#hes okay..drowning in an indescribable emptiness

[1071png]

kakashi..

[eelnoise]

with hearts aligned (nsfw!)

zoro x fem!reader this fic's followup btw. takes place between fishman island and PH (yes there's lore!! 🙄! and yes zoro did keep all that shit bottled up for a bit!!) cw: confessions of love, somewhat troubled zoro, not-so-awkward first times (our boy is intuitive okay ?!), piv sex, fingering, cute stuff idk an: okay i know this took a long time but i re-wrote this like 5 times and accidently got hyperfixated on ffxiv and generally needed a break from writing BUT WE ARE BACK BABY !!! wc: 3.4k tagging @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @sleepymarimo @willowbelle @nina-ya

The clinking of cutlery upon plates and chatter among friends fills the small island tavern with animated joy and serene relief. Brook plays the violin somewhere to the left side of the room, though the eager blathering of the crew drowns out the more finer notes and melodies played. 

A well-deserved interruption and a welcome change from the unpredictable nature of the past few day’s events – though for Zoro, it’s a distraction that’s come to an end. Despite the crew being whole again, he still feels a hollowness within – something no amount of eating or drinking or fighting can fill.

And it’s entirely his fault.

You sit across the table from him, sipping at a near-empty glass of wine and discussing something inaudibly with Usopp. He can’t quite read your expression from where he’s seated, but you look interested enough in the conversation. 

And if it’s obvious to himself that he’s keeping you at arm’s length, it’s clear to anyone with a working conscience that he’s doing his utmost to avoid you. The many longing gazes from his peripheral do not go unnoticed, but he dares not to look – for the hurt in your eyes would crush him and sear and stain into his soul.  A far-flung difference from the camaraderie that came before all of this, when the two of you were rarely found an inch too far apart from one another – and now Zoro can’t even look you in the eye. After his many imagined intimate rendezvous,how could he?

With you distracted, he lets his eye wander across your face, to the length of your arm, down to the glass pinched between your fingers – but it comes to rest upon your lips. He watches, transfixed on the flight peek of your tongue behind your teeth when you speak, how your lips twist with each syllable, how they purse when you’re in thought, and the way they stretch across your cheeks when you smile.

Zoro’s throat tightens, a sharp dagger of guilt carving into his chest. He forces his stare to the table, the tiniest sliver of your form still lingering in the corner of his vision. You’ve journeyed this far, fought, bled, and laughed together. And now, for once, he’s unable to find the words to say.

The weight of his inaction bears down on him, leaving him listless. The only respite he’s found is in the distraction of a battle, a thudding, a clash, steel ringing against steel. In those moments, he’s alive, he’s focused, and the words that plague his every waking thought cease to exist. But without the battle, Zoro is left with nothing but the echoes of unspoken desires.

His hand trembles, gripping his mug of ale as he brings it to his lips. The bitterness of the brew does little to quell the fire in his chest. He’s a swordsman, a pirate – not a poet, bard, or a man of words. It’s a mess of feelings. Lust, want, longing, love, all these indescribable sensations that only serve to make Zoro feel weak and helpless and vulnerable when faced with them. He feels like a coward, daring never to speak to you again, never to confess his feelings, and never pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless.

Zoro’s eye meets yours for one singular fleeting moment, the intensity of the connection making his heart race. He knows he can’t keep up this charade, this dance of avoidance – but how does one even confess to these feelings? How does one bridge the gap between comrade and lover? He scratches his chin, trying to come up with a solution, but all he can think of is a single, frustrating fact: he can’t keep running.

Whether it’s every empty bottle he’s seen the bottom of tonight, the last of his resolve wearing thin, or just the sheer guilt of it all that drives him suddenly to his feet, he isn’t sure. Inhaling one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken, he silently trudges around the table to where you’re seated.

At first, he hovers awkwardly so as to not interrupt the conversation you’re having. Both hands come to rest at either side of the back of your chair and he can feel his pulse through his fingertips on the wood – and when you tilt your head up to look at him, a curious smile twitching at the edges of your cheeks, he cracks.

Zoro clears his throat and forces his gaze. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”

His voice is hoarse as he asks, and he hopes you can’t hear the nerves that lie beneath his words. Surprised by how much he’s sweating and how his heart races against his ribcage, he swallows to regain some semblance of composure.

“It’s important,” he adds, trying not to stumble over his thoughts. It’s a pitiful excuse, but all that comes to mind amidst the maelstrom of emotion in his head.

“Oh, yeah – of course!” You reply with raised brows and begin to stand. Zoro allows you the room to move, taking a step back from the table. “Sorry, Usopp,” you say as you turn and give him a weak shrug, “Remind me where we left off later?”

“No prob!” The sniper shoots a thumbs-up and the two of you exchange a wave before you turn to follow Zoro away from the lively table and out of the tavern.

Zoro leads you to a quiet spot by the docks nearby, where the salty scent of the sea mingles with the faint tang of fish and the distant hum of the island. He can’t bring himself to look at you, electing instead to focus on the water and the twinkling reflection of the night sky in the soft waves.

“Everything okay?” You ask softly, taking a few steps toward him and assuredly taking note of his hesitance. “What’s up?”

“I missed you,” Zoro replies, fixated on the sigh of the shifting tides lapping at the wooden posts below. “A lot.”

“I missed you too, Zoro, but what’s so urgent?” The concern in your tone is apparent and caring, and normally works to soothe him when his mind runs rampant – but this moment, this situation he finds himself in, it does the opposite.

“No,” Zoro shakes his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I missed you - differently from the others.”

“Differently?”

Zoro’s jaw clenches, and part of him wants to jump into the ocean and swim as far away from the island as his arms will take him. The honest admission hangs heavy on his tongue, the weight of the years of denial suddenly threatening to push it out. He pauses, opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally, with a shaky exhale, he looks you straight in the face.

“I love you.”

The admission hangs between you, the weight of years of suppression. Zoro shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twinges of regret creeping up the nape of his neck.  It takes you a moment to reply, and considering the nature of the confession, it's reasonable. Zoro's nerves feel like hot coals beneath his skin as he watches your face for any sign of an answer.

“...for real?” Your gentle response fills his entire being with a wistful spark of hope.

Zoro's fingers curl into fists. "Yes, for real," he confirms, still not looking up. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, a heavy, leaden weight. All his hopes and fears rest on the outcome of this conversation. He's unsure if he could handle rejection, but he can't go back to the pretense any longer. Zoro swallows, tasting bile at the back of his throat. "I should've told you before now, but I... I'm an idiot.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet.

He isn’t sure when you move, but a smaller, softer hand wraps around his – and in an instant, he feels himself relax into your touch. Zoro relaxes his grip, allowing your fingers to entwine with his.

He snaps his gaze towards you, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. You peer at him, a sweet, crooked smile on your lips and a blush across your face. And when your free hand finds purchase on his cheek, Zoro finds himself leaning in. 

You meet him halfway in a genuine, tender kiss that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Zoro's arms wrap around you and pull you close. The world around falls away as you both delight in the embrace. The kiss is gentle, delicate, and filled with longing. It floods him with an unexpected warmth – and for once, he can't think of the past or the future. He's simply lost in the present moment.

When you finally pull away, Zoro can't help but lean into your palm on his cheek with a bit of a dazed smile on his face. Holding onto your hand, his other hand slowly moves to cup your cheek in return. His heart is pounding, his mind a blank slate tinged with overwhelming happiness. He's lost in your gaze, unable to speak, but he doesn't need to. The moment says everything.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" you murmur, lips ghosting his and thumb trailing upward to gently trace the lower half of the scar that now covers his right eye. "How often I thought of you?"

And then you say it - the words he's only imagined hearing you speak.

"I love you, too.”

Zoro's chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat as he meets your gaze, his heart swelling. Words fail him, the raw emotion in his gut silences his voice.  A slow smile spreads across his lips, a look of awe and joy shadowing his features. He doesn't need words. The simple fact that you feel the same is enough to fill him with warmth and peace. 

Leaning in again, Zoro captures you in another deep kiss – a deep and soulful kiss that speaks volumes. He's consumed by the feeling of being with you, of finally being able to express his love. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he kisses you with all the passion and longing he's suppressed for far too long.

You sigh into him, the sound willingly swallowed by Zoro’s growing hunger. Arms wrap around his shoulders and you press yourself into him, the opened-mouthed kiss quickly turning into a twist of tongues dancing together in a frenzied rhythm with audible smacks of saliva mixing with each meeting of your lips. His hand clutches your hair more firmly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull you impossibly closer.

The gesture is all-consuming, a whirlpool of desire and affection that leaves him lightheaded. For the first time in years, he feels like he's truly alive, his heart beating in perfect harmony with yours.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Zoro's lips ghost over your jawline, trailing down to your collarbone as he breathes in your scent, savoring every moment. He wants to memorize the taste, the feel, and the sound of your breath as his hands roam over your body, his heart beating a furious tempo.

You let out a small gasp when his lips touch your sensitive flesh, your body reacting to his every move. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips as he nibbles at your neck, causing your grip to tighten and for you to moan softly into his ear. 

Part of Zoro wants to take you here and now, but what remains of his will stops him. He growls into your neck and lifts you up fully and, – with a little assistance from you –  heads in the direction of the ship anchored nearby. The others wouldn't be back for a while, so why not take advantage of the privacy?

You’re weightless in his arms as he carries you away from the bustle of the small island village and towards the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro can feel himself growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants as you kiss and nip along his neck, giggling in his ear when he retaliates with a playful squeeze to your rear and a rumbling growl against your skin.

He wastes little time pushing the door to the men’s quarters open with the tip of his boot, his grip on your hips tightening when he moves to lift you onto the nearest bunk, one hand still clutching your waist while the other travels up under your shirt to caress your chest, deft hands making quick work of unhooking your bra and tossing it aside to be forgotten.

Zoro’s breathing hitches, his eyes dark and lustful as he dips his head to suckle at the swell of your breast. He can feel himself twitching against your thigh, and despite his inexperience, he wants nothing more than to please you. 

He kisses down your body, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue while his hand roams, finding your core already soaked with desire. He pauses, fingers grazing over your clothed slit and feeling you shiver in pleasure. Zoro murmurs your name, and snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties before sliding them down your legs in one motion, leaving you naked and bared before him. His own pants follow suit, quickly discarded next to yours.

Zoro's hand finds its way between your thighs again, spreading your folds with ease, and he lowers his head to kiss you once more, his tongue probing your mouth as his fingers gently stroke your clit, drinking in your soft moans.

"Show me." He whispers just loud enough for her to hear. His expression is a loving one, though she notes the slightest bit of hesitance in his words.

Show me how you like it.

You nod and guide his fingers, taking two of the large digits and easing them in circles on your clit. "Not too rough, though," you say patiently, letting go of him with a soft sigh and an encouraging smile. 

Zoro hums in acknowledgment, his thumb and forefinger doing as you ask, the slickness of your pussy allowing his fingers to move easily as he continues to tease at your clit. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you as his thumb rolls over the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting small moans from you. 

Zoro brushes the tip of his finger against your entrance in an experimental move, and by the way you wreathe and whine, he's urged to continue his work. He slides one past your folds and inside of you, making your toes curl and your back arch.

"Shit–" You sputter out between breathless sighs of desire. "Feels really good..."

One finger becomes two, your inner walls clenching around them as he scissors them in and out of your pussy. There's a wet slosh of sound coming from where you meet, your wetness audibly coating his fingers and dripping down down his wrist. 

Zoro's breath hitches at the sound of your pleasure, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your reaction. He's entranced by how your body responds to him, and he can't help but lick his lips as he continues to finger you. He adds a third, the stretch making you gasp and tighten around him.

His pace increases, his fingers swirling and thrusting within you, and he watches as your body writhes and arches beneath him. He can feel the tension building in you, the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.

"Do you want me inside you?" Zoro asks, his voice low and thick with need. He's anxious to give you pleasure, but he's struggling to keep himself from joining his fingers inside you.

"Please," you whine, eyes wide and watery with pleasure but red hot with the need for more. "Need you, Zoro."

Zoro's heart beats wildly in his chest, his own need for you overwhelming as he pulls his fingers from your slick warmth and licks them clean before sitting back on his heels to position himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your entrance and looks into your eyes, the passion reflected in his own.

Without warning, he thrusts forward, plunging deep into your tightness. You're hot and wet around him, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction as he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to adjust and to revel in the feeling of being connected. He pulls back, slowly at first, then picks up the pace as he leans over you, the headboard digging into the wall with each forceful thrust. Zoro's eyes never leave yours, his gaze locked as if he's trying to absorb every detail of your expression.

Each stroke of his cock against your walls feels heaven-sent, and the taste of you that lingers on his tongue drives him crazy with want. Nails dig into the flesh of his triceps and your back arches, a song of passion belting from between your lips, a serenade made for him and him alone.

Zoro grunts at the sound of your pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more ferocious as he watches your reaction, the sight of you so lost in ecstasy driving him to the brink. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, the sweat glistening on your skin as your bodies collide.

The moonlight trickling in from the window illuminates your body below him. It's a sight better than anything he could dream, your face contorting in bliss and ecstasy, hands clinging harshly onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. Savoring a feeling that neither wants to forget.

"You're so fucking perfect." Zoro growls, leaning over you to kiss you feverishly, his tongue seeking yours as he fucks you. He can feel the tension building, the way your body tenses and your nails dig into his skin, and he knows you're close. He wants to give you this moment, wants to make you cum as much as he wants to feel it himself.

"Come on," he urges, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me." The words were a warning, a promise that he wasn't going to last much longer..Zoro increases the pace of his assault, his own release imminent as he watches your face, your eyes half-lidded and flushed with pleasure. Together, you move, driven by the primal need for release.

Zoro's thumb meets your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with the speed of his ministrations. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, crying out butchered attempts at his name as your body convulses around him, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Zoro can't hold back any longer, feeling his own climax building as he watches you.

With a roar, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums, the spasms of your walls milking him as he shudders and groans into your ear, seed spilling inside of you. He pants heavily, leaning over you as he rests on his forearms, his forehead meeting yours. He stays like that long enough to press a quick kiss to your lips before collapsing atop you with a very exhausted, but very relieved sigh. 

You breathlessly hold him close. Cradling his sweaty form to your chest, one hand makes its way into his moss-green tresses to lightly scratch at his scalp. Zoro lets himself relax, letting out a sigh and nestling into your shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly sated in your embrace.

Zoro pulls out of you eventually, gently rolling off your body to rest. He pulls you into his side as he nuzzles into your hair. "I love you." He whispers, his voice soft and tender and almost unrecognizable.

Snuggling into his side, your hand still lazily strokes his head. "I love you too," you reply, voice equally tender, and a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Your soft touch and tender words soothe Zoro, your shared connection cemented in the aftermath of passion. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips. The words you whispered echo in his mind, a warm feeling settling in his chest – and together, in each other's arms, you find peace.

[envysparkler]

Dick was off-shift, doing a handstand in the artificial gravity of their spaceship and dodging the magnets Raven was tossing at him, when the door slid open.

“Hey,” Roy said, catching the magnet Raven flicked at him, “Donna wants to talk to you.  She’s piloting.”

Dick eased down and straightened the right way up, pausing for a moment to let his blood flow correct itself.  “Everything okay?”

“Urgent but not an emergency,” Roy shrugged, and tossed the magnet at Raven.  “Target practice, Rae?”

Dick slipped out as they set up—it was week three of ten on their long mission, and the novelty of deep space had worn out into boredom.  Luckily, they’d managed to stave off a lot of the stir-crazy by continuously organizing activities to keep everyone engaged.  Dick passed the kitchen and managed a smile for Kori, who was doing…something in a pot on the stove.

Some of those activities yielded better results than others.

Putting the thought of experimental Tamaranean cooking out of his head, Dick made his way to the cockpit, which was empty of everyone but Donna.  “What’s up, Wonder Girl?” Dick smiled, dropping into the co-pilot’s chair and swiveling to face his friend.  “If they’re plotting a mutiny in response to Kori’s cooking, I have to say that you’re on your own, co-captain.”

Donna didn’t laugh.  She didn’t quirk her lips in a smile and tease back, or even roll her eyes in the expression she reserved for Dick.  She looked grave and solemn, something indescribably sad in her eyes.  She looked like she’d just been crying.

“Donna?” Dick said, slower.  “What happened?”  Something had to have happened.  Was the ship in danger?  Their mission?  But then why wouldn’t she declare an emergency?  Was everyone okay?  Did they need to do a role call?  They should—

“Dick,” Donna said, voice hoarse, “We got a call from the Watchtower.”  Dick stared at her.  They had one long-distance comm.  It was supposed to be for emergencies only.  “They—Superman—” Donna swallowed and looked down.  Her hands were trembling.

“Something happened on Earth.”  Dick didn’t recognize his own voice.  He was sinking, and everything was cold.  “What happened, Donna?”

Now that he was checking the instruments, he realized that they were slowing down.  A preparation for a course correction.  To head back.

“Donna, what happened?” he asked, louder.  His voice echoed in the cockpit.  Who, he couldn’t force past his lips.  The faces of everyone he loved flashed by.

Donna raised her gaze.  Tears dripped down her face.  “I’m so sorry, Dick,” she said, voice cracking.  “There was—an incident.  Robin is dead.”

~#~

Dick didn’t hear her.  He couldn’t have heard her.  There was a rushing noise loud enough to drown out the whole world.  He stared at her, waiting for her to speak, willing her to speak.

Donna looked at him, crying, and Dick realized his own cheeks were wet.

~#~

“No.”  Harsh and guttural and broken, and it didn’t sound like his own voice.

~#~

“It has—he’s fifteen—it has to be a mistake.”

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Donna extended her arms and Dick couldn’t help but clutch them, the world reeling, desperate for her to tell him that this was just a dream.

“I—no—not Jason—”

“I’m sorry,” Donna whispered, over and over and over again, as Dick collapsed in her arms and sobbed.

~#~

It felt like something in his heart was gone.  It was just—hollow, and nothing he did could fill the void.

~#~

“Superman,” Dick managed to force out, voice hoarse.  There was a long pause on the other end.  “Any updates?”

“No,” Superman said, voice soft and quiet.  “Nothing new, Nightwing.”

How, Dick wanted to ask.  What happened?  When, who was involved, how could you let my little brother die—

“Batman?” he asked.  He wasn’t sure if it was a request or a question.

“He’s,” Superman hesitated, “he’s not—he’s not taking it well.”  Taking it well.  Taking the death of his son well.  “Physically he’s fine, but mentally—it’s not good.”

Bruce knew grief.  Dick knew grief.  They both knew what it felt like to watch your whole world destroyed in an instant.

But the death of a parent and the death of a child were two very different things.

“We’re heading back.  Could you send out a shuttle to intercept us?” Dick asked as levelly as he could manage.  “The rest of the Titans will continue on their mission.”  They all offered to go back with him, but they still had missions to complete.  Responsibilities that couldn’t be abandoned.

Dick had responsibilities too, a duty to the Titans.  But he’d been Robin first, and he needed to go home.

“Of course, Nightwing,” Superman said.  “And if there’s—if there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

There was only one thing Dick wanted right now, and it was impossible.

“Signing off,” Dick said dully, and closed the connection.

Jason was dead.  Jason was dead.  Jason was dead.

The world already seemed dimmer.

~#~

Martian Manhunter was the one who came to pick him up.  An unsubtle way of monitoring his mental state, but Dick didn’t care.

J’onn didn’t ask him to talk.  Didn’t ask him how he was feeling.  Didn’t say a single word.

Just looked at him with soft, sad empathy as Dick curled up in a corner of the ship and cried.

~#~

Clark and Diana were waiting when the shuttle docked.  Great.  Dick hopped free and brushed past them.  They didn’t try to stop him, but they did fall in step beside him.  “How was the journey?” Diana asked softly.

“Fine,” Dick replied, clipped.  He didn’t know.  He hadn’t been paying attention.  All he could think about was Jason.

“Dick…” Diana said slowly and Dick spun around.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dick said.  His throat was already growing tight.  “I just want to go home.”

The Manor hadn’t been home in years, but the words felt right in his mouth.

“Okay,” Clark said, voice painfully soft, “Let us know if we can help with anything.”

Dick wordlessly nodded and turned away, intent on getting to the zeta.  And then he stopped.  “Actually,” Dick said slowly, “there is one thing.”

A question he didn’t want to ask Bruce or Alfred.  Dick turned to look Superman in the eyes.

“How did it happen?”

~#~

The Batcave seemed…darker than it had before.  There were shadows clinging to shadows, a miasma of emptiness that coiled around him.  The very temperature seemed colder than it was when he’d left.

There was a single, solitary figure in the Batcave, a hunched, crouched, dark outline that didn’t twitch at the sound of the zeta or Dick’s footsteps.  He was sitting in front of a uniform case and Dick had to press his lips together when he realized what it contained.  The fabric was torn and bloodstained and covered in soot and Dick stopped in his tracks as his mind filled in the gaps.

Clark’s description of events had been sanitized, he knew that, but there were enough details to match to every rip and stain on the Robin suit.

He couldn’t suppress the wrenching sob.

Bruce turned at that, looking up with wet eyes as Dick approached and practically collapsed to his knees next to Bruce.  That suit belonged to his little brother.  That suit belonged to his dead little brother.  Dick splayed a hand on the glass case, the wall separating him from the last remnants of Robin.

Dick hadn’t been…pleased with Bruce giving Jason Robin.  They’d had several arguments over the topic, all carefully out of Jason’s earshot.  But Dick had never denied that Jason had been magic, had been the brightness and light Robin needed, and he’d given his blessing for his little brother to take up his mantle.

The mantle that had gotten him killed.

This is my fault, he didn’t say out loud.  Without him, there would’ve never been a Robin.  Without him, Jason would’ve been at home.  Without him, Jason would’ve never met the Joker.

He didn’t need to say it out loud.  When he turned to look at Bruce, he could see the heart-wrenching guilt on his face as well, as clear as day.  “He’s gone,” Bruce said in a cracking voice.  The expression on his face was something Dick had never seen before, somewhere between distraught and shattered.  “He’s gone.”

Dick swallowed against the lump in his throat and leaned against Bruce’s side.  The older man collapsed against him at that first touch, clutching Dick like he never wanted to let go, like he was terrified Dick was going to leave him too.

“It’s okay,” Dick said hollowly, even though it was the furthest thing from okay.  “It’s okay.”

Every time he closed his eyes he could see Jason’s smile.  Not his normal smile.  A Joker smile.

~#~

Alfred was not a hugging sort of person.  Dick had figured that out about two days after meeting him—he could use Bruce as a jungle gym, could clamber on top of him and catch him with flying hugs because Bruce would never say no but he’d also never ask—but not Alfred.  Never Alfred.

Dick made it up the stairs, throat scratchy and face wet, and peeked into the kitchen to see if Alfred was there.  The moment the old butler saw him, he took a heaving, shuddering breath, and walked across the room to wrap Dick in the tightest hug he’d ever gotten.

“You’re here,” Alfred said in a tone of voice Dick never wanted to hear him use again.  “You’re home.”

You’re alive, Dick heard as he wrapped his arms around the man he considered a grandfather.  You’re alive.

~#~

They’d buried him before Dick had gotten back.  Small funeral, which Alfred had arranged, because Bruce was stuck deep within the spires of grief and had taken to haunting the Manor like he was the ghost.  Just a few members of the League, Commissioner Gordon, some of the people Jason had known from his projects at the Wayne Foundation.

“Hey, Little Wing,” Dick said, settling down on the grass.  The headstone had already arrived, marking Jason’s place next to his mother’s.  The Wayne family plot in Gotham Cemetery.  “Sorry I’m late.”

He could imagine Jason’s quip to that.  Jason’s smile.  The way he threw his head back and shrieked with laughter whenever he found something genuinely funny.

Dick touched his cheek, and it came back wet.

“I’m sorry, Jaybird,” Dick choked out, “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry.”

He was never going to hear that laugh again.

[chelleztjs18]

The Monsters Within (N.R) Pt. 4

Dark!FemReader x Natasha Romanoff (Modern AU)

Summary: You like Natasha and you are keeping her to yourself. Natasha's true self slowly shows up.

Warning: This is Dark Fic, 18+. A lot of swearing words. Graphic and gore descriptions, kidnapping, mind manipulations / brainwashing, death, violence, bone crushing and stockholm syndrome, blood kink (if you squint). Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Hello hello! I'm back with the last part of this series then next is the epilogue! Thank you Lou @honey-sweet-hiraeth for helping me n for the brilliant ideas for the ending. Also thank you for encourage me to step out of my comfort zone on writing it. Happy reading! and forgive me..

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

After you let Natasha go, the house feels empty. She left a hole in your heart. Just like her, you miss her immediately but you love her and you want her to be happy. You were sure that she would come back but you start to doubt it. It has been a month she hasn’t shown up to your door. You are mad and disappointed, not to her, but to yourself.

Missing her is already hard to deal with and all these other feelings are just making it harder for you. You have nobody else. This is just another “Wanda” all over again. You killed for her but just like Wanda, Natasha left you. All the special moments both of you had, did it mean something to her? What about the kiss? You asked the same question about it.

A similar internal fight happens to you. Part of you doubts her that she will come back and make your hope disintegrated. Another part of you still believes that she loves you and will come back.

All this leads you to your old coping mechanism even though you doubt that it will fully do its job but you still do it anyway. You are on a killing spree. Like the angel of death, you take souls more often than usual. Like a judge, you give death sentences to any random people you pick to feed the unending blood thirst monster in you.

Without any question, James helps you and he tries to keep up with you on getting rid of the soulless bodies. The loyal man stands by you every night you are dismembering your victim and passes him limb by limb so he can squeeze them into the bathtub before soaking them in the pool of acid.

You usually drown the whole body in the bath of acid but tearing them apart to pieces before that, helps you a little to let out your dismay and keeps your mind busy from thinking about Natasha.

The feeling when the big sharp steel knife forces its way through the skin, cutting through the muscle until it reaches the joints drags out your anger of you slowly but so relieving for you. It makes you feel that you gain back the control over your emotion.

The rusty blood scent spreads strongly when it flows out, shakes your senses and triggers the hemoglobin flow rapidly in yourself like it’s a shot of steroid that keeps your adrenaline rush going crazier. The slicing sounds of the cut tendon and that weird yet satisfying noise right when the joints are separated forcefully playing around through your ear releasing something indescribable in you.

Victims after victims and no matter how many limbs you cut, you still feel empty. None of them can tame the insatiable urge of killing nor the feeling of having Natasha around you.

_____

Natasha’s eyes are watching the T.V but not her mind. Her body is there sitting with Maria, watching the news but her thoughts are busy thinking about something else, or you, to be precise.

Her mind ponders the questions of how are you and what are you doing right now. She can’t lie to herself, she has the wanting feeling to know if you are okay after she left you for over a month. Her heart is barking orders at her to go back to you.

She is far lost in her thoughts. The sounds of the TV flew past over her head right away. Her eyes look empty, staring at one spot of the screen without even following what’s on it.

Maria’s voice that’s calling her name and a nudge on her arm drag her attention suddenly. Her gaze shifted to her friend next to her. “Huh? What is it? Sorry I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Are you okay? I was talking about the news. Look, they are talking about the number of missing people has been increasing in a little over a month.” said Maria in concern.

Her stomach turns into a knot and lungs are emptying on their own without her permission as soon as she hears Maria’s words. “Oh yeah, that’s horrible.” Natasha lets out her sympathy as her response.

“Do you remember our regular customer, Ms. Harkness?” Maria asks.

“Oh yeah. She is a cop, right? What about her?” the redhead returned a question back.

“Yeah, her. This is supposed to be classified but she told me that they might be all dead and the suspect might be a very smart serial killer because there’s no trace found until now.” more details flow out of Maria’s lips.

Natasha starts to feel unease from everything she hears as she swallows her nervousness down. Her brain connects all the lines of information straight to you. She knows that it was all your doing.

“Did–did they find any clue who it was?” The Russian stuttered in her question.

“Unfortunately they didn’t. Not yet. Why Nat? Do you want to tell me something? You haven’t told me about everything that happened to you while you were gone. Are you ready to tell me more?” Maria asks back to back, pushing Natasha to an edgy point.

“I–I–need more time to talk about it, Maria.”

“I know, Nat but the earlier we tell the police that you are back the sooner you get the help you need. I don’t want to get in trouble for letting you stay with me without reporting the cops that you have been back for over a month now. Did you see the face of your captor or what they did?” The more Maria asks, the more anxious Natasha gets.

“No, I didn’t. It was all dark, no window. All walls. I couldn’t see the face and the person didn’t say anything at all whenever she came to give me food or clean clothes.” she rambles whatever false answer she can give to her curious friend so she would stop asking immediately. Her heart wants to protect you. She internally doesn’t want you got caught.

“Wait..wait.. She? So it’s a woman? She gave you clean clothes? I thought you said that an old lady found you on the side of the road, gave you a lift and helped you clean up? So the suitcase you brought wasn’t hers? You also told me that the clothes are some of her daughter's. I’m confused now, Nat. Which one is the right story?” Confusion and suspicion gradually grows in Maria’s thoughts when she recalls some part of the story that Natasha told her doesn’t match at all.

Maria tries to look at her eyes but she avoids them and her face slowly turns white pale. Natasha knows that she is on thin ice right now. She realized that she told Maria false details. Small unmatch details with the previous one and that definitely digs her own graveyard. All she can do right now is to cover the lies with another lie. “I don’t know, Mar. Okay? I don’t know! Please don’t push me. I need more time, damn it!” her voice was raised against Maria.

"Okay.. okay.. Nat. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Without answering her bewildered friend, Natasha rushes to her room, locking her door and hoping that Maria won't demand the truth.

As silence dominates the whole bedroom, you easily come into her memories. Shortly, you are all she thinks about. She misses you, a lot. Internally, she is longing for you. As she is sitting on her bed while trying to calm herself from the pressure that Maria’s question gave her, her suitcase got caught in the corner of her eyes.

She remembers that you mentioned the burgundy envelope then opens it as soon as she finds it. There are some numbers that are indicated as the front gate and front door lock code of your house right after your address.

She proceeds to the lines of words you wrote.

“You can always come home to me whenever you want.”

Her heart wrenches yet warmth soothes inside her. She can’t deny her feelings any longer. She misses you and wants to be with you. Without any assurance whether Yelena is still alive or not, now you are all she has. To Natasha, you are her home now. Living with Maria won’t make her life easier if she wants to keep your secret safe. Sooner or later, Natasha will be trapped in the corner of truth.

Without a doubt, Natasha decides to run away from everything and come back home to you. She packs her only belongings in the suitcase you gave her and waits until the right time for her to leave.

She sneaks out in the middle of the night and takes a taxi ride to you. The closer she is to your residence, the more sure she is that she made the right decision. Her doubt and denial evaporate. She is leaving her past life behind to be with you willingly. Filled with thrills, Natasha can’t wait to be in your arms again.

As soon as she gets off her ride home, she quickens her steps towards your gates. The beeping sound as the gate automatically unlocked right after she pressed the numbers sending a dash of feelings that made her walk even faster to the front door.

She presses the other lock codes and she opens the door right away. She scurries to the living room but you are not there.

With a smile, she naturally led herself to your shared bedroom by passing the kitchen. Her heart wrenches yet warmth and joy bubbling inside. She can’t wait to see you, give you the hug that she actually craves.

As soon as Natasha's feet led her to the kitchen, her smile quickly dropped and turned into a frown. Her excitement and the joy in her shredded into pieces in a second and they are quickly replaced by anger. The warmth that bubbled in her is now turned into a hot boiling jealousy mess.

Her heart pounds and her face feels warm from how she is feeling right now. The redhead is furious right after her green eyes catch another woman in your house with you. A brunette who is slightly shorter than you is standing in front of you with her hands touching all over you and her lips catching yours in a kiss.

Her body feels like she just got hit by a huge wave that weakens her knees but her anger supports her to stand strong.

Both of you and the woman don't see that Natasha is in the kitchen and she takes advantage of it.

Natasha doesn’t make any sound no matter how much she wants to scream. As the silence shut her mouth, her mind and eyes were moving fast in a few seconds. Her brain is thinking what she is going to do as her eyes are spotting the kitchen knife that she knows where it is.

Natasha goes ballistic and marches furiously towards the brunette right after her right hand grabs the sharp huge kitchen knife. The redhead is livid and she quickly grabs the stranger that pisses her off so badly by the hair, dragging her away from you. The startled woman screams from the pain from the pull of her hair.

With all the energy she has, Natasha pins her to the wall then her left hand quickly chokes the woman in front of her as hard as she can.. She looks at her with so much jealousy and hatred while the woman gasps for air and speaks at the same time. “Let..me..go. Who are you?” as she tries to pull Natasha's grip of death.

Everything happens too fast. By the time you try to grab Natasha, she tilts her head and watches her gasp louder as she stabs her and pulls out the knife right away out of her abdomen. Blood flows out of her wound and drips off the sharp weapon that sliced through her. From where she stabbed her, you know it’s fatal and too late to save her.

Natasha watches the crimson fluid out of her mouth and overflow her hand as she loosen up her grip then throw her to the ground.

Natasha turns her head to you but she hears the dying voice call your name. “Y/n. h–help”. SHe hates her calling your name and it drives Natasha crazy into a whole nother level. She quickly turns and straddles on her bloody and wounded lower body while the woman tries to fight weakly.. With both of her hands Natasha raises the knife and stabs her once more and that's when she took the first life out of someone.

You watch Natasha stab her again..and again..and again. Burying the knife in any part of her body she can. She doesn't even care if it thrusts into the same wound.

The sound of every lunge mixed with her grunts sound so clear in your ear delivers an indescribable feeling in you.

Blood pools around the now lifeless body and splats around the cabinet doors. Natasha's hands are now drenched in deep red colors.

You are appalled yet proud of her that she finally releases and accepts the monster in her. You just didn't expect who would be the first person she killed.

After the 16th stabs, Natasha finally stopped. She is trying to catch her breath as she stands up and turns around to you. She tossed the bloody knife away and wiped the splattered blood off her face with her forearm only ended up leaving some more smudges on it.

"Fuck, that feels so good." She said it casually and in a relieved tone as her forest green eyes looked at you.

You always knew she would look a lot more attractive with someone’s blood on her skin. Your brain is stunned with not just how she looks and what she did but it is also thinking what to do next to the dead body on the floor. You can’t deny it, no matter how proud you are of her, you are still a little shocked.

You look at her and finally break your silence. “That was Wanda.”

As soon as she hears the name out of your lips, Natasha quickly looks at the dead body with wide eyes as she bites the inside of her cheeks shortly before she asks “Are you mad?”

“I probably should be.” you answered as you glanced at the body as well then looked back at Natasha.

Silence covers the atmosphere in the kitchen along with the rusty blood scents that slowly spread. None of you say anything. Natasha is waiting for what you will say next while you are thinking.

After a good few minutes of silence, you start laughing a little. Her lips slightly open in a pinch of surprise from your reaction. She sees you walk closer to her. “Let’s clean this up.” you suggest slightly before you kiss her lips and you can taste a little bit of Wanda’s blood off her lips then you walk to do what you have to do next.

Natasha smiles from the giddy feelings your kiss gives her.

_____

You could’ve dragged Wanda’s body to the basement by yourself but Natasha insisted on helping. “This bitch..She touched and KISSED you and now even when she’s dead, she’s still a pain in the ass to get rid of.” she complains in between grunts as she helps you on putting Wanda into the tub.

“Watch it, Natty. She’s Wanda. No matter what, she’s part of my life.” you look at her in a teasing smile but there’s still a pinch of seriousness in your words.

“What? It's true. She is a pain in the ass. She’s so tall and it’s hard for me to put her in this freaking bathtub.” another complains out of her pouty lips, complete with a frown on her face.

“How did she get here anyway?” she asks in a more irritated tone yet curious as she shoves Wanda’s hand into the bathtub.

“I saved her from her ex-boyfriend and she didn’t want to be alone.” you shrug your shoulders at the same time you give her your answer. “Vision? What did he do?” Natasha pitches back another question.

“Turns out he is abusive just like her father.” you explain as you gather a bunch of big jugs of acid next to the claw footed tub.

Natasha lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Funny world. Anyway, did you kill him?”

“Unfortunately, no. We were in public.” you let out a disappointed sigh with your answer while you open each cap of the prepared jugs. Natasha can see and knows just from your sigh how much you wanted to kill him. A question popped up in her mind.

“Will you love me more if I kill him for you?” she questions as her eyes search for yours, waiting for your answer like a little puppy.

You can’t help yourself letting out a little laugh. “Cute.” It was the only word that you said.

“I’m serious. I will kill him for you, Y/n.”

“Oh believe me, darling. I know you will.” You give another quick kiss on her lips then you grab the acid.

A second before you pour it, Natasha stops you. “Wait! Allow me to pour it on my first victim.” Natasha expresses her bone chilling request in a disturbing playful proud tone along with a small giggle then takes it from your hands.

You smile and let go of your grips. She takes it as a yes from you. In silence and with gentle eyes, you look at her pouring the dangerous liquid. Amazement screamed so loud on her facial expression as her eyes rounded with thrills while watching the effect that the chemical substance gave on Wanda’s skin, slowly..inch.. by..inch.

Natasha even makes sure that she doesn’t miss any spot. A soft satisfied gasp crack the silence and flew straight to your ears as soon as she watches it burn the skin and forcefully rip its pores.

As soon as she thinks she is done with it, Natasha takes a delighted deep breath and exhales. She turns her head to you with a smile. “So, any other ex’s I need to take out?”

You laugh. “You are horrible.” and shake your head while you fill up the bathtub with more acid.

“I’m no worse than you.” she replied with a smile. And just like that, both of you casually talking and teasing each other as if nothing happened in front of Wanda's slowly dissolving dead body.

You smile at her with such adoration.

"Then we are just a couple of monsters aren't we, Natty?"

"Yes, we are." Natasha finally accepts the monsters within.

Epilogue

A/n: Welp, that's it for today! Let me know what you think. Feel free to come to my ask or message. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Follow me for more and see you in the epilogue or my other works.

Cheerio!

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[bloomingscales]

𝓢𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼

“Remember.” “Remember us.” “Remember that we once lived.” Those were his last words as his shimmering aether dispersed, his crooked yet sincere smile the last image as the underworld claims its king. An old soul taking up his throne. It’s right then, in the moment that his very essence vanishes, that I feel my knees give out. My breath feels ragged as I stare at the violet crystal, now blurred by tears, with hand clasped over my mouth to hold back sobs. Every ilm of my body was screaming for my enemy—an Ascian, at that. What is this? This ache that gnaws at my chest? True, I had grown fond of Emet-Selch. Maybe more than I would readily admit to my fellow Scions. But this? This was coming from something deep within. In seconds, I feel my friends gather around me and fret. I need to pull myself together—to send them off so I can let this pain run its course. “I am okay,” a lie as my hand moves from my mouth. “Just…overwhelmed. I’ll meet you at the Crystarium, so please,” can they see the desperation in my eyes? “Go on ahead of me. I need some time to..” To what? “Breathe.” I’m not fooling anyone with the breaks in my voice, but my plea does not fall on deaf ears. I can see the concern, the hint of confusion, and even some understanding in Thancred’s eyes. Mayhap this is what he felt when Minfillia departed. I look to Y’Shtola’s to see her eyebrows furrowed, then Urianger and he nods. He soon ushers the twins from my sides, though they protest with each step, and they leave me to process what has bubbled up from inside. And now, alone, the dam bursts and I wail, body heaving forward as I hug myself and press my forehead to the floor. It’s excruciating. Unbearable. But the waves keep crashing down, pulling me deeper into a sea of anguish. I feel like I’m drowning and gasp for air, clawing my chest. Something deep within roars with millennia of grief. Millennia I have no recollection of. Millennia etched into my soul now eight times rejoined. Are these tears even mine? They were and yet they weren’t. They tickle my skin as they roll down my nose and drip onto the crystal surface, hot trails left cold in their wake. Yes, I had come to care for him but this— This feels like the cries of someone mourning their soulmate. Someone who loved so intensely, so fiercely, that it was woven into the very fabric of their soul. My soul. A love carried throughout every life. Love so deep that it seeps into every crevice. And then it dawns on me. Azem. It is Azem who weeps. Her tears are endless, leaving me with nothing to do but ride the waves of insurmountable sorrow. I don’t know how many bells have passed by the time I wander into my Pendants’ room, energy dwindling. In my chest is a mix of emotions, festering in place of the light that had been purged from me. An empty, hollow feeling is most prominent, but under it is a seed of hope. A speck of relief. But beneath it all is an indescribably yearning for a man returned to the Star. My mind and body are tattered. It’s all I could do to make it to my bed and collapse onto the mess of blankets. The second my head hits the pillow, sleep takes me. I dream of a familiar stranger. Piercing yellow eyes, permanently furrowed brows, hair white and swept back from his stern face. His eyes land on me and the sternness seems to melt into relief, replaced by a slightly crooked yet sincere smile. His lips part to greet me. “Cressida.”

[38riku]

bittersweet tragedy

synopsis; the rise and fall of your relationship with mikey. based on the song by melanie martinez.

warnings; angst. suggestive themes.

when you first met mikey sano you had no idea he would play such a big part in your life. he stumbled across your social media due to the number of mutual friends the two of you shared. it wasn’t long until you saw him in person at a close friend of yours — emma, to be exact — birthday party. he was her brother after all.

saying that the two of you hit it off was an understatement. you shared a number of likes and dislikes, aspirations and ambitions; the seeds of your friendship were planted at that very moment.

two months went by of only seeing each other at group gatherings until he asked you out on a date. he pulled out all the stops from the flowers, to opening doors and pulling out your chair. mikey sweet talked you the entire night. you were not the type to fall for such cliche niches but the glint of adoration in his eyes and soft, fleeting touches of his hand were enough to make you’re heart swell; your friendship sprouting into something romantic.

mikey was a playful lover. stealing kisses when the two of you were in public or planting his body beside you when he wanted attention with a cute pout on his lips. you grown accustomed to his clingy nature and reciprocated it much to his delight. your efforts never failed to put a smile on the blond’s face; the sprouts budding into an indescribable feeling.

your first time was nothing short of sweet. mikey asked for consent each step of the way. “is it okay if I touch you here?” and “can I take these off?” his gentle and caring touch making the entire ordeal more intimate than it already was. and that morning — your bodies entangled beautifully as he quietly snored beside you — you finally pinpointed that warm, zealous feeling in your chest; it was love. your love blossomed for mikey sano that morning.

things began to change. he started showing up late to dinner. one time turned to two which turned into “just make sure you eat. I’ll grab something.” you decided not to pry, remembering that emma mentioned something about the company going under and him working long hours. your understanding earned you a kiss on the forehead and his thanks, which was enough.

it got worse, eighteen hours shifts with little to no sleep was unhealthy. you confronted him about it one night, expressing your worry and he insisted that he was fine. he was not. the dark circles, fatigue, and body aches could attest to that. this caused arguments day in and day out; the once bright, lively petals of your relationship starting to shrivel.

it had gotten to the point you became his verbal punching bag. “were you always this annoying?” “you wanna help? stop whining like a little bitch all the time.” “love doesn’t keep a company running sweetheart.” each word stabbing through your bruised heart. during those times you would end up sobbing as soon as he left; your tears drowning your love with sorrow.

perhaps you held on for too long, too tightly. your doting actions he used to fawn over were no longer wanted. talking to mikey was a useless effort. it felt as if he hated you. weeks went by until you gave in to your subconsciousness; the flower that represented your love dying.

mikey came home that night to an empty house. he froze when he saw an envelope with his name written neatly on the front. reading through it, he couldn’t help but fall to his knees. your handwriting now splotchy due to his tears wetting the ink. you thought he hated you. you — the love of his life, the beacon of light in his dull, dark world. it was his fault, taking out his frustrations on you when you just wanted to help. help him.

walking inside the bedroom you two previously shared, he pulled out an unsuspecting shoebox from underneath the bed. a pair of sneakers he has never worn disguised the jewelry box; inside a dazzling ring that he planned to give you. only you.

he chuckled dryly at the situation that you described bittersweet in your departing letter. but to him, this was nothing short of a tragedy between lovers.

tags @pervysenpaix , @gabzlovesu click here to join my taglist ♡

[90minsofscreentime]

Grief

Hello, hello, hello! Here is a new work of mine~ Yes it has been a long while, I completely and utterly blame the education system. Why can’t a girl write fics forever in peace?? 

Anywho~ This is one of my squares for the Starker Festivals Summer Bingo 2022 and it's just my luck that the first square I manage to finish is the angst-iest of them all. 😅Some warnings for this story: This is the immediate aftermath of Uncle Ben's death, so Peter's point of view goes into detail about his overwhelming emotions and the terrifying situation. If reading about the death of a close family member or friend is particularly triggering for you, then it may be best to skip this one - I will never take it personally~

Take care, my friends and I hope you enjoy! 🌺

Also available on ~ AO3

SFSummerBingo2022 Prompt Fill ~ “Grief” @starkerfestivals​

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Peter can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe, his chest is expanding and expanding and expanding and no breath is coming out. He can’t stop gasping, he can’t stop looking at him; his chest, his face, the blood – Oh my god there’s so much blood –

Peter’s eyes are wide and frantic, darting around every inch of the scene in front of him; the ghostly image of his Uncle. No, no, no, that can’t be right, Peter thinks, panicked, He was just speaking a second ago, I could hear his voice, he was going to be fine I could hear his breath I could–

The indescribable shift of Uncle Ben’s eyes from warm and comforting and home to unrecognisably empty and cold and grey cannot stop flashing through Peter’s mind. His rabbiting heart has sunk low into his chest and even now the unforgiving pulse of desperation is throbbing against Peter’s entire body, scratching and pulling to break free and take over him completely.

It hurts. Oh god, it hurts so much, please make it stop, please, please, I can’t breathe–

The world becomes blurry and distorted with trembling tears, shaken by the constant tremors vibrating through his skin, stuck in his frozen eyes and stinging the length of his throat, begging to be released. But Peter can’t blink. He can’t move, he can’t see, he can feel the sticky weight of something on his hands, but he doesn’t dare glance down and look. Instead he remains stunned still in his new warped world, full of tears and blood and cold, cold eyes; all alone, never to be rescued.

Uncle Ben.

I can’t breathe.

Muffled voices start to filter into Peter’s lonely world, the words indistinguishable, as if Peter is drowning and his ears are full of tears and blood. He can’t hear anything. He can’t see.

Uncle Ben.

“Hey, Kid,” A single, gentle sound pierces the ocean surrounding Peter, fading slowly into his world, approaching his side like a torch in a cave; a lighthouse at sea. “Hey there, buddy,” The voice continues, its words clear and concise – comforting. “It’s gonna be okay, my name is Tony Stark, I’m an officer with the NYPD, the ambulance has arrived–”

“Un–” Peter’s throat closes up, fighting the onslaught of tears.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” The gentle voice – a man – has a body. It comes closer and presses their temples together so that the man’s ear is presumably closer to Peter’s trembling mouth. Peter can’t breathe.

“Uh– Un-” Peter gasps wetly. “Uncle Ben– ”

An animalistic cry tears its way through the oceanic barrier in Peter’s throat as he throws himself into the stranger’s arms and suddenly, the dam holding everything back bursts. A thunder drum of sound claps around his ears as he surfaces – hot, painful tears sliding from his eyes; deafening street life and onlookers surrounding every inch of him; his distorted world turning black as he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. Please make it stop, it hurts, it hurts, I can’t see, my throat hurts so much, please help me, please help–

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you – I’m here now,” The man cradles him, protects him from the terrifying world, the people, the body lying just a few inches in front of him that he just can’t stop seeing. “I know it hurts, I know, you’ve been through something very frightening, and I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” A litany of comfort flows from the stranger’s mouth, the repetitive hum of his voice anchoring Peter. The tears don’t stop – his sobs continue to tear their way out of Peter’s throat – but the man keeps murmuring. Peter doesn’t want him to stop.

Time seems to twist and deform around them as they crouch there on the rain soaked pavement, everything and nothing happening all at once. Peter starts to make out the sound of other officers managing the crowd, passing civilians stopping to gawk and chatter with each other at the scene, different tires of different vehicles arriving and leaving one after the other, so many voices of so many people that Peter wants to scream at. He wants to demand that they all leave, that they stop their incessant staring and whispering and judging and sympathies, as if his Uncle Ben is some freak show or social commentary or anything close to these strangers’ business. Peter grips a little tighter at the gentle man’s clothes and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Can you hear me, Kid?”

Peter nods slowly.

“Shall we get out of this crowd and find somewhere quiet?”

Peter nods again.

~

Sitting in a police station is a very foreign experience for Peter. He’s always lived a life free of delinquency and misbehaviour. He never planned on ever seeing the inside of a prison cell and therefore assumed he’d live a life of blissful ignorance, only hearing of crime when it came from the lips of a detached news anchor. But the seats of the washed out, fluorescently lit police department are cold, uncomfortable and much too real for him to deny. He just wants to go home. He wants… that kind man to come back.

Peter was far too overwhelmed and lonely to feel embarrassed at the way he clung onto the police officer, not daring to let go lest he get swept up in a sea of first responders and never find that comforting presence ever again. The constant contact continued all the way through the tests, check-ups and investigations he sat through – different professionals rotating one after the other from their jobs on the crime scene to asking Peter the same few questions: “ What’s your name?” , “Are you alright?” , “Are you hurting anywhere?” , “Can you look into this light, please?” , “Can you follow my finger with just your eyes, please?” . The kind stranger started answering questions for Peter at some point when the repetition began to make him shut down almost completely, spurring the man to steal Peter away from all the disquietude and into a police car.

After another nonverbal insistence from Peter, the stranger – Tony Stark, as he reintroduced himself – ended up sitting in the backseat with him, another officer of some sort driving instead. The journey to the police department simultaneously took ages and no time at all. In reality, Peter couldn’t tell you how far away they were from that godforsaken street, or anywhere for that matter. The only thing he remembers from that car journey is his shy fingers reaching across the car seat towards Mr. Stark’s, seeking ever so much more comfort than he knows a police officer is willing (or allowed) to give to a random kid like himself, but even so, his trembling fingers were met halfway and grasped reassuringly tight, kickstarting a new, warm beating of his heart. For the first time that evening, he had begun to relax.

Now, however, that familiar, dreadful hollowness sits deep in his chest, Mr. Stark having left him with a gentle promise that Peter can’t remember. Was he promising to come back? Was he promising to send someone else? Am I being left here all night by myself? Constant what-ifs swell and congest in Peter’s mind, suffocating and confusing, but far better than the horrible, terrifying alternative that occasionally sneaks through the cracks in his thoughts, showing flashes of cold eyes, slack features and stained hands. Peter’s face crumples painfully in his attempts to not burst into pathetic wails again, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he tucks his whole body onto the plastic chair, hiding his face in his knees like a child afraid of a looming monster. Except there is no Uncle Ben, this time, to chase them away.

“Hey, Peter.”

Lifting his head up slightly, Peter sees Mr. Stark standing off to his side, a steaming paper cup in one hand and a spiral notebook in the other. For the first time, Peter actually looks at the man – at his features, his uniform, his height and his stance – and he is just lucid enough to recognise the man’s handsomeness. Mr. Stark’s face is aged, but by no means less attractive for being so; his entire air is distinguished yet there is a recognisable stiffness in his shoulders and a heaviness to his gait, hinting at a concealed exhaustion only made visible in moments of solitary weakness. Though, Peter can hardly imagine a strong, comforting figure like Mr. Stark ever appearing weak. A painfully obvious difference between them, Peter notes, bitterly. He doesn’t think their positions could be any more contrasting, in fact; a shivering teen next to an experienced cop. What a pathetic picture they must be painting.

“The break room only has either coffee that tastes like soot or watery hot chocolate, so I thought I’d spring for the lesser of two evils,” Tony gestures to the cup in his hand, moving forward to place it on a low circular table next to Peter’s chair, right on top of some scattered helpline pamphlets and police recruitment ads displaying triumphant imagery of young men and women in trainee uniforms – now a makeshift coaster. “Don’t feel obliged to drink, I certainly wouldn’t blame you – I’ve certainly had my fill of the refreshments here – I just thought it would be better than nothing,” The older man squats down in front of Peter attentively, face open and understanding, not even the slightest hint of condescension. Peter is grateful.

“Thank you,” He croaks out, immediately clearing his throat in embarrassment. Great, as if he didn’t feel small enough already.

“You’re very welcome, Peter,” A simple smile accompanies Mr. Stark’s words, simple but ever so comforting. After briefly shifting his weight on his heels, Mr. Stark’s features dim slightly into an expression of seriousness. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to brief you on what needs to happen now, for you at least.”

Peter’s chest stutters, his jaw tightening against the infuriating tremble of his chin. Goddammit, Peter, get a grip. He quickly looks down at his lap before Mr. Stark can see the immense effort it’s taking for him to not burst into tears; to not scream at the top of his lungs for Uncle Ben or May or his parents; to not lunge forward and bury himself in the arms of this poor police officer and hide away until the pain finally stops. His fingers grip tighter at the material of his jeans as Peter breathes a shaky inhale. His nails are still stained red.

Before Peter can spiral any further, a tender hand rests on top of his shaking knuckles, unmoving and unwavering.

“Take some deep breaths with me, Pete, there’s absolutely no rush,” Mr. Stark starts breathing loud and slow, his thumb smoothing over Peter’s skin. “I’ve got nowhere to be tonight, okay? Breathe nice and slow for me, there you go, in-and-out – you’ve got this,” In and out, in and out, God, Peter can’t believe he has to be instructed on how to breathe. It’s humiliating and terrifying, but damn if it isn’t helping to steady him. Mr. Stark’s hand is so comfortingly grounding, fostering a newfound desire in Peter to tilt up his palm and squeeze back just as tight, so that he may share all of this emotion through touch alone, so that he won’t have to feel so completely isolated in the frightening promise of what is bound to change about him and his life from this day forward. It scares him, but he starts to settle. His fingers flex underneath Mr. Stark’s. He receives an answering squeeze.

“How are we doing, Pete?” That compassionate voice sounds once more – soft and pleasant as ever. I don’t know, I don’t know, just- please don’t let me go. “Do you think you’re okay to talk now?” Peter nods, somewhat robotically.

“Yeah, I think so,” Peter murmurs, voice more firm now, but still worn out. Overused. Exhausted. “I mean, if not now, when, right?”

“Well,” Mr. Stark smiles amiably. “Like I said, I’ve got nowhere to be,” His arms spread grandly, a mock display that is completely charming. “So just let me know if you ever need to take a break or anything, alright?”

“Mhm,” Peter hums, reaching to his side to grasp the abandoned drink, his senses soothing slightly at the gentle warmth of the paper. He almost misses the pleased look on Mr. Stark’s face.

~

The evening stretches on after that, with Peter being informed about inevitable police reports, investigations and possible court proceedings regarding the… incident, as well as funeral and mortuary information that Peter can’t help but break down again at. Cue some more restrained tears and an eventual embrace where Mr. Stark is still leaning up from his crouched position in front of Peter’s chair, resolute and enduring as ever, even though his whole frame must’ve been uncomfortable holding Peter like that for so long. But not a single complaint leaves the older man’s mouth.

It’s with his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder that Peter notices Aunt May shuffling through the automatic doors, face pale and body hunched over, a terribly lost look in her eyes. Peter’s never hugged her so hard in his life. They’ve never cried together so desperately, all without having to utter a single word.

The night continues to draw on.

Aunt May, Mr. Stark and Peter visit several different rooms to talk to several different people for different exhausting reasons. Recounting the events of the evening to men in white shirts and notepads takes physical effort at some points, but Mr. Stark always speaks up to rephrase, ask easier questions or just to pat a reassuring hand on his shoulder or his back or his leg. It eases his nerves also to see him do the same for Aunt May.

After the sufficient amount of questions seem to have been asked (too many), he and Aunt May are led back to the main lobby by Mr. Stark once more, condolences and final goodbyes exchanged (with Peter glancing a tad too longingly at the man who spent the whole night by his side). Just as they’re both steeling themselves for the eeriest car ride of their lives, back to their cold apartment, Mr. Stark calls out.

“Peter! Could you come back over here for a second?” A quick, wordless glance at Aunt May communicates her approval. Peter walks back into the building as she ventures out into the car park.

“Yeah, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks quietly, awkwardly slipping his hands into his pockets.

“‘Mr. Stark’, huh? That's very cute, I’ve only ever been called that in job interviews,” Mr. Stark jokes gently, with a grin so comfortable that Peter can’t help but huff a laugh in return. This man. “‘ Mr. Stark ’, very cool, very… distinguished,” The older man trails off as he scribbles quickly in his notepad before tearing out the sheet and holding it out to Peter proudly. “Here.”

“What’s that?” Peter eyes the paper, confused.

“These are my contact details,” Mr. Stark answers, nonchalant. Peter, on the other hand, has stopped functioning. “In case you have any questions about anything police-wise, investigation-wise, or just- if you need someone to talk to about anything,” The man’s face is too sincere to be joking about this. Peter takes the paper, still dumbfounded.

“Y-You… want me to talk to you about stuff?” Peter questions, still waiting for the catch. This police officer spent all night tending to him and he isn’t kicking Peter out at the first chance he gets? He’s actively extending the offer to keep in touch?

“Well it’s not obligatory, of course, but y’know, you can just text or phone or email or something – I did write my email on the, uh–”

“Okay,” Peter blurts, probably embarrassingly, but he’s still too stunned to notice. “Okay, I-I’ll… text you?”

“Yeah! Texting’s great, that’s great – anything you need, Peter,” Mr. Stark’s eyes glance up, his dark brown eyes swimming with contentment. Peter looks back, entranced. He can feel that his eyes aren’t glowing as much as they used to – his emotions no longer shining through as freely as they once did. He’s closed off. But this man saved him from shutting down altogether and for that, Peter tries his best to convey just how grateful he is through his eyes; greyed and dimmed.

To Peter’s surprise, he starts to see his own grief reflect back at him. Everything that terrified, confused and damaged Peter from tonight flashes behind the colour of Mr. Stark’s irises – a colour that, on closer inspection, was probably just as dulled as Peter’s feel right now. All the exhaustion is there; the uncertainty and guilt and blame, all hidden, but also… overcome. Peter sees himself. He sees pain. He sees love.

“Have a safe journey home, Peter,” Mr. Stark – Tony – rumbles. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon,” Peter has so much to say to this man, so much to ask… He settles for a final tight hug that is reciprocated tenfold.

“I’ll see you then,” Peter whispers, the last defiant sting in his throat resurfacing, silent tears starting to brim.

“You better, Mr. Parker,” A promise is shared. Something implicit and beyond words is shared. Peter doesn’t want to go.

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” A parting wave is the last thing he sees before he turns to go out into the chilled early-morning mist, the sun beginning to peek its way through the city’s buildings. A new day. Peter walks towards the family car.

On the journey back home to their apartment, their lives and the inescapable change, Peter looks down at his phone and then at the paper clutched tightly in one hand. He creates a new phone contact.

~

[undergreatwhitenorthernlights]

Chapter 2: Nothing Else Matters

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

       Chrissy fell from the celling with a loud thud, one of her hands crunching loudly as it made contact with the trailer floor. Her tears felt like liquid fire and she grasped for breath through burning lungs.          She didn't want to close her eyes, scared that if she did he would be there again, colossal terror that still gripped at her heart. She could still smell the acrid stench of that other place, her calves still burning from the frantic running towards that open gate. 

       She'd been ...not scared....it was more, it was an indescribable feeling. As if nothing would ever be good, an emptiness beyond imagining. Dread could never begin to compare. She could still remember everything inside that dream, she could still feel it as if she hadn't managed to escape. 

       The man, if she could call him that, had stood before her, towering and terrible, and she knew in that moment, it was all crumbling to an end.  She'd never see her parents again, she'd never go to prom, she'd never learn another cheer, or read another book. It was ending...it was all ending; the pain, the happiness, the misery, everything...but then he was there. 

       Splayed on top of chords and speakers, Eddie Munson was there. His long hair was stuck to his forehead, tears running past his dark eyes, a look of sheer horror on his face.

       Music poured into the dark hall. The sound cutting through her in the very way it was tearing through the fabric of whatever nightmare she was in. The monster before her turned, it's hollow eyes boring into the now clear passageway.

        She didn't know....how....how exactly she willed her legs to move. But she kicked her legs into the giants chest and clawed her way up from the floor. He might have looked at her, he might have said something, but the only thing in Chrissy's ears were the sound of The Smiths, and the blood pounding in her veins. She bolted, sprinting past all the small familiarities of the spectral home and plunged into the yellowed light of the trailer. 

      The music resounded in her ears, chords dying away with the ending of a song.

Chapter 4 : Eddie

      She came crashing down and he didn't know if he felt relief or additional fear, but he didn't dare more from where he sat. He could hear her crying, and felt his heart clench a little when he saw her curl into a ball.

           "Chrissy?"  His voice came out small, almost unrecognizable to himself.  She slowly lifted her head from the ground and suddenly there she was crashing into him with an intensity that he couldn't even belive came from her.

"Eddie, please tell me you're real. Please tell me I'm really here." She pressed harder into his side and he wrapped both arms around her unwilling to let go.

"I...I don't know what happened...but you're here, I'm real, you're right here." He spoke softly into her hair running his hands down her back. 

"Eddie, I don't know what's wrong with me, he was there, he was ...he was..."  Her words were drowned by his chest as she pressed into him and the truth was, he didn't want to know. Any of it. He didn't care. She was ok and for right now at least....nothing else mattered.

"Do you think it's over?? Whatever just happened?? Should we go to the hospital, or ...or the police??"  Chrissy shook her head. "They'll think we were crazy." Tears fell from her pretty eyes and he ran a hand through his matted hair. 

"...or on drugs. " He joked softly. She chuckled out a wet sob.  

"Please tell me you're on drugs...weird make you float drugs please. " Eddie let his head recline back and he laughed. Blood was drying on the top of his head and he felt like he was splitting in two.

"I ...I need a shower...and a smoke." He said almost to himself. Her eyes went wide with fear. "Don't...please don't leave me alone." 

"I'm not going anywhere okay. But let's get ...cleaned up okay. Do ...do you think it'll happen again. "  Chrissy went a little still and put a small amount of distance between them. 

      "I heard music, that's , that's what let me wake up." 

Eddie nodded and restarted the stereo behind him, fixing the fallen speakers. Soon the entire trailer filled with the sound. He stood up a bit shakily, offering his hand to her. " I need...a shower." He repeated, Chrissy didn't even hesitate to move after him. 

"Chrissy I um...I"

"I'll join you."  Chrissy blushed a vibrant red and she looked away slightly.

     "Under different circumstances Cunningham that would have made me.....WAAAY to exited to hear but if I'm honest I don't know if that's the right call." Eddie started trying to keep things light when things felt so heavy around them.

       Chrissy made a scrunched up face. "Please Eddie. You don't know ...what I saw....I....I don't want to be alone. Please. 

"Do you even know what you're asking me for?"

"I'm asking you to please not leave me alone."

       "In the shower?" Eddie asked with a silly smile. He knew he really shouldn't be joking in this situation but well...if you don't laugh you'll cry. Chrissy let out a pretty giggle and wiped at her face. "You're not the only one who needs to get clean. "

"Okaay then. Don't say I didn't try to be the better person." 

       He took her softly by the hand and led the way to the trailers small shower. He started the water watching as the small room filled with fog, the echoes of music still wafting in from the hall.  Before he could even say anything Chrissy stepped in fully dressed. She let the water run through her face. He watched her for a bit, knowing whatever had happened to her, even if it never happened again, would never be over.  

There are some demons you can never outrun. 

[oh-theseus]

Hiiii, so how about Jean x reader hurt/comfort, please? Preferably after Sasha's death, but you're free to choose another setting too.

hopeless

pairing: jean kirstein x gn!reader

summary: the loss of sasha has left jean feeling empty, but you’re there to fill the hole in his chest.

warnings: mentions of death, grieving, depressive language, SEASON 4 PART 1 SPOILERS

a/n: this is such a sad yet cute idea :( i love jean so much and i really enjoyed writing this. i'm not a huge fan of the ending but i hope this meets your expectations !!

sasha's death had left everyone distraught. it was strange to think that someone who had been so full of life was suddenly gone. nothing was the same without sasha there laughing with connie in the background or pulling snacks from her pockets to share with everyone.

some people moved on from her loss relatively easily. sure, they felt sasha's missing presence but they knew they couldn't bring her back and had accepted that. but others had been stuck in a loop of something that couldn't quite be explained. it was a mixture of longing and a type of sadness that was indescribable. sure, they all had lost comrades before, but none of them had hurt as badly as this.

it felt as if things were hopeless.

jean and connie seemed to be taking it the hardest. which was understandable. the three had been inseparable since cadet training; no one expected them to continue on as usual without sasha there at their side.

connie wasn't trying to hide his grief, but jean did everything in his power to seem okay when prying eyes saw him. he wanted to appear strong and hopeful and nothing like how he was currently feeling. he didn't want or need anyone's pity.

it was strange. more than once jean had caught himself turning to tell sasha something that he knew she'd laugh at and been greeted with nothing but open air. losing sasha was a cold reminder that the world they lived in was not a beautiful place.

the nights were the hardest. jean found his dreams filled with the memory of sasha's death over and over again. he was forced to watch his friend die every time he tried to rest. he couldn't recall the last time he got more than three hours of sleep.

which was how he found himself sitting alone at a table in the base's dining hall. an untouched glass of water sat before him, drops of condensation rolling down the glass to create a ring of water on the table. jean's eyes were trained on the wood right beside the cup, thoughts racing. trying to force the image of his dead friend away from his mind.

it didn't work.

nothing did. nothing could help jean find any source of hope. he felt so numb to everything around him whilst simultaneously hyperaware of it. his emotions might have been unpredictable, but one thing remained certain.

jean was hopeless.

completely and utterly so. every simple task seemed to become a grueling task. it was similar to the way he had felt when marco died, except this time guilt was the loudest emotion in his head. yelling at him, telling jean that it was his fault sasha had died. if only he'd gotten the other soldiers to quiet down. if only he hadn't moved from behind sasha.

without his realizing it, jean's hands rose to cover his ears, pressing down against them as if he could drown out the thoughts in his own head. but jean couldn't escape himself. he couldn't escape the image of sasha's blood soaking into his pants and onto his hands. he couldn't run from the way connie had sobbed into his arms for hours when they finally landed. he couldn't hide. this was jean's truth. and he had to face it.

a gentle hand touched his right wrist gently, causing jean to jerk to attention. his hands fell from his ears and his eyes met those of the person who had touched him. he might've made some kind of asshole remark if he wasn't greeted with your worried expression.

"nightmares again?" your gentle voice asks, hand falling to rest on the table. your voice was laced with a grogginess jean had learned to belong to lack of sleep and the bags forming beneath your eyes weren't unnoticed. it seemed he wasn't the only one losing sleep.

jean's voice escapes him and he simply nods as a response, eyes going to the glass of water. he finally raises it to his lips, sipping at the cold liquid in an attempt to calm himself down. though he'd told you of his restless nights and the nightmares that plagued him, jean didn't want you to see him during one of those restless nights.

"do you want to talk?" you ask the question jean's heard about a hundred times in the past two weeks since sasha had died.

"if i wanted to talk, i would," he snaps, placing the glass of water down onto the table as he does so. he's doing that a lot - snapping at you, someone he hardly ever was rude to. jean watches you and expects you to recoil at his small outburst like most people do, but instead you move a hand to rest on top of his, holding gently onto it.

"i know. but i also know you don't want to bother anyone. so i'm just reminding you that you aren't bothering me," you explain patiently. now it's your turn to watch him as he seems to think your words over. his eyes are trained onto his hand, palm down on the table and yours sitting on top of it, holding it carefully. a sad sigh escapes him and jean turns his hand over, lacing your fingers together as he does so.

"i just-" his voice cracks when he tries to speak. he pauses. and waits for the familiar burn of tears to fill his eyes. when he feels it begin, jean quickly blinks, willing the tears to go away. "i just miss her."

the simple sentence causes the tears jean was fighting so hard against to fall down his face. the sight pulls at your heart and you quickly let go of his hand so that you can turn your body to face him and tug him gently into your arms. his arms go around your waist, face buried between your neck and shoulder.

the two of you sit like that for a while; jean's tears wetting your shoulder, your hands rubbing circles into his back, the only sound in the room being jean's occasional sniff. you hadn't seen him cry in a long time.

"i don't know what to do. i can't figure out how to cope and move on without feeling guilty," jean finally says, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you. his eyes were red rimmed and puffy, but you didn't mind. you never did.

"you have nothing to feel guilty for. you did everything you could for sasha the entire time you knew her. she wouldn't want you to never move on from this. you know that, jean," you tell him, voice still gentle as always. you pull your arms from around him to cup his face in your hands, thumbs carefully brushing the tears on his cheeks away.

of course jean knew that sasha would want him to move on. find some way to be happy and healthy without her at his side. he was trying, but every time he felt like he was making some progress he'd convince himself he was being selfish for trying to get things together so quickly.

"yes, but-" you're quick to cut his protests off.

"no buts. i know you think it's selfish, that you shouldn't try to move forward just yet, but it isn't. it's important and necessary. and trust me i know it's hard, but we have to if we ever want to get over this and end the war with marley," your tone sounds slightly firmer now. your words swim throughout jean's mush of a head, finding home within it.

neither of you say anything for a moment, both trying to understand the other's words. you didn't want to rush jean in his grieving, but you knew that if any of you wanted to succeed in the fight against marley - and now eren because god only knew what that boy was doing - that you needed for him to be strong. just for the time being. jean knew this too, but he couldn't help but to feel wrong about it.

but, feeling guilty and regretful wasn't going to bring sasha back.

so that meant the only thing he could do was keep going.

"you're right," he states, sad eyes meeting your concerned ones. his hands move from your waist to hold your wrists gently. your hands still cup his cheeks, and you begin to pull away thinking that's why he's taken your wrists into your hands. but he simply pulls them back again, eyes fluttering shut. "always are."

"now i wouldn't say that," you reply, a small smile on your lips at his words. sure, you might've provided plenty of good advice for jean in your years of knowing him, but you wouldn't say that you're always right.

"i would," comes his quick response, eyes opening and hands moving back to your waist. "you're good with words and giving advice. i can't think of a time where the advice you gave me didn't work out," jean explains as you move your hand away from his face, one of them lingering to brush his hair from his eyes.

"maybe you're just a good listener," you counter, smile growing as jean smiles in return.

"we both know that's not true," he says with a soft chuckle. though his heart was still heavy with the loss of sasha, you always managed to comfort jean when he needed you the most.

the two of you fall quiet again. eyes locked on each other, faces close enough that your breaths are mixed together. if anyone were to see the two of you right now they might think they'd interrupted something.

"it's late," you state, nodding to the clock on the wall behind him. three thirty-two in the morning. you were meant to be up in four hours. "do you want to try to sleep?"

jean thinks for a moment, considering whether he wanted to stay up longer with you and let his thoughts drown him again or if he wanted to try to sleep. part of him wanted to stay here with you, but he didn't want to keep you up. he also didn't want to go back to bed only to be greeted with nightmares again and end up right back here again.

"will you stay with me?" he asks, feeling like a child asking his mother to keep him safe from the horrors of the night. which, in a way he was. but rather than a child and his mother it was a grieving man and his almost-lover.

he supposed he should talk to you about that as well. the almost in almost-lover. maybe in the morning.

"always," your reply is quick and confident. and it was true. you'd stay with him until the day that you died. whether it be to comfort him, to laugh with him, or talk him out of something stupid, you would always stay by his side.

without another word you stood from your seat, his hands falling into his lap while you grabbed the hardly-touched water and walked it to the kitchen. you didn't want to listen to levi's annoyance about a cup left out.

when you'd returned from the kitchen, jean was waiting for you at the door to the dining area, a content sort of smile on his face as he waited for you. a smile of your own spread across your face, and when you reached him, the two of you walked to his room hand in hand.

it was in that moment that jean realize that perhaps things weren't hopeless after all.

[chifuyusgangshirt]

I bet that Manila!Mikey would punch both Bonten and Kanto Mikey for what they did to Takemichi. Mikey has killed all his friends because they forced him to left Takemichi and he couldn't even threat him without safety lock or without crying. While Bonten shoots him before jumping from the roof (because the guilt was too strong) and Kanto punch him almost to death (and has literally no remorse for now). ^^"

manila!mikey would tuck takemichi into bed and give him a goodnight kiss before killing his alternative versions.

I'm still asking myself what exactly happend for mikey to go from "takemichi is love, takemichi is life" to "u r a loser and deserve death."

I mean sure, we know that bonten mikey is drowning in indescribable emptiness and was probably so far away from his feelings that takemichi overwhelmed him but the fact the he decided to kill takemichi and then himself is weirdly possessive while manila mikey wanted to meet takemichi and get killed by him which is obsessive.

But the difference between them is actually so big

These are mikey's reaction to seeing takemichi again in bonten and manila

See the difference? Manila mikey actually shows emotions when he sees mikey. He was full of them. First the oh so soft smile, then angry and sad and in the end happy again while bonten mikey seemed rather numb to everyone.

But you know what's really important to me? The way he chooses to reveal himself to takemichi.

Manila mikey basically presents himself on a silver plate. He wants to see takemichi and takemichi him. He meets him in a place important to him, talks to him seemingly very interested before getting emotional and jumps him.

Bonten mikey? As unpersonal as possible. Even shooting takemichi was the least emotional killing I've seen in this manga so far.

The only thing the have in common is how affacted they are by takemichi, their light comes back when takemichi breaks their shell.

Current mikey tho?

Nope. He didn't get affected by takemichi, nor did he particularly care about him until he got in his way. His eyes are fully blank now, not even resembling his natural eyes. They are void of color when he killed soul, for me that means he was on autopilot.

Bonten mikey and manila mikey went through shit everyday for 12 year, they got used and tired from their life or their impulses hence while they look so apathic.

Current mikey seem more like he lost control over his impulses, he is raging and hurt and his distractive behavior is having a field day at the moment.

Here the difference from manila mikey and bonten mikey to current mikey

Okay now we're coming to the main point

First, here is the timeline for every mikey as I understood it

Manila mikey: It's interesting that takemichi survived this timeline. Because here, Mikey either didn't turn up to the fight or simply lost. Izana took control from this point on and used a broken mikey to manipulate and groom him into an empty shell. At one point south came up -without the S62- and still could be mikeys first kill. Probably a little before that Takemichi left toman and Mikey got mad, especially at draken and mitsuya. Draken is still on death row I think? Some time passes and Takemichi once again turns out to be his own worst enemy with how many bad decisions past Takemichi makes. After 12 years where mikey decides to kill all his friends he looks for Takemichi. He knew about Hinata, Kisaki and Izana but still thinks Takemichi is the best person to kill him. I think chifuyus words were important here.

Bonten mikey: basically everything that we saw happening happend like that expect for Takemichi and Draken involving themselves. Draken might had a connection to either braham or south but he survived the whole ordeal. He wants to avoid Takemichi and all his friends. Which is understandable. He lost every sibling/family member/connection with shinichiro, he is probably done with his life and only kept on living till Takemichi found him because his dark impulses kinda went all venom-like "No! Break something instead! Don't kys, Break shit eddy Mikey!" Takemichi as a major trigger probably digged right where it hurts and because he's a crime lord, whoever he was before doesn't matter, he does what he would every time in this situationen. Kill.

Current mikey: got rid of his friends so they can have a better future without death and pain like he had to experience. He was too broken at this point to see that they all wanted to help him, that he doesn't have to act on this impulses and that his friends can help him handle the whole situation. So right now the timelime is the same as bonten expect that draken is dead. The bullets weren't for him but for Takemichi, so senju would be alive as in the bonten timeline.

Looking at that, the biggest influnece on mikey were always the people surrounding him in the past. In the manila past, Mikey still had most of his friends but his biggest support and also his safe space, takemichi, decided to leave him. Getting manipulated so hard by Izana and Kisaki he probably lost faith in everyone who stayed with him. He didn't even want to go down this road. Takemichi was his salvation at this point, he was the person that could handle him, a better shinichiro than he would ever be.

Bonten mikey did choose the way he will tale to become a criminal, only for his dark impulses and not because he wants to. So he wanted a future alone, to keep his loved ones safe and sound. Mikey doesn't care about bonten, he doesn't have to feel or take care of having abandonment issues. They all don't have a connection to him. He is still probably deeply hurt that no one helped him, not then, not now. He doesn't see they tried to and when takemichi turns up and awakens old feelings he probably had enough and decided to end his life which wasn't a real life to begin with.

Current Mikey is by far the most ruthless rn, mostly because he is going full on rage of achilles. But I believe he could be safed while manila mikey couldn't. Mostly because of the time. 12 years in such a dark place would turn everyone in whatever mikey was there.

[nmikaelsonimagines]

Want You Back: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: Can we get a Want You Back (Youngblood) with a happy ending? Thanks!

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x 

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

Want You Back

Can't help but wondering if this Is the last time that I'll see your face Is it tears or just the fucking rain? Wish I could say something

The last time you saw Klaus, you were crying. He was telling you not to, that it would all be okay, that you would see him again soon, but you couldn’t help it.

You knew that going off the radar was the best thing for him to do, knew that it would be the safest option for both of you if you ever wanted a life together, but it still hurt and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be last time you ever saw him.

You didn’t know what to say, tears drowning out your words. It wasn’t until he hugged you for one last time, placing a kiss on your forehead that you breathed long enough to say the only thing you knew. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I’ll be back, I promise.”

And then he was gone.

It had been almost six months, and you had received letters from an anonymous source with awfully familiar handwriting. Letter by letter fell victim to your tears, Klaus’s inky words of love, his scripted promises fading into the paper.

He would come back for you, you knew that.

You just had to wait for him.

Something that doesn't sound insane But lately, I don't trust my brain You tell me I won't ever change So I just say nothing

You tore open the envelope of your most recent letter from Klaus. It told you stories of how it was nearly time for him to come home, but the past three had said that and as you still slept alone, such a statement sounded insane.

Klaus’s letter told you to wait, to never change, to still be the woman he left behind, not to come and look for him.

The thought had crossed your mind plenty of times, and for a while, it had taken Rebekah staying with you to stop you from packing up your things and going to find him. The worst part about it all was the uncertainty. How long had passed between Klaus sending the letter and you receiving it?

You couldn’t even write back to him, couldn’t find out if he was still safe, if he wasn’t in danger. If he hadn’t fallen in love with someone else. You put the letter in the same box in which you kept the others, your eyes lingering on the last line.

I love you, Y/N.

You closed the box, sighing as you tried to hold in the tears. There was nothing anyone could say anymore to make it better, to reassure you. It had been too long.

You just wanted Klaus back.

And no matter where I go I'm always gonna want you back No matter how long you're gone

You needed some fresh air. Walking down the streets of New Orleans, you reminisced on the times you had spent with Klaus. Maybe if he never came back, the streets of the French Quarter would be too much to bear. Maybe you would have to leave.

Your heart and your memories told you otherwise. Wherever you went, you would carry Klaus with you, always wanting him by your side.

There was the coffee shop where you had your first date, there were the stone steps leading up to the library where he had kissed you for the first time. There was the tree under which he had told you he loved you, and there was the courtyard where he had said it for the final time.

You stared at the empty space, your last memory of Klaus, of his smile, of his eyes, and you exhaled.

Klaus could not come back for years, decades even, and yet, you would always love him. You would always miss him, always yearn for him.

You could try to get over him but it wouldn’t work. You didn’t want it to.

You breathed again, and decided that it was time to go home.

Whatever that was.

I'm always gonna want you back I know you know I will never get over you

You were too absorbed in self-pity to hear movement inside your house. It wasn’t until you opened the front door that you snapped out of your thoughts of Klaus, of knowing that you were stuck loving him until the end of your days, that you noticed your book wasn’t where you had left it.

You looked over at the box where you kept your letters. It was open, several papers scattered on the table.

Your first thought was that this was just typical. Klaus was out there, hiding from the world in order to ensure your safety and instead you would die at the hand of a random intruder. It would all be for nothing, and you would die unhappy and alone.

You weren’t going to let that happen. You picked up a lamp and held it high above your head, tiptoeing into the kitchen.

It wasn’t until you rounded the corner and peered at your intruder that shock started to set in.

The lamp clattered to the floor, but it didn’t matter.

Not when Klaus Mikaelson was leaning against your kitchen table with the biggest grin on his face. “Hello love.”

No, there would be no getting over him. Not now, not ever.

No matter where I go I'm always gonna want you back Want you back

“I like what you’ve done with the place since I’ve been gone.” Klaus gestured around, before his eyes settled back on you. They shone with such brightness that you felt your heart swell, shock fading as you realised that he was back.

Klaus was really back.

You didn’t say anything as you crossed the gap between you and Klaus, and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling his lips to yours.

That first kiss was indescribable. It was everything you ever wanted and more. You had him back, you had Klaus back, and you had nothing to worry about anymore. You could start your life with him, your perfect, normal life with him by your side and you would enjoy every moment of it.

It didn’t matter where you went, you were always going to want Klaus with you.

And as his hands tangled in your hair, as he spun you around and lifted you up onto the kitchen table, his lips never leaving yours, you knew that he felt the same.

Klaus Mikaelson would always love you. He had said so in his letters, and now, as you reunited with him, you knew he meant every word.

Every single one.

Masterlist

[sam-urai]

NOCTURNE OP55N1 (rooftop calls)

"You'll regret it if you don't. I wish I had had the chance to." Johnny's gaze was heavy and stubborn. Vince dropped his to the ground, feeling woozy and unsteady even though he was seated.

He was silent for a very long time, just staring at the ground, admiring the way the neon lights of the city refracted in the puddles at his feet. He took a shakey breath, barely holding back tears. His eyes stung painfully, so he closed them, instead pulling up his HUD and navigating his way to the contacts.

> Kerry Eurodyne

He hesitated calling, sitting up and sliding down further into the uncomfortable plastic chair. He raised his eyes to the sky. He couldn't see the stars, of course, you never can in Night City. He missed them, maybe he'd never see them again.

He hit dial, waiting the agonising few moments until Kerry picked up, Vince rubbed a hand over his face. Johnny stayed silent, just listening in.

"V? Hey, man, what's happening?" The instant relief Vince felt when he heard Kerry's voice was indescribable. He closed his eyes again, trying to hold down the emotions. He must have been silent for too long because Kerry called his name again.

"Yeah, hey. Hey... 'm here. How are you, Ker?" His voice was hoarse and raw, he knew he sounded like shit, slurring his words slightly.

"V, is everything okay?" Kerry picked up on it. Of course he did.

"Yeah, 'course. 'm fine. What 'ave you been up to?" He felt like he had no energy, he was sinking further and further into the warm emptiness and he wasn't sure if he'd ever get to breathe again, or if he was just destined to drown.

"Eh you know how it is. Trying to write music, failing miserably, drinking, watching shitty TV..." There was a small silence before he added "Missing you..." Kerry sounded sad, Vince couldn't blame him.

He bit his lip, his vision blurring as the tears made themselves known. "I miss you too, Ker..."

"When are you coming by next? When's this gig over?" V felt a pang of guilt and despair shoot straight through his heart.

"I'm not too sure. Should be soon. Yeah, I'll come by soon, I promise." Vince lied, feeling a hot tear slide down his face.

[duskwood-legacies]

“Blood Moon Masquerade”

•Fandom: Duskwood

•Pairing/Character: Jake x fem!MC

•Word Count: 1.5k

•Genre: Romance, Angst

•Summary: MC pursuaded Jake to attend the infamous Blood Moon Ball along her side. However, the blissful and furious spark of the night shall take an unpleasant turn.

-----

Cold air surrounded Jake and MC, spots of the starry sky covered by dark clouds. Their arms were hooked together as they neared the castle’s entrance.

MC had persuaded Jake into attending a masquerade ball on this special night with her. He was strictly against it at first. He thought public events portrayed a too great threat for them, but after seeing MC’s sad, almost heart-shattered expression he gave in.

Tonight was the night of the “super blood moon”. Jake didn’t want to steal it away from her. She has always wished to see this moon, has been expecting this day with joy and excitement for weeks. When she saw the poster inviting to this event, she couldn’t be held back anymore.

It was a masquerade ball. Parts of their faces would be covered, making it harder for them to be recognized. Jake also knew MC would be as careful as him. Those were the main thoughts keeping him composed.

Guards supervised the entrance. MC and Jake greeted them with a lightly nervous but friendly smile. The guards inspected them intensely, going as far as searching them through for weapons and other harmful objects.

Jake’s corded muscles relaxed by a bit as they got a green light and were allowed inside. MC gave him a kiss on the cheek to reassure him everything was okay before finally entering the building and venturing through the castle’s corridors. After taking three or four turns, they arrived at the open doors of the ballroