down to his feet and accept it, but that had not exactly brought him very far. It was time to step back, take a look at his experiences and evaluate what could possibly have left him with rejection thus far. His age was something he supposed, but that was not exactly something he could do anything about. Yet again he found himself amongst many adults when he went to the designated venue for the audition. There was a fear that they were going to cut him off because he was too young and inexperienced again, but the only thing Eric could do about that was to believe in himself and not let his worries show. Prove them that even someone so young could make a name for himself.

What he actually could do something about was his performance choice. In the last season he had simply stuck to one side of his abilities for that was what he knew best. Even for the triple threat challenge he had stuck to female artists. He thought it was enough to expand his repetoire with hip hop, but alas. Eric liked to tell himself that it was because his heart hadn’t been in it enough, but as expected the sourness of the aftermath still remained within him and he greatly regretted the outcome and not trying his best. At the time he had thought only TRC had been accepting auditions. He was a fool.

This time he wasn’t going to make any mistakes. If anyone saw him as a cute boy who was jumping around a bit to girl group songs he was about to wreck that image completely. Heavy eye makeup in dark colours already hinted the theme of his song choice, and if that wasn’t good enough, the harness he had acquired for the occasion would also give the image of a dark and more mature concept than he had ever shown before. If any of the judges actually took his previous performances into consideration or even remembered him, this moment was to blow them away. Hopefully at least. He’d do his absolute best and if this wasn’t enough, what even would be?

To his surprise Eric spotted many a familiar face at the venue -- Moonbok’s long hair was impossible not to take notice of, and wasn’t that Jisung over there? These bastards hadn’t even told him that they were auditioning, but then again Eric himself supposed that he hadn’t told anyone either. Not because he had any fear of the outcome but because it was more fun to keep it as a surprise. But he was still upset! He himself was excused; they weren’t. That was just how it worked!

Unfortunately they were rushed in before Eric could really get a chance to talk to any of them, but he figured he’d just hit them up later. Easily forgotten were his hyungs as the excitement built up within him the closer he got to the stage, and the moment he stepped out he could hear gasps and murmur around him: the cause clear the moment he locked eyes with the five CEOs of Korea’s biggest entertainment industries. Honestly he wasn’t too surprised -- he himself couldn’t remember how early they got involved last year, but shouldn’t it have been obvious that they would appear sooner rather than later? Well, he supposed that some people might feel extra pressure performing before them, but in the end it was no different in concept -- it was still doing a performance, get judged for it and evaluated. Pretty simple if you asked him.

Getting seated it didn’t last long before the first contestant was called to stage and the young teen could immediately feel the rush of anticipation as it all began. There was just something about watching people do their best up close that was incredibly exciting and that he could never get enough of. And he couldn’t wait for his own turn. Everyone’s eyes on him as he took the stage for two minutes and made it his own. But for now it was time to let others shine, and certainly they did.

Seeing another kid he knew the face of slide across the stage on skates had Eric almost cheer his lungs out in pure amazement. The return was not quite as elegant however, and Eric gave a loud gasp followed by a brief laughter as Haruto fell off stage. He then turned to tug the sleeve of the person seated next to him once the younger hopeful person had made his way back to his seat. “That was so cool, wasn’t it?!” he beamed at the older male even though he had never met him before and had no idea what his name was. As the other was called in later he would come to know him as ‘Suwoong’.

With every performance Eric clapped and cooed enthusiastically as if he simply couldn’t cease to be amazed, and finally his own name was called. Going to the middle of the stage, he gave a nod to all five individual judges before speaking. Always make sure to greet his seniors he thought. “My name is Sohn Youngjae, and you might remember me from my brief appearance on last season. If you don’t though, I’m gonna make sure you definitely will this time!” It might be a pretentious claim, but Eric was dead serious and he was definitely not going to hold anything back. Once the tyre screeches of his backing track sounded Eric began his performance.

It’s killing me, once again Your traces remain And they torture me It’s killing me I turned around like you’re a stranger But why am I so lonely?

The song was so far from anything he would usually listen to and like. He barely ever listened to boy groups, and when he did, it was songs with a much softer and brighter concept. Something like this was so far away from his repertoire as anything could be, but that didn’t matter. He would take even this song that was so foreign to him and make it his own.

