✮ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁. Jason Todd x Fem! Reader, Stardew Valley AU
✮ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆. Moving to the your grandpas old farm was a new start, and one of the townsfolk seem to have caught your attention .
⭑ ᶜʷ. none
ᴘᴛ Ⅰ ᴘᴛ Ⅱ
The letter was the beginning to your fresh start, a chance to get out of the city and move to your grandpas hometown to take over the farm. A simple and quiet life but one you quickly would learn to love.
The car ride was long, the old vehicle stuffed to the brim with clothes and sentimental valued items, but it was worth it once you drove into the small town. It was small enough to see all of it just from a short distance, only a handful of little shops and salons but enough to call home.
Pierre ran the general store with his wife and daughter, the clinic was connected to the side of the general store. The town also housed a small museum, blacksmith, the Stardrop Saloon, a small movie theater and an even smaller bookstore. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone and accepted newcomers with open arms and fresh baked bread.
It took all of two minutes of you being there for someone to notice, the Mayor no less.
“Hello, you must be here to take over your ol’ grandpa's farm” The older man greeted, mentioning how they were old friends and offering to show you around the town.
“I am, it’s nice to meet you” You returned the friendly introduction before the two of you set off to the first stop on the tour, the general store.
“This is Pierre, he’s the owner of the store with his wife Abigail” Mayor Lewis introduced the couple to you. They offered a couple of starter seeds for your farm and told you that they’d love to help out when they could and to just give a holler.
The clinic was next, a lovely and slightly awkward man but very clearly passionate about people's health and wellness. The museum trip was the quickest, seeing as how there wasn’t much there. The owner, Gunther was a mysterious man but a nice one no less, talked about his love of history and how the last owner took everything there and ran off with it. He also wasn’t shy in mentioning how they took donations, something for you to keep in mind for later. The Stardrop Saloon was a cute little place, somewhere you could grab a drink, hang with friends and enjoy music or get some food, maybe all three.
Mayor Lewis steered you away from Jojo mart, muttering how they weren’t the friendliest of folks and only looking for money. You nodded along, making a mental note of it as he led you to the blacksmith.
The blacksmith shop was small, built from mostly stone with a running furnace attached to it on the outside. Inside sat a man, you quickly learned his name was Clint, with a mallet in one hand and a dented hoe in the other as it laid on an anvil. Quickly he set his stuff down, dusted his hands out and went in for a firm handshake to introduce himself.
“I run the blacksmith with my apprentice, Jason, he should be back soon” Clint told you, and as if on cue the wooden door behind you swung open. A tall and muscular man walked in, sweat dripping from his forehead, black hair clinging to it due to the moisture. He was dressed in simple blue jeans, boots and a black and red flannel that clung to his figure.
“Mornin’ Lewis” He greeted in a low voice before dropping the various tools he brought in with a grunt.
“Who’s this?” He asked, wiping away the sweat with his exposed forearm, the flannel rolled up to his elbows. You stepped forward to introduce yourself, how you’re taking over the old farm on the other side of the town which in reality was only really a ten minute walk at best.
“Guess I’ll be seein’ you round” He sent a small smirk your way, nodding in return and taking your leave with the Mayor to head back to your house to get settled.
The house wasn’t huge but it was nice, spacious enough yet still felt like home. Mayor kept to his promise and had two men help you move in, Harvey from the clinic and a new face, Alex, who lived with his grandparents for the time being. With the help of those two you were moved in before the sun started to set, leaving just enough time to cook up some dinner, shower and get to bed at a decent time.
-
You were awakened next morning to the knocking on the door, dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed and opening the door to see who was there. Jason stood there on your small porch, leaning against the support beams with a dark brown cowboy hat on, dirt covered jeans and a black tee shirt. In his left hand he held a hoe, in his right a small bouquet of wildflowers and by his feet a watering can.
He shifted the toothpick sticking out of his mouth to the other side before clearing his throat, holding up the flowers.
“Um, figured I’d be all neighborly and whatnot…” He started to say as you took the flowers with a thank you, smiling down at them.
“Also heard Pierre gave you some seeds, didn’t know if you had the tools to plant ‘em” He motioned to the hoe and watercan, placing them on the little outside table on the porch.
“Thank you Jason, is there any way I can repay you?” You tried to offer him money for the tools but he just shook his head and shoved his hands in his jean pockets.
“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it” He replied and went to leave, muttering something about needing to get back to work. Once he was gone you turned to head inside to start your day. With new tools, and more farm work attire which really was just jeans and one of your grandas old flannels over a white shirt.
Taking the seeds, hoe and now filled watering can you set outside to the farm land in front of the house. Planning out the layout before starting to sow the land and plant the seeds before watering them, maybe you could get used to this farm life.
-
The next time you saw Jason was when ran into him at the general store two days later, cursing yourself for not just grabbing a basket and opting to hold your items before realizing you may have gotten one too many things. Turning the corner and crashing into someone was not on your list however, your items clattering to the ground around you two.
“Shit- sorry miss” Jason grumbled, picking up the items and handing them to you before looking down at his own basket, it was empty.
“Er- um…here, you look like you need it” He offered, helping to put the items in the basket.
“Thank you, I knew I should have just grabbed a basket” You huffed out, not carrying your items in an easier fashion.
“Yeah, don’t mention it” He shoved his hands in his jeans again, rocking slightly on his heels before offering a nod and slipping past you.
-
Jason seemed to keep popping up, like the universe wanted him to….granted this was an extremely small town. The next time you saw him was late at night, a storm had rolled in about an hour ago and the rain, thunder and lightning was rough against the house. But then the knocking came, barely able to be heard over the storm. Opening the door to find Jason soaked with rainwater, holding an equally wet cat against his chest could have made you swoon right then and there.
“What are you doing out in the storm?” You ushered him in, watching how he had to duck under the doorframe a bit to get in. You ran to get him a towel, making sure to get one for the cat as well.
“This little guy was outside the shop, can’t keep him there, Clint’s allergic to ‘em” He started, using to towel to dry off, muttering an apology about getting the floor wet.
“Paniced a bit…didn’t know where to take him” He admitted, looking down at the ground. You smiled a bit, taking the cat and wrapping it in a towel as it purred against your chest.
“He likes you” Jason spoke up, eyes locked on the cat before drifting up to your face.
“If he’s not anyone in town….maybe I‘ll keep him” You spoke softly, stroking the cat's head, watching as it nuzzled into your hand.
“He’s got great taste” Jason added, voice so low you almost missed his words. His face heated up once he realized he said that outloud, eyes now downcasted at the ground to avoid your gaze.
“I- uh…better get going, it’s late” He went to open the door only to face the harsh elements outside, you quickly grabbed his sleeve to stop him.
“Maybe you could stay? You know, until the storms over, wouldn’t want you getting sick out in the rain” You told him, watching as he closed the door softly yet hesitantly.
“You sure? I’d understand If ya wanted to kick me out” He chuckled softly, you only shook your head.
“Stay, I have left over soup, and some of my grandpas old clothes” you set down the half dried cat and went to your closet, pulling out some clothes and handing them to him. He nodded and followed your directions to the bathroom.
Yeah, you could definitely get used to the farm life here.
ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ. I got the idea to write this after seeing @ciricearts art of Jason in Stardew valley so thank you for gracing me with that amazing artwork!! All art work credit goes to them!
Requested by: Anonymous
Wordcount: 4942
Summary: After some incriminating evidence on you is found, you're handed over to the enemy. When Rick finds you again, he realizes how wrong that evidence had been.
Notes: Contains torture, mistreatment, angsty.
Divider by: @saradika-graphics
You could handle a lot of pain, thanks to your military training, but you had never felt anything as excruciating as the glare from the man that you loved.
You’re standing there, trying to process everything. The way that he had felt the need to go through your things, for one. There was privileged, confidential information that crossed your desk that even he was not privy to. He wasn’t supposed to be going through that, for one, and it was strange that he would even think to do so. But even more startling was that he had found something that was not supposed to be there. A letter from the enemy that had your name on it, making it seem as if you were a double agent.
“Rick,” You pleaded, reaching for his sleeve. He took a step back, escaping from your grip. The rage on his face - you were scared for the first time that he might actually hurt you. You, the one person that he had whispered promises to, that he wouldn’t ever let anything bad happen to you. “You know me. You know that I would never double-cross our country.”
With shaky legs, you fell down onto your knees, begging him to believe you. “Rick, please. I don’t know what that letter is, I don’t know how it got there. But I would never do something like this. I would never do anything that would put you in danger. You have to know that.”
“Come on,” he said, motioning to the men that were behind him. You felt your hands being pulled roughly behind your back and secured by handcuffs. They lifted you roughly onto your feet, while you still felt like you couldn’t stand properly. The ground had fallen from beneath your feet. The air had been pushed out from your lungs. All that you could do was plead on deaf ears as the men took you to one of the cells that were meant for prisoners of war. Until the last second, you pathetically pleaded your innocence until the doors were closed and you were left alone in the dark. Alone except for the sound of your own sobbing and hasty breathing.
“Please, Rick, believe me,” You whispered to yourself as you collapsed against the ground. There was not even a bed - the standards for POWs were subpar.
Rick, despite the conflict of interest, had put himself on your case. He was going through every single piece of paper that had been anywhere near your desk, reading through it, looking for any more evidence. His anger wasn’t fading anytime soon. When he accidentally ripped the third file, he threw the papers to the side and held his head in his hands. His breathing was heavy. The rage that he was feeling was overpowering the sorrow, and he knew which he would rather feel. anger got shit done. Anger was easier. It felt better. He could use it better.
There was more than one letter. They were encoded, but it wasn’t that hard of a cipher to crack. It was basically requests for ‘further’ information, which made it seem as if you had given them some before. From the looks of it, they were pretty recent. Just how long have you been doing this? How long has he been stupid, dead, blind to everything that you were doing?
He wiped at his brow with the back of his head and leaned back in the chair. He took a deep breath, one that hurt his lungs, and then let out a loud yell that drew the attention of those around him.
He ignored their stares. The way that they looked at him with pitying glances, suspicious glares. They were wondering the same thing that he was - how did he not know? Or maybe he did know, and now he was acting innocent, like he had nothing to do it? He could basically hear their thoughts through their stares.
He covered his face, his palms going against the bristles of his mustache. He didn’t shave today. He hasn’t showered. He hasn’t eaten since you were taken. He wasn’t planning on eating either.
He got up and picked up the papers again, staring at them, willing for them to say anything other than what they were saying. Looking for any sort of hint that they could have been faked somehow. But it seemed pretty cut and dry. The love of his life, the person who shared his bed, the person who he lived with and spent most of his time with, was a dirty traitor.
“Flag,” The General said, coming up to him. Rick immediately stood at attention, like the good little soldier that he was. “Did you find any more evidence?”
He hesitated for a moment. If he handed over what he had found, then everything for you was going to be over. You would be treated as a traitor, a confirmed traitor. There were already talks of handing you over to the enemies in exchange for one of their Prisoners, one of their own guys. People were eager to get rid of you, and what he held in his hands would only make them all the more delighted to do so.13
He had no choice. He nodded and let out a “Yes Sir.” And he handed over those documents that he had found in and around your desk. A foolish mistake of yours, he thought. Normally you would never have been so careless. It was a little strange, but he wouldn’t let himself go down that path of thinking. He could not defend what you did. He couldn’t defend you, lest he be seen as a traitor as well. With the handing over of the letters, your fate was sealed, and the relationship was irrevocably over.
Rick didn’t get to say goodbye. That’s one thing that still bothered him about this whole thing. After he had handed over the evidence to the General, just over a year ago, you had been packed up and sent to the enemy in exchange for a prisoner of war. The enemy seemed only too happy about it, to be getting their spy back.
He focused on his work, doing his utmost to forget you. He didn’t date again. In fact, he was letting his facial hair grow out, something that used to get teased by you. He didn’t talk to anyone outside of the department, outside of the job. Didn’t date. Didn’t even really have any friends. His life had become the military, and he had built up so many walls around that, nothing else was getting in.
Did he think of you from time to time? Of course. He had cleaned out your things and put them into storage in case you ever asked for them again, but the empty clothes hangers were constant reminders of what was missing.
You popped into his head again as he was given his next mission. It was almost a year to the day since you had been traded to the enemy, and the chaos that had happened because of all of that. New protocols, new security, everything was monitored more closely than ever before. He had to go through getting his coms checked for the mission, which was to go into what was an apparently abandoned base of the enemy and go through any information that they might have that would help lead to where they were going next. It had been some kind of earthquake that had disrupted the base, so it would be dangerous, even while empty, because half of it had descended deeper into the ground and was still unstable.
Rick Flagg headed the team. He had his second in command by his side, while the others spread out throughout the confusing layout of the building. There had been six floors, three of them aboveground, masquerading as some sort of garment factory, though really, they had been manufacturing weapons. The top three layers just barely held on, the roof having collapsed down and was in splinters. But there were still some floors beneath the rubble that looked as if they had been able to take the brunt of the quake. Of the avalanche of the stone and brick that had been the building.
Holding up his gun, on high alert, flashlight attached and shining the way through the jet-black corridors, Rick Flagg was unafraid as he proceeded.
“Reached a dead-end to the west side,” One of the soldiers' voices’ came through his radio.
“Wall dead-end or rubble-dead end?” Flagg asked, his accent thick.
“Rubble - may be able to find a way through it if we have a little time.”
“Alright, you work on that. We want to search as much of this place as possible-” Rick said but then was cut off again by another voice on the radio.
“Flagg? We’ve got a heat signature on the floor below you,” Another southern drawl came through. It sounded a little less than calm. Not frantic but concerned. “There’s someone else here with us. It’s not a strong one though. So, I think maybe one of the workers got caught in the quake. Might be injured.”
“Everyone, stay on alert, I’m going in.”
Rick managed to find a hole in the floor that had been caused by some of the structure going through. Inadvertently, it created a sort of slide for him to go down and he did, his boots landing roughly on the steel flooring. The ridges on the floor gave him balance as he stalked forward, his gun at the ready to shoot in case he saw anything move, but he wanted to take this person, whoever it was, alive. They could get more information out of them alive rather than dead.
The further he walked down, the more he saw that this floor looked more like a prison. His flashlight shone off of metal bars. Some of the cells were smaller, like dog kennels, stacked on top of one another. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was animal testing going on here. They did seem to be monsters.
The crates seemed to be empty though, going forward, the doors opened, or the cages crushed, and he didn’t look too deeply into them. He didn’t want to, nor need to, see that.
The deeper down the hallway that he went, finding that it was at a bit of a slope and water was dripping from the piping, causing him to step into water, the larger the cages seemed to become. Now, it was just cells. Exactly like prison cells.
“Is anybody down here?” He called out, not wanting to trudge into the water until he had to. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of noise as a response. Nobody called out, but there was a purposeful splashing sound. His eyes narrowed and he moved closer, finally stepping into the water. The noise of the splashes would give away his location, but he had to find out where this person was. A prisoner, by the looks of it. Even if it wasn’t the scientist or worker they were hoping for, they might still have some information.
There were more splashing sounds. The water was cold, almost ice cold, but he powered through it, sweeping the flashlight through the cells until he saw someone.
The flashlight dropped into the water, the light growing weaker, more like a beacon now than a flashlight. He had dropped it in surprise because of who he had seen. He ducked down to pick it up, quickly shining it back on the person to make sure that his eyes did not deceive him.
It was you.
You weren’t looking like the you that he had known and loved. You were emaciated, as if you hadn’t eaten properly for a year. You looked resigned, sitting on the bench screwed into the wall in your cell, the water up around your waist but you were too tired to stand or try to get away from it. You had one hand in the water, slapping it to make a splashing sound. Despite him coming in closer to you now, you could not see who was holding the flashlight. You had no hope left in your eyes.
You were a prisoner.
It called into question every action that he had taken over the past year. Why would your own people take you as prisoner - had he been wrong? Had those tiny little doubts been his brain trying to tell him the truth?
“Flagg!” The voice came through his radio again, making you flinch. Your eyes were dilated due to the pitch-dark conditions that you had been in before Rick got there and now were slowly constricting to adjust to the brightness. Your ears were working just fine though, and your head raised at the sound of his surname. “Flagg! Report! Are they hostile?”
Almost like in a dream, he brought his radio to his mouth and answered. “Not hostile. Prisoner. I’m bringing them in.”
“One of ours?” The voice came through. “And they just left them there? Christ.”
“Keep sweeping for anything, I’m bringing them topside,” Rick said, then replaced the radio back in its holster, moving in closer to the bars that were separating the two of you. “Y/N?”
You looked almost like a startled mole, with the big eyes, turned away from the light. It was far too bright after who knows how long of sitting in the darkness. The building had fallen yesterday - had you really been sitting here in the cold water by yourself for that long? His heart ached just thinking about it. You didn’t speak, but you opened your mouth, making the shapes that would have formed his name if anything came out.
He shone the light back at himself, revealing his face to you. You were able to look again, since the light wasn’t directly in your eyes, and he was just able to make out something.
Hope.
“It’s me,” he said, softly, putting one hand against the bar. He slid it down, trying to find the lock, but found that it wasn’t there. Everything was automatic - but the power was down. He cursed under his breath and then looked back up at you. “Save your strength. I’m going to get you out of here.”
He called in the radio for backup - preferably with a saw of some sort. One of his soldiers said that he was on the way, and he breathed out with relief, looking back at you. He kept the flashlight’s stream of light down on the water, lighting up the room just enough to be able to see each other without being blinding.
“How long have you been in here?” He asked, his eyes not leaving yours. Something in you wasn’t able to speak, your throat too dry, too painful. But you held your shackled hands out, mimicking a large span of time. And then you made a sort of circle. “The whole time?” You nodded, and it felt like a stab in the heart.
How could he have been so goddamn wrong?
“Gonna getchu outta here, get you to a doctor,” He promised. “We’ll make it right, okay y/n?”
You nodded at him again, which took his breath away. How were you still able to trust him? How were you still able to look at him after what he had done to you? Believing that you had betrayed him, betrayed the military. He should have been able to look you in the eyes and know the truth, that you could never do such a thing.
He could hear the sound of footsteps. His soldier was coming along with the saw. He only had another couple of seconds with you, and he seized the opportunity. “I’m so sorry,” he said, quietly, his voice barely heard over the ripples of the water as his soldier came stomping on in. “You never should have been here.”
You flinched away from the bars when you heard someone else coming closer. Another flashlight beam shining through the darkness and landing on your face. You weakly lifted a hand to shield your face this time around, timid but not as afraid.
“Holy shit,” The soldier by his side paused, holding the electrical saw in both hands. “Is that y/n?”
“Just get the fucking bars open,” Flagg gritted his teeth, taking a step back.
The soldier hesitated for a moment. “But - what if it’s a trap?”
A burst of anger, a close friend of the guilt that he was feeling, took over Rick when he heard that question. He bared his teeth towards his soldier in a way that he never had before. “Open the goddamn bars.” He ordered. His tone was aggressive enough that the soldier did it with no more questions asked, sawing through the bars, making an exit large enough for you to go through. Only once it was quiet, once the drill was turned off, did you venture out, your legs barely making a sound in the water. Gliding through slowly, weakly. That wasn’t going to last long - Rick took you in his arms, carrying you bridal style so you were barely touching the cold water. “We’ll get you to med, stat,” He promised you. And oh, the look you gave him shook him to his core again.
It was still full of that damn hope. There was no blame. No anger. No hatred.
He couldn’t look at you anymore. His green eyes only focused on what was in front, making good time to get you back up to the surface. He could barely even look at you as he brought you into the light, terrified to see what shape you were truly in. As soon as he was able, he called for a medic-copter, and it came quickly. Until then, he stared straight forward, heart beating fast, listening to your breathing. It was labored, despite the fact that you had barely moved yourself. It sounded as if you weren’t getting enough air.
“You’re going to be alright,” he told you. “I promise.”
The helicopter landed in one of the few empty spots that weren’t covered with debris from the quake, and he ran you onto it, setting you down on the stretcher that it was equipped with. And as soon as you were down, he stepped back. Out. Everything in him was screaming at him that he didn’t belong with you in that helicopter. That you wouldn’t want to see him because he had believed the worst of you, and made you suffer. As the aircraft started to take off, your head turned to look out the window and direct eye contact was made for a second, and he lost his breath again. You still looked at him with love.
Rick Flagg didn’t come to see you until three days after you had been admitted into the military hospital. He had read through the reports that were made, your testimony of what had happened to you after you had been traded. It was the hardest read of his life, knowing that he had betrayed you, had helped to put you in that situation. The state of you hadn’t quite been enough to convince the higher-ups that you hadn’t been on the side of the enemy, but your testimony had been enough.
You gave them nothing. Even through the tortures that they put upon you; you were relentless in keeping the secrets of the military inside. Through waterboarding, through sleep deprivation, even through drugs your willpower persisted. This was proven by the fact that you had known about some of the missions that were going to happen through your imprisonment, and the enemy never made a move on them.
Fuck, he was both impressed by your stubbornness and guilty for ever believing you’d turn. He was sure this was going to be eating at him for the rest of his life.
When he walked in, he was in his fatigues, back straight, trying to be as impersonal as possible. He didn’t know what to expect coming in and didn’t know how to brace himself other than to try to separate himself from it. He knew what he was hoping for - screaming, and yelling, maybe even you would attack him. That would validate his guilt. His self-hatred.
But you brightened up when he entered the room. Your countenance changed from the moment before you had seen him, to something entirely different. You were able to sit up more, a smile growing on your face despite your trauma and exhaustion. It was like you were inhaling with excitement rather than exhaling with despair.
You said his name. You hadn’t been able to speak when he found you, and your voice was still raspy, but it was his name, and it was your voice, and it wasn’t said in anger. His breath got caught in his throat, something that often happened around him, and it took a minute for him to remember to let it out.
He said your name back and approached the hospital bed stiffly. You weren’t tied down but there were still the grooves on your wrists and ankles that showed that you had been. Protocol.
“I was waiting for you to come,” you said, clearing your throat. Rick grabbed the paper cup with water that was by your bed and handed it to you, and you took a drink thankfully. You swallowed and then licked your lips, attempting to wet them a little. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Of course I was going to come,” Rick said, though the truth was he hadn’t really intended to. He’d gone back and forth on it so many times. But here he was, just like you had hoped that he would be. He had to bite on his lower lip to keep it from trembling as he saw you in this state.
You had lost a lot of weight. According to what you had told the doctors; you hadn’t eaten in four days. That’s why you were so weak and found it so hard to stand. They only fed you every other day while you were captured and left nothing for you when they vacated the premises. You were bruised, black and blue, purple and green. Some of the cuts you had were infected, and were now covered in salves and bandages, and you had antibiotics flowing through your IV. The worst of it seemed to be centred upon your neck, where a collar had torn through your flesh multiple times when you moved your head to try and sleep. That’s how they kept you awake for so long. And the music -
Even though you were in a better place now, your body was still holding onto the trauma and healing slowly.
“They cleared me,” you said, quietly. “They understand now that I never, ever betrayed our military. Never betrayed you.”
Rick stiffened, expecting that now would be the moment that you would start to yell at him. Asking the questions that he had been asking himself. How did the documents get into the perfect place at the perfect time for him to come across them? It had all been planted, and almost sloppily so, but still. He had fallen for it. So eager to point a finger, to blame someone for all of the problems that the department was having, and someone made sure they landed on you.
“I shouldn’t have thought that,” He finally admitted. “I should have known better.”
“All the evidence was pointing to me, I understand,” you said, softly. “You’ve always put your position first, so I don’t blame you for having to report me.”
But he was hardly listening, truth be told. He kept going on.
“- and I understand that you’re probably angry with me. I deserve it. I wasn’t thinking properly, I was a soldier first when I should have been a man first. Your man. I’m supposed to protect you!”
“... Rick,” you said, clearing your throat, trying to get his attention, though he was staring right at you.
“- and I helped to hand you over? I wasn’t physically there but I might as well have been. I couldn’t even face you then, I couldn’t watch you walk away. I was a coward. I am a coward.”
“No, you’re -” But he cut you off again. Now you just looked at him with amusement. Sometimes he was like the Duracell Bunny, just going and going and going. He had to tire himself out. Nothing was going to stop him.
“- if you never forgive me, I understand. If you never want to see me again - I understand. Nothing I do will ever be able to make it up to you and I know that. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I would do anything to take back what I did. Anything at all.”
You waited for a moment to make sure that he was done speaking. He let out a deep breath, his eyes boring holes into yours. You had a small smirk on your face, and you asked, “Are you done?”
“Not even close,” He admitted. You chuckled, which made his jaw tense. He wasn’t sure how to handle this. You were not at all acting in the way that he had thought that you would.
“Then take a break, and let me have my turn,” you said, reaching out your arm for him. He tentatively stepped a little closer, and your fingers played against his hand, worming their way into his clenched fist to grab hold of it. “I forgive you.”
He stared at you, blankly. He wasn’t sure what to say. No words were coming to either his brain, or his tongue. But something else was rising. Something that hardly ever did. A swelling sensation in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes.
Rick Flagg was not a man who cried. If he got hurt, he grit his teeth and worked through it. If he lost a man, he held strong for the others in his team. He could feel sorrow, but he never let it affect him like that. But right now? He felt like a kid that lost their parents in a grocery store. He felt like a kid who had just been told that their pet had gone to heaven. He felt the weight of his entire world on his shoulders, and it was streaming out his eyes now.
“Are you crying?” You asked, blinking in confusion. You had never seen him come close to doing that. It was a vulnerability he never allowed himself to feel, but right now, he couldn’t help it.
He dropped onto his knees beside your hospital bed, his hand clenching onto yours, his other arm resting on the thin mattress you were laying on. “I don’t know,” He whispered. “I’m feeling so many things - I -”
“It’s okay,” you said, softly, stroking the back of his hand. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I’m so -” he said, struggling to come to terms with what he was feeling. And that Duracell Bunny was back, making him move on and on. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”
“Really? Why?” You asked, curiously.
“You’re being so calm! And so - nice!” He sputtered. “You’re supposed to be angry at me. You’re supposed to yell at me and hit me. But you’re - you’re actually comforting me.”
“Well, I love you,” you said, continuing to stroke his hand. He was holding on so tight. It was close to the point of pain, but it wasn’t there yet. “I could never hurt you-”
“Hurt me, the way I hurt you?” He laughed hollowly as the first tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks. “I deserve it, y/n. So please, hate me, hurt me, scream at me.”
“I can’t-” you said, biting down on your lip. “I can’t hate you. I was mad at you for a long time, but I always knew in my heart that this was not your fault. It was theirs. The ones who framed me, who made this happen. None of that blame lies with you.”
That hurt worse than a punch but wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it would have been to actually feel your fist against his face. “Please don’t forgive me-” He whispered.
That’s when you seemed to realize something, and you held tighter onto his hand. “Rick - it’s never been my forgiveness that you needed. It’s your own. You need to forgive yourself.”
“I can’t,” He breathed heavily. “I can’t do that. Not after seeing you like this.”
“You have to,” you said, your voice no longer soft and loving, comforting. You were stern. You were back to the soldier that he had known you to be. “You want that weight off your shoulders, to be able to get back to work properly, to restart us? It’s the only way forward, Rick. You’re smart enough to know that.”
He absolutely broke. His head leaned against the crisp white sheets, his cropped hair brushing against your ribs as he let it all out in that moment, crying in a way that you have never witnessed before. It felt like a good first step, this release of emotions in a man who usually kept them so bottled up. You stroked his hair and held his hand, taking in this moment for what it really was.
bruce wayne and the reader having the exact same music taste (i’m thinking nirvana or deftones) and they lay in bed at night with headphones in each ear and listening together. GOD
drive me far away
FUCK YEAH I LOVE THIS IDEA THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON I LOVE U!!!! i hope i did your idea justice, it’s a little corny but i think it’s cute :) anyways ignore how bad i am at ending stories and enjoy!!!
pairing: pattinson! bruce wayne/ reader
warnings: female pronouns used in the form of ‘mrs.’ once. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!
-
the first thing you and bruce found out you really had in common, was your music taste. it brought the two of you together tremendously, and you still bond over it to this day. wether it was nirvana, deftones, or even bands like new order, (YES, i strongly believe bruce would listen to new order/ new wave in general) you bonded over it all. no matter what time of day, no matter what activity, there was usually a song playing that both of you enjoyed.
it was a gloomy monday, and you had decided you wanted to give alfred the day off, or at least help a little. which took a lot of convincing.
“alfred please, just let me do the dishes, or something!” you always felt bad for him, even though he clearly didn’t dislike his job, you still felt the need to help every once in a while.
“alright, fine mrs. wayne. clean away” alfred throws his hands up in surrender and exits the room. bruce gives you a questionable look from where he was working at the kitchen table. “what??? i wanna help out” you retort at his silence.
“i didn’t say anything” he shrugs, before unwillingly going back to his work. you stick your headphones in as to not bother bruce, and begin to play “mollys lips” by nirvana. you bop your head to the music as you wash the dishes, silently mouthing the words as you go. bruce notices this, and decides that nows the perfect time to take a break from his work. he walks up behind you silently, and snakes his arms around your waist. he rests his chin on top of your head as he speaks.
“whatcha listening to?” he takes an earbud out of your ear and places it in his own, and an instant smile crosses his face. you push out of his arms and grab a ladle from the sink, going into full theatre mode now that you knew bruce wasnt working. you mouth the lyrics into the ‘mic’ with much exaggeration.
she said
she’d take me anywhere
she’d take me anywhere
as long as she stays with me
bruce leans against the kitchen counter, watching with full amusement and a lopsided smile.
she said
she’d take me anywhere
she’d take me anywhere
as long as i stay clean
kiss, kiss mollys lips
kiss, kiss mollys lips
you continue to perform your heart out, dropping down to your knees like a true rockstar at the end of the song. bruce claps enthusiastically.
“amazing” his sentence comes out broken between his laughter as he helps you up from the ground. you smile as he pulls you flush against him and places a kiss upon your lips.
“can i help you do the dishes” he mumbles lazily against your lips.
“weren’t you doing other work?” you question, looking over to the papers scattered across the table.
“i was, but i’d rather do dishes. less boring.” your shrug, placing your phone on speaker and playing the music aloud. the two of you slowly but surely finished the dishes, although you both were drenched because you thought it would be funny to start a water fight.
later that night, you were settled into bed, laying on your side and nose deep into a book as bruce got ready in the bathroom behind you. this was one of the rare nights that bruce didn’t go out, and the both of you went to bed at the same time.
you smile to yourself as bruce places himself flat against your back, entangling his legs with yours and placing soft kisses on the space behind your ear and down your neck to your collar bone. you place your book down, he then takes one of his earbuds and places it in your ear. deftones fills your head and you smile softly to yourself as you turn to face him. you were quite literally centimeters apart as the music plays for the both of you.
“be quiet and drive huh?” you speak over the music, quirking an eyebrow at him.
he shrugs, “basic, but one of my favorites” a smile ghosts his lips as his eyes scan your face. he was admiring you, drinking in your beauty. something he did quite often without thinking about it, he could be in the middle of doing anything, and he would stop to admire you. you decide to move in, your lips moving in sync with his as the song continued to play. bruce tugs you impossibly closer as he faintly mouths the lyrics against your lips.
it feels good to know you’re all mine
now drive me far
away, away, away,
that night, the two of you fell asleep in each others arms, music still playing in your ears as you dreams came and went.
we're going to follow the under the red hood plot for the sake of this fic, but this came to me in the shower as all good fics do! please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any Batboy fics. and hello to all you new followers. welcome. I hope you love it here! this follows the Grayson!sister plot!
tag: @darth-vaders-bitch
***
3 days ago...
"JJ." Jason freezes mid-step in his trek back to his bike parked in the shadows - because he wasn't about to step in and save the baby bat replacement without a reason to - and very slowly turns around to meet your gaze. He would've glared the person to death who dared to call him something so juvenile. Coming from the person he'd loved since he was 13, though... he was okay with it. "Thank you."
He swallows the knot in his throat as you scoop Tim up into your arms. Little Tim, his Replacement, who is still a child and only trusts you to be vulnerable around. He's hurt. He's a kid and he didn't deserve what those thugs had done to him.... and after all you'd endured since losing Jason all those years and then coming back again.. he'd give you this. He'd let Tim live if it made you happy.
"Anytime, darlin'." He replied softly.
"You asked me a question, before." Black gloves reach outward to envelop his wrist. "If I still loved you. Here's your answer."
You lay a thumb drive in his palm. It's small, barely bigger than his thumb, and labeled with the year he had died. He should toss it into the Gotham River and never entertain the answers that are on that flash drive. He should let you go. Let you move on. Clearly the Bats need you.
But not like he does.
No one had sang him a song since the song of the countdown in that god forsaken warehouse. What hurts more, A or B? Forehand, or back hand? ha HA hA Ha hA!
The taste of blood in his mouth, the broken domino. The way he'd been so convinced that Bruce would save him.
The way he felt nothing but warmth until Death took him.
Jason Todd refuses to forgive Bruce Wayne for the torture he put him through. Manipulating the child he'd take under his wing and give the moniker Robin. The boy who loved Neopolitan ice cream and English literature and cooking in the kitchens with Alfred. That version of him is dead, but even then... somehow, someway, you still find it in you to love him.
And that's the best song he's heard in years. It rings with joy and hope and everything he's seeking.
Upon return to his safe house, Jason nudged the door open with his hip and slipped inside. He was starving and needed a shower. Some sleep. Clean his guns and check his security system, make sure it's up to speed. Instead, Jason sits down on the ratty yellow couch that's ten years out of date and curls his legs beneath him as he plugs the thumb drive in.
A folder with the year he died and the words In Loving Memory of Jason Todd shows up. His stomach turns at the sight of those words as his brain reads them repeatedly. Jason had been under the impression when he'd woken up in the Pit and begun being trained by the League that no one had mourned him. Why would they? Why would you?
You wanted to know if I loved you. Here's your answer.
You can do this. Jason opens the folder and is greeted with half a dozen or more videos, most of which are you and only you. They seem to have been recorded in the middle of the night long after the rest of the Bats are asleep and Bruce isn't around to be nosy about why you would be using the Batcomputer at 4 am. That was exactly what you needed, and it had worked.
Jason clicked on the one week after video and waited.
***
One week after Jason died...
Camera opens onto a dark room. There's a single figure that emerges from the shadow, enveloped in a royal blue sweatshirt that's far too big on her, and they come to sit in the chair that is meant for a grown man.
Little Grayson stares at the camera of the Batcomputer and begins talking,
"It's been one week, JJ." You murmur. "One week since Bruce came home and said your body had been claimed by an explosion. That you were gone, and that he hadn't been fast enough to save you. I still don't know why you didn't just let me go with you... maybe I could've done something." Your fingers curl around the cuff of the sweatshirt sleeve tight enough to turn your knuckles white. "I had something I was going to ask you when you got back home... but today we finally buried you, and that question died on my lips when we put that body in the grave.
It doesn't feel right, letting you go. Part of me, the part in denial, says you're not really dead at all. But I know I'm naive. I've always been naive. It's part of the reason why Bruce won't let me go in the field now."
Jason snorts. That's typical.
"There were so many things I loved about you. Things that drove Dick and Alfred and Bruce nuts..." Soft laughter falls past your lips as you rest your head in your hand. "But I would not and will never change a thing about you. If you are really gone, Jason.... I hope you're at peace." Your eyes meet the camera, dark circles just beginning to form and red rimmed from crying. Jason knows then that his death will haunt you. That you will never be over the guilt that comes with it. "I hope you knew I love you."
Camera goes dark.
***
It takes him several hours to be able to gather the courage to open the next video. Once he does, dawn has just begun peeking over Gotham's skyline and there's a steaming cup of the tea Alfred got him hooked on years ago in front of him.
You're way too freaking domestic for a serial killer.
Shut up.
He snorts softly and opens the next video. Six week after his death, and it's evident.
***
Six Weeks After....
Camera opens, and this time it's to a very obvious fight. Bruce is the one at the computer at 4 AM and he has his back turned to the camera, chair cast out of the way to show both his form and that of the younger Grayson. The audio is garbled and distorted until Bruce disappears off camera alongside a flash of gray hair, and then Little Wing is settling back in the chair.
Your eyes are dark. Way darker then he's ever seen them, and there's an air of loathing and despair that settles around you like the cape Batman wears. Dark as night and even more suffocating.
"I don't know why I keep coming down here. Is this a way to torture myself? My penance for not doing enough for Jason?" Jason's chest constricts too tight and he rubs at the dip in his sternum to try to ease the ache there he cannot actually do anything about. It's a phantom pain. Pain he can feel from you. "JJ, you will always be the best thing that ever happened to me. Let's note that makes Dick really jealous... but he can shove off and keep all his regal titles and all the things the obnoxious and overprotective big brothers get to do. And he's such a good brother. I wish he saw himself that way." Your eyes meet the camera. "I wish you knew how we mourned you. Bruce has been acting so distant and cold and I haven't seen him cry a single time since he brought you home.. but I know he mourns. Or at least I'd like to think he does. Who knows anymore. But he is not my father. My father wouldn't berate me for not being able to let the boy I love go. I hope you see yourself the way I see you, if you ever see this." Laughter bubbles past your throat. It's so.. bitter. Like the thought of what you just said is so utterly ridiculous you cannot even begin to comprehend why you said it. "Idiot. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am stupid."
Jason pauses the video before it goes dark to gaze at you. Your hair is longer and unkempt, like you haven't found it in you to have the energy to brush your hair. You're wearing the same blue sweatshirt that Jason hasn't recognized until now is his. It's highly likely that you wouldn't let Alfred touch it because it smelled like him. Alfie, you sentimental sap.
His fingers graze your cheek. When he finds you back on patrol, he intends to give this back. This isn't something you just throw away. Even with The Replacement in the picture and your obvious dedication to the Bats, there's something stirring low in Jason's gut that tells him you love him just as much now as you did then.
And well.... Red Hood is allowed to love. He deserves to.
***
The last video in the six is not you, but Dick. Dick Grayson is sitting in the chair spinning himself around repeatedly as he gazes at a small lavender box in his hand.
"Hey Jay. I didn't realize until about a month and a half ago that Little Wing was still making these videos for you. I'm not entirely sure why. Truth be told I think it's because you were you and someone doesn't just get over you.... which is why it's me in here instead of the little one." He holds up the box and opens it. It's a ring. A promise ring Jason had secured long before his death in the hopes of one day, being able to give it to you wit ha promise that he would marry you. "And then I found this when I was helping Alfie clean your room. You hid it in your underwear drawer, you scoundrel." Jason would've been lying if he said that Dick's laugh that followed didn't make him warm. Dick had always had that gift about him.. comforting when he didn't even realize he was doing it. Just the sound of his laughter was enough. "And just so you know... you have my blessing. Marry my sibling." Dick leans forward and lays the box just in front of the camera. "And have the life you deserve."
The laptop lid slams shut and Jason is out the door before he can stop himself.
***
"So do you believe me-"
The two of you are standing on the rooftop under the Vicki Vale billboard when Jason throws the Red hood helmet to the side and fixes your eyes head-on. There is not a drop of hesitation or fear but acceptance. And that look on someone who has suffered as much as Jason Todd has is probably the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
He is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"You kept the ring." You pull the promise ring from underneath your armor on the silver chain you'd gotten years beforehand. It kept it safe. Kept him safe, before you were the only one of the Bats who knew he was alive. "You kept the ring knowing you wanted to ask me something if you ever saw me again. I'm gonna ask you now."
Your whole world slows down as he sets himself on one knee and asks with all the confidence of a man finally allowing himself to accept love and be loved for the rest of his life.
This is a new blog kind of stemming from my main writing blog, which is @babyboiboyega !
While writing the pieces that have been posted on that page, I’ve come to the conclusion that the way I plan my oneshots/drabbles is a lot of fun!
I used to just write the parts of the oneshot out as a bullet point list, but then I started writing them out in a kind of deconstructed form. I found that it really helps me not only visualize it, but also helps me put as many details as I can into planning without putting it all. It also kind of helps me keep the story going by writing it all out!
WITH THAT BEING SAID!
This page is dedicated solely to those planning scripts! There’ll be a few times where I’ll post the script to this page and then the finished product onto my main page (@babyboiboyega); but then, there’ll be a few times where I’ll post just a script onto this page without the finished product, because believe it or not, sometimes I’ll stop at just the script because I think that it’s better in script form!
This is definitely something new that I’m doing, but I’m very excited to see how you all react to these scripts!!
Just as my main writing blog, I’ll be posting Marvel, DC, Supernatural, Star Wars/The Clone Wars, Harry Potter, and misc pieces to this page!