I thought I’d be indifferent about breaking up But there’s one habit of yours that I have Not being able to throw things away Foolishly, these feelings remain Something that feels like regret Opposite from you who is doing great I’m half dead

I didn’t know the weight of this break up I was selfish, I ignored your tears

Barely even knowing what love was, Eric was only just recently starting to realise what it meant to have a crush on someone. What it meant to have feelings for someone. And the difference between a celebrity crush and an actual tangible crush. Something like a breakup was still so far away and so foreign a concept that he couldn’t really conceive the feelings behind it, but all he could do was act his way out of it through his use of tone. It had been an absolute pain recording the song beforehand with his voice as the backing just in case he had to lipsync or even just for basic support considering he had to both sing and dance. He wasn’t a professional, he needed to take everything into consideration to keep himself stable.

It’s killing me, once again Your traces remain And they torture me It’s killing me I turned around like you’re a stranger But why am I so lonely? Killing me

As the dance break after the chorus came up, for some reason a single girl popped into his mind. Come to think of it, not even Lily knew that he was going to be here today, did she? He couldn’t wait to see her reaction to his performance once it aired in television (if it even would, he had no idea how much of this would even air when it came down to it) and for a moment an involuntary smile appeared on his face that was quickly replaced with the stern expression that he had tried to maintain for the sake of capturing the mood of the song. As he thought of her, he suddenly started to imagine how it would feel if these lyrics had been about her, and somehow the thought didn’t sit quite well with him. It bothered him and he couldn’t quite understand why it did so. He tried to shrug it off as the chorus came to a close and the next part came up, for this was something he needed his full focus for.

Freedom and new relationships But behind that is an empty heart On this dark night, I’m alone again This isn’t right Her existence is such a big part of my world I try but I can’t take her out of it Once I did take her off, I broke down But I can’t tell myself to be ready to die So it’s killing me

Eric could easily have skipped the rap part. He wasn’t by any means a strong rapper although he had practiced a lot and definitely got better. Honestly speaking it would probably have been more profitable for him if he didn’t include it, but he wanted to challenge himself and show a different image from thus far. The fact that it was a more melodic rap than anything else had made it easier, but flow was still a very important thing, and it was hard to keep his mind on that at the same time as his dancing. Even more so was it difficult when he was so used to dancing with a more feminine touch to suddenly switch to masculine movements, but he had a long time to prepare considering he already had an idea how things were going to progress. There was not a lot left of the song now that he had finished the rap more or less successfully.

I didn’t know the weight of this break up I was selfish, I ignored your tears

As the music came to a close Eric sang a last “it’s killing me” and placed both hands over his throat as the choreography dictated. For a brief moment he simply stood there, chest heaving for breath now that it was over and done with. Immediately after he broke into a big smile and sent a victory sign off to the nearest camera he could spot before he jumped back to his seat with skipping steps. He had been in doubt of whether it had really been a good idea to perform something so far from his league, but now that it was actually over and done with it did feel quite good. He had done his best, and if nothing came out of it, he would definitely be disappointed.

Returning, Eric yet again returned to his seat mate and almost shook the stranger’s arm in his simple inability to control his joy. “Did you see me hyung? Hyung, wasn’t I totally cool?! I did it! I’m so happy!” He didn’t have much time to celebrate however as another familiar name was called, Moonbok stepping up to the stage to give his performance and Eric’s attention was immediately directed back to the show itself and his own attempt was already long pushed to the background with what was happening on stage taking all of his focus. “Yasssss!” he yelled eagerly as Moonbok stepped down, soon after followed by Jisung who seemed to be a wreck of nerves. “LET’S GET THIS BREAD JISUNGIE HYUNG!” he yelled at the other without thinking about it, and only afterwards did he realise how weird his sentence was and brought a mouth to his hand in an attempt to silence himself.

There was simply all too much happening at once for a young boy who just wanted to show support for those around him.

#ch: solo #rkmga5 #rkmga5callback #mentioned:#moonbokrk #rkharuto #rksuwoong #rklily #rkdowoon #jisungxrk

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kimbapeukidding · 5 years

Text

JUST ONE STAR IN YOUR SKY

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: slight fluff, mostly angst, slice of life!au

summary: you’re tired, he’s tired. driving, but tonight, you’re stuck. tonight, neither of you are getting anywhere.

a/n: i tried building a roller coaster with words and this happened. i swear i meant for this to be an escape from reality, but it turned out to be a reality check whot :’-( inspired by monotonous days and night drives.

song recs: bts- don’t leave me

Drive, let's go on. drive, don't stop.

Drive, let's drive till we hear the horizon cracking under these tyres.

"You're not gonna sit here and rot", he spat.

But you didn't flinch, not the slightest bit. His chill fingers flowed round your wrist like water. You were hauled up from the couch that had somehow sunk deeper. With a hold on you that was harsher than the stillness raging inside, he pulled you out of the apartment.

You had given in again. Without protest, without a fight. You let him lead you through the dimly lit parking lot, you let him push you into the car. Quite like you had let this past week, monotonous and bland, whitewash every part of your life that had been glittering. Even him.

He shut the door. And the gates to an amusement park that you had built inside your head ages ago swung open. Painfully, slowly, you breathed out.

Then he turned the key, and the lights flashed - green, gold, red, the merry-go-round had come to life. Your head spun.

Outside the window, cars that would've otherwise looked like chunks of metal during the day, now flew past like shooting stars on the road. With your forehead stuck to the glass, with those headlights shooting at you, you broke down.

He beat up the brakes. Something screeched to a stop.

And you told your wounds, it's okay. time to open.

A photograph. It was like looking at a photograph. Through the windshield, you were staring at a road that seemed to have no end. It reminded you too much of the cycle you found yourself trapped in - waking up, sitting in the same bus, trying not to doze off to death in college, walking past the same sunset, going to sleep and you hadn't even felt alive the whole day. It was too much. No, it was too less.

You dug into his chest with your nose. And because you moved, the blanket that he had thrown over the both of you slipped too.

Dressed in a thick whisper, his name escaped your lips.

Love.

Yoongi hummed, Yes?, reaching forward.

He picked up a corner of the cloth, checkered and warm, brought it to your shoulder and tucked it there. You pressed yourself against him, trying to convey that the blanket wasn't what you wanted. Silently saying that there was something else, a lot warmer and you needed it a lot more.

Bubbles popped inside, you felt yourself floating.

He had understood.

In a moment, where there had been the feeling of fabric earlier, you felt the softness of little hairs and the summery heat of skin on your shoulder.

As if you were talking not to him, but to yourself, you said in a trance, "I don't want to live."

From the backseat of the car, where you both sat now, like two stars that this night had decided to brush to the side with a rake because they weren't bright enough to dangle from the sky, the world seemed distant. Everything, and it made you smile like an idiot, felt so far away. It wasn't even possible, but you moved closer to him. Hoping, that just for one day, the sun would feel too sick to show up.

"So?", he bit, teeth glowing under the streetlight, "What're you gonna do?"

You found yourself whimpering, head all clogged up again, eyes just as choked with salt and water. All warmth screamed goodbye when he removed his arm and folded it across his chest along with the other one. You let the blanket fall. How did it matter now, whether you were cold or frozen?

"You know you needn't do much", he spoke to the window that reflected flaming dots every now and then. "If you don't want to live, that's fine. You're dead anyways."

A bus passed, a horn blared, the patch of silence wrapping you both tore. Hugging yourself, you let a smirk rip apart your lips.

"Then, since I'm dead now, are you planning to get a new one?"

"A new what?", he said quietly, eyes still on the empty world outside.

"I don't know baby, what am I to you?"

"The maximum number of soulmates a person can have is one, dumbshit. I wouldn't be able to find a replacement for you even if I wanted to."

The third time tonight, tears pricked your eyes, but it didn't hurt as much; they only poked like needles, weaving tiny hearts everywhere.

You decided to play around some more.

"Then, would you want to?"

"Oh-", he barked out a broken laugh.

Your heart took two stairs at once when he finally looked your way. Those eyes of his, they were as inky as the night sky, as shiny as those high stars. He continued, "You have no idea,

how bad I want to-"

The full stop was his lips. And he ended the sentence on yours.

When the both of you pulled away, he was behind the steering wheel and you, next to him on the passenger seat. The blanket lay abandoned, sprawled across the backseat. You gazed at it.

Suddenly feeling the rays from a smile sear your cheek, you turned to face him.

And there he was, glowing like the sun itself, a soft blot of light in the sky on a winter morning that you didn't dread waking up to. An arm reached out, you felt his fingers making knots in your hair. Leaning back, you closed your eyes, his palm cradled your head.

"We're taking off tomorrow, alright?", he sounded light, the words were faint, a voice made of clouds, "You, me, the car, this road. This is our world, our life, this is all we have. Remember, and forget everything else. Yes?"

You giggled to yourself, feeling the slightest bit mischievous.

He shook his head in exasperation but put a gummy smile up for display at the same time. Then, pressing a feathery kiss to your forehead, he turned his neck, looked ahead.

The car rumbled to life. You were running again.

"Why do you settle?"

Your eyes fell. "What?"

He only repeated himself, sounding clearer than he did the previous time.

You frowned, "In what way, do I settle?"

From thirty to forty. From forty to fifty. From fifty to- it kept moving up, the needle that glowed a neon yellow. He was killing the accelerator under his foot.

"Earlier, when I said you were dead", he started, looking straight ahead, "You didn't even deny it. Upset with how your life is unfolding, yet you do nothing about it. You just accept stuff. as it is."

You scoffed, then went back to blinking at the sweater-less 3 am roads that seemed to be shivering below the night wind.

Oh, you didn't bother.

A long moment sped by. The car came to a halt.

When he spoke next, disappointment dripped off his voice. Yoongi refused to take even a small glance, as if the sight of you made him want to barf out the gravest mistake he had ever made. You.

As if he wanted to get rid of you, almost as if he was thinking to himself, why is she still here, why is she not gone?

So when he spoke next, you broke. shattering into tears and curses, thunder and black rain.

"And you still don't care."

"SHUT UP, MIN YOONGI. YOU MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO CARE ABOUT. AND I KNOW IT'S NOT ME, YOU INSENSITIVE PIECEOFFSHIT-"

Pausing, to swallow down the lump that had risen to your throat, you looked at him through teary eyes. He was nothing more than a blur, a smear. just a tiny scratch as opposed to the fracture that had your heart writhing.

His voice, though, was large; his words so huge they fell on you like a crumbling tower, bringing out splatters of blood and pieces of flesh. It was gruesome, the growl in his voice.

"Yess, now we're talking", he praised under his breath, raw and gravelly, "Good girl."

You almost punctured your throat trying to hold back the sweet whine that threatened to escape. His glinting eyes bore holes in you, holes through which ever last ounce of your strength flew out.

Because, Min Yoongi. that nag, your love, a whole creep, that blossom. he was your weakness.

"What's your passion?", he asked.

"I don't know." You looked down at your nails. Chewed. Half-painted. Sick.

"What do you love doing?", he tried again.

"You."

Throwing his head back, he let out a breathy laugh.

"Brat. What if I'm not here tomorrow? If your favourite thing to do gets whisked away by a crow right now, what're you gonna do?"

You gave the answer, and you didn't spare it a second thought.

"I’ll accept that it was never meant to be."

Then you stopped the shrug that you had been giving him mid-way.

Your shoulders froze, body stiffened.

A realisation. Bulbs should've popped, crackers should've burst. There should've been so much, so much light.

Then why did it feel like you were being thrust into the dark? Like you were drowning in the shadows cast by his words - “you just accept stuff. as it is.”

A sigh left your mouth.

"Yoongi, you asked me to forget everything else. Let's not analyse my flaws now, please."

He brought a hand to his face, rubbed at it.

"Forgive me for trying to fix you."

Like a ship. You felt like a ship, drifting and anchored. All at the same time. With one hand outside the window, left to get swept away by the quiet breeze. With the other inside your car, enclosed by a casket made of his bony fingers.

"Makes me feel like shit", he said out of the blue, "You being in pain. That means I suck at being a painkiller.

You lifted the ten fingers, entwined, turned it so his hand was on top, then dropped a kiss on the angriest vein.

"I'm not into drugs, love", you reasoned.

"You said I care about something that's not you. What is it?"

The dark waves were frothing, going back and forth in hushed whispers. Though the beach was mostly hidden from view by a line of skinny trees and bald branches, you could smell it. The scent of sea mixed in with a wet breeze. Fresh salt. You licked your lips and turned to Yoongi.

In the darkness, it looked like he was made of a million grains . Made you want to pick each one apart and gaze at it till the sun came up. That way, you'd be able to give every part of him the love it deserved - the eyes that watched him struggle, the tongue that had gotten burnt and still spat fire, the knees that buckled but never broke, the soul that had made it through it all.

You brought a hand to his hair, combing through it. And he only watched. In waiting, so full of patience, so very understanding. Like he trusted you to answer his question, he didn't feel the need to repeat himself. No matter how long it'd take, he'd wait.

"Music", you sighed out, "Yoongi, I know you're in love with it. I hear it when you rap. It's as if you're living through every syllable that leaves your mouth. And you live with so much passion. I hear it, alright. You're in love with your music."

He was just about to lean into your hand when you pulled away. His pupils turned a shade darker.

"Me being in love with something that isn't you.....does that bother you?"

Your fists tightened on their own. Was he really expecting you to spell it out?

"Don't you see it?", you whispered, exhausted, "This relationship isn't balanced, the dependence isn't mutual, how do you expect me to be okay with it? You need music to live, I need you. But, but-"

You couldn't look at him, no. Swallowing painfully, you went on.

"See, it's like that when it should be like this- you need me to live, I need you. That-That's how we're supposed to feel, alright?"

But after pouring your ugliest fears out to him, a dry laugh was all that you got in return. He spoke, shaking his head.

"And yet, you don't want to live."

The words were baffling, had you raising an eyebrow.

One look at him, and shivers ran up your spine. The hood of the car suddenly felt a lot colder under your palms. He straightened his back, then took a step forward, teeth glinting like icicles. Sharp icicles that could have a person bleed to death if played around with. You scooted, wanting to get far, as far away from him as possible.

But Yoongi wasn't letting that happen. He leaped, landed in front of you, bunched up the collar of your shirt in his hands, and pulled you towards him. His warm breath caressed your lips.

No, Yoongi wasn't letting you go.

Through gritted teeth, he slurred, "Don't tell me you've already forgotten. You said you fucking need me to live, then riddle me this-"

You couldn't move. Not after you had noticed the pearls of water that threatened to tumble down his face. Your fingers itched so badly you wanted to bite them off. Yoongi, your love, was crying, you so badly wanted to wipe his tears off. But you couldn't move. Gulping thickly, he continued, a voice made of withering leaves and growing fears.

"Hours back, when I was still alive and right next to you, you. you said you didn’t want to live- Aaaarrgh!"

A scream came rushing through his throat. He let himself droop, he let himself fall. Your own tears came rolling down the moment you felt a head drop on your shoulder. Dropping in defeat. He clutched onto you and while the fingers on your shirt loosened, the sobs in your ear turned harder. Made you cry a lot louder.

Like that, you stayed. Him holding on to you, you trying not to fade away. Like that, you cried together.

When he pulled away, you were back inside the car. The traffic light that glowed ahead was as red as his eyes.

"You said you wanted to die, and I was still alive", he said it like he was pointing something out. You cleared your throat, feeling no less choked.

"Don't you see it? You've exhausted me. I'm no longer a reason for you to live, you need something more. Something that is a lot more purposeful than love, something a lot more permanent than human beings. Why do you think it's music for me?"

You looked down at your nails. They were the same. Half-dead.

"We're not the answers to each other's questions", he said, "We're not the reasons for this and that, we're not each other's tools for survival-"

You exhaled heavily, beginning to understand, yet feeling like you'll never be ready to accept. The car came to a stop.

And he finished, "You and I, we're just one star in each other's sky."

#min yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #night ride #emotional rollercoaster #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #slice of life au

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cathygeha · 4 years

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COVER REVEAL

RABETTE RUN by NICK RIPPINGTON

A psychological page-turner with a shocking twist

Publication Date: February 21, 2020

Publisher: Cabrilon Books (February 21, 2020)

BOOK DESCRIPTION

‘ALICE IN WONDERLAND... WITH TANKS AND GUNS’ – NICK RIPPINGTON

EMERSON RABETTE has a phobia about travelling on the underground, so when he is involved in a car accident his worst nightmare is about to come true.

A middle-aged graphic designer and father of one, Emerson’s entire future depends on him reaching an important business meeting. Without an alternative method of transport, he has to confront his biggest fear.

Things immediately go wrong when Emerson’s Obsessive Compulsive Disorder kicks in and his fellow passengers become angry at the way he is acting. Thankfully a young woman called Winter comes to his rescue and agrees to help him reach his destination.

Once on the train, she thinks her job is done. What she isn’t prepared for is Emerson taking flight after reading a message scrawled on the train’s interior.

It simply reads: ‘Run Rabette Run’.

(Rabette Run is Nick Rippington’s fourth book, a standalone psychological thriller. The author’s Boxer Boys trilogy is highly acclaimed and is now available in a digital boxset)

What the critics say about Nick Rippington

‘Addictive, funny, touching, brilliant stories’

‘’Characters that truly come alive on the page’

‘’Evocative, original, unfailingly precise and often humorous’

EXTRACT

PROLOGUE

HE was sneaking a glance at his daughter in the rear-view mirror, listening to her talk about college and friends, when their blue family estate was broadsided by the Jeep.

Time suspended before a tsunami of shattered glass crashed in and he lost control of the steering wheel. The airbag deployed and the seat belt cut painfully into his shoulder as it absorbed the strain of his 15-stone bulk before boomeranging him back into place. What was left of the windscreen retreated as his body reacted like the lash of a whip and, in his confusion, he experienced that eureka moment... ‘Ahhh, whiplash!’

As the car skidded across the road he was dazzled by a kaleidoscope of bright lights – neon advertising boards, shop windows and street lamps. When his eyes adjusted it was as if he was watching everything in slow motion: A couple he had noticed walking hand in hand moments earlier ran in different directions, while a newspaper seller deserted his pitch, money pouch flapping against his pounding legs. Further along, a dapper-looking bloke in tweeds seemed in two minds which way to flee before settling on the safety of the Underground steps.

The visions tumbled from his mind as the car completed its 360-degree spin and he finally locked eyes on his assailant. Marooned in the stationary Jeep, the dark-haired woman stared through the windscreen vacantly, a thick stream of blood meandering down her face from a garish wound above her eyebrow. Devoid of expression, it seemed the shock had vacuumed all thought from her brain.

As soon as she appeared, she was gone, the car continuing to spin. Facing the pavement again, the driver’s attention was captured by what he thought was a bundle of blankets and rags in a shop doorway. With alarm he noticed startled eyes staring out from a face swamped in facial hair. ‘Get out of the fucking way!’ the driver mouthed as he realised one of London’s street dwellers was totally oblivious to the approaching danger.

The car made jarring contact with the kerb and suddenly it was the driver who was spinning, like a sock in a washing machine. His head bumped against the ceiling, his left arm smashed against the twisted metal of the door and his right leg sent jolts of electrifying pain through his nervous system.

Finally, the fairground ride from hell came to an abrupt halt, the car thudding against something hard. The heap of tangled metal that was once a solid and protective shell settled slowly back in an upright position, bouncing like one of those gangster rides with hydraulic suspension that featured in American movies. This wasn’t America, though, this was twenty-first century Britain and he wasn’t a teen gangster, just an ordinary Joe going about his boring, routine business.

New sounds invaded the void left by the disintegrated windows: horns blowing, tyres screeching, glass crunching, people screaming. His ears slowly acclimatising to the noise, he then detected an unfamiliar ticking and saw steam pouring from the bent and buckled bonnet. Performing calculations in his head, he tried to work out how much this entire calamity might cost him. What would the insurance company say? Was there any possibility the vehicle wasn’t a write-off and did his policy contain the use of a courtesy car? How the hell was he going to get to work? What the hell was he going to tell his wife?

Shit, his daughter!

‘You OK back there, honey?’

There was a pause during which his heart skipped a beat.

Then...

‘Yeah, I think so. I’ve a... pain in my tummy.’

Superficial damage. Nothing serious. Thank God. Relief flooded through him.

‘You?’ she asked.

‘My leg’s killing me but otherwise...’

His thoughts were interrupted by another sound. Looking to his left, he was surprised to see the passenger window still intact. Outside, a man in a navy-blue uniform and cap gesticulated wildly, but it was hard to make out what he was saying. The driver felt as if his head was submerged in that slime kids found all the rage.

Still, at least he was conscious enough to interpret the police officer’s manic, hand-waving gestures and detect the urgency in them. Shaking his head to free himself from the gloop, he felt needles of pain attack his nervous system as he shifted sideways, utilising every muscle necessary to reach out and press the button which released the window.

The car’s electrics made an uncomfortable, whirring sound as the glass slid down a few centimetres then stopped. Jammed. He continued pushing the button, but the internal workings were badly damaged. He watched as a gloved hand slipped through the gap at the top of the door and exerted pressure. There was another crunching noise and the window dropped to around halfway, the brute force almost certainly rendering the mechanism irreparable. Not thinking straight, his first reaction was one of anger and his mind made calculations about how much compensation he should claim once he was back on his feet.

The police constable battled gamely to get his point across amid a deafening ensemble of alarm bells and sirens. ‘We need to get you out of there, sir. No need to panic, but we have to make you safe before we can get the paramedics to check you over.’

‘Sounds serious, Dad,’ said his girl.

‘Thanks, Sherlock, always the optimist.’

‘What was that?’ The officer’s face seemed blurred as the driver tried to focus.

‘Sorry, it’s my ears...’ he shouted, the frenzied effort to make himself heard betraying his underlying fear. ‘I can’t... Is the car going to explode?’

‘Umm, I sincerely hope not, sir, but there is a lot of fuel around, the engine’s smoking... It’s best to err on the side of caution. We need to get you a safe distance away in the unlikely event that things escalate. The fire brigade will be here in two ticks and they’ll bring it under control in no time. Until then...’

‘Not sure I can move to be honest, son. I think my leg’s trapped.’

‘Ahhh.’ The policeman nodded. ‘Can you have a look around – see what the problem is? You might be able to free it. On second thoughts, hold on, I’ll come around to your side and see what I can do.’

Appearing at the driver’s window, he then brushed aside fragments of glass and leaned through, peering into the gloom of the footwell. ‘O... K,’ he said slowly. He wasn’t very good at disguising his feelings. It was serious. ‘We have a bit of a problem. A lump of metal appears to have wedged itself in your leg. I’m guessing it will take special tools to get you out of there.’

Shit! The Jaws of Life. Only the other day he had been watching a TV programme about the fire service and the equipment they used to cut people free from road traffic accident wrecks. The jaws had saved many lives, but the name alone was enough to send a shudder rippling through his damaged body. The sirens in the distance were getting louder as they announced their urgency to the world. Blue spinning lights roamed the darkness of the car’s interior, before a more permanent red glow encroached on the shadows. Was it getting hot?

‘Ahhh...’ said the officer.

There were snapping sounds followed by a crackle. Random memories of an old advert for cereal entered the driver’s head: snap, crackle, pop. Twisting as best he could, the driver realised the noise was being created by flames eating into the car’s paintwork. ‘No!’ he muttered through clenched teeth. Damn, he’d just forked out a small fortune on a touch-up job after some local punk had dug a thick groove right along the passenger’s side with a coin or a key.

‘Uh oh!’ said his daughter, looking over her shoulder. ‘They’re going to get us out of here, aren’t they, Dad? I’m scared.’

‘Stay calm,’ he replied, wishing he could practice what he was preaching. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. The fire brigade is on their way and will be here shortly.’

‘Ahh, they’re here,’ the policeman announced on cue, relief evident in his tone.

Moments later the driver heard a new voice, the accent pure Cockney. ‘Stay calm, sir, and we’ll have you out in no time.’

The driver twisted in the direction of the person speaking and another wave of pain rolled through him. On the periphery of his vision he could make out a tall man with a pointed jaw in a fire brigade uniform.

‘What seems to be the trouble, eh? Let the dog see the rabbit.’ The fireman leaned inside. ‘Rrrr...igh...t,’ he said before shouting some instructions to the rest of his crew.

Suddenly, the car was plunged into darkness. The driver guessed it was being buried in that foam the fire services used to bring a blaze under control. It felt strangely comforting to know they weren’t going to be burnt alive. Another sound, a screeching, grating noise soon invaded the car’s interior, setting his teeth on edge.

‘Cool!’ muttered his daughter as sparks sprayed through the roof. Moments later the metal was peeled back like the lid on a tin of tuna, bright lights invading the space, making them cry out and shield their eyes.

‘Sorry, mate, it’s got to be done,’ advised the fire officer. ‘Once we’re inside, we can hopefully remove the obstacle that’s holding you in place and get you out of there. Second thoughts, the best thing we can do, looking at it now, would be to remove the door, together with your good self. It should be easier to cut you free elsewhere, rather than in the midst of this, um, chaos. When we get somewhere a bit less volatile the medical people can assess the problem and hopefully free your leg from the door.’

As he said this, for the first time the driver realised that up until now the darkness of the footwell had prevented him taking a closer look at his injury. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he glanced downwards. A thick metal shard was protruding from his leg and a dark, sticky substance soaked his trousers. The limb looked like a theatrical prosthesis in a zombie apocalypse movie, the foot at a right angle to the rest of the limb.

He experienced an unfamiliar dizziness and passed out.

GLOVED hands grasped the limp body and gently carried it to the stretcher. The patient felt a needle entering the soft tissue in his arm and after that remembered little, sliding into unconsciousness as he murmured her name. The paramedic whispered to one of the fireman.

‘What did he say? Sounded like a name? Jane, was it? I think he said something about a daughter. Was there anyone with him?’

‘Nope,’ replied the fireman. ‘He was all on his lonesome.’

A colleague arrived at the paramedic’s shoulder. ‘Right, best get him to intensive care, lickety spit,’ said the new arrival. ‘I hate to be the prophet of doom, but it will be touch and go if he survives the night.’

BUY LINKS:

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B084D3TT36

shortlink is https://amzn.to/36Iqhta

In the USA it's https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084D3TT36

shortlink is https://amzn.to/2OisZ1U

AUTHOR BIO

NICK RIPPINGTON is the award-winning author of the Boxer Boys series of gangland crime thrillers.

Based in London, UK, Nick was the last-ever Welsh Sports Editor of the now defunct News of The World, writing his debut release Crossing The Whitewash after being made redundant with just two days notice after Rupert Murdoch closed down Europe’s biggest-selling tabloid in 2011. On holiday at the time, Nick was never allowed back in the building, investigators sealing off the area with crime scene tape and seizing his computer as they investigated the phone-hacking scandal, something which took place a decade before Nick joined the paper. His greatest fear, however, was that cops would uncover the secrets to his Fantasy Football selections. Handed the contents of his desk in a black bin bag in a murky car park, deep throat style, Nick was at a crossroads – married just two years earlier and with a wife and 9-month-old baby to support. With self-publishing booming, he hit on an idea for a UK gangland thriller taking place against the backdrop of the Rugby World Cup and in 2015 produced Crossing The Whitewash, which received an honourable mention in the genre category of the Writers’ Digest self-published eBook awards. Judges described it as "evocative, unique, unfailingly precise and often humorous". Follow-up novel Spark Out, a prequel set at the time of Margaret Thatcher and the Falklands War, received a Chill With A Book reader award and an IndieBRAG medallion from the prestigious website dedicated to Independent publishers and writers throughout the world. The novel was also awarded best cover of 2017 with Chill With A Book. The third book in the Boxer Boys series Dying Seconds, a sequel to Crossing The Whitewash, was released in December 2018 and went to the top of the Amazon Contemporary Urban Fiction free charts during a giveaway period of five days. A digital box set, the Boxer Boys Collection, came out in September last year.

Now Nick, 60, is switching direction feeling that, for the moment, the Boxer Boys series has run its course. His latest novel, Rabette Run, will be released in the Spring and Nick says, ‘It is a gritty psychological thriller with twists and turns galore. Think Alice in Wonderland with tanks and guns.’ Married to Liz, When Nick isn’t writing he works as a back bench designer of sports pages on the Daily Star. He has two children – Jemma, 37, and Olivia, 9.

Author links:

Website: www.theripperfile.com

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/buckrippers

Twitter: @nickripp

Instagram: @nickrippingtonauthor

Where to find Nick’s books...

Amazon Author Page in the UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nick-Rippington/e/B0135YST78

Amazon Author Page in the US:

https://www.amazon.com/Nick-Rippington/e/B0135YST78

CITATIONS:

For Crossing The Whitewash: “"Evocative, original, unfailingly precise and often humorous" – Writers Digest eBook judges

For Spark Out: “Down and Dirty, visceral, occasionally violent but engaging and strangely compelling. The writer has a great street voice” – IndieBRAG judges

COVER STORY

Nick’s covers are designed by the hugely talented Jane Dixon-Smith of JD Smith designs. His second book Spark Out received the cover of the year award from the reviewer website Chill With A Book.

#Nick Rippington #Fiction

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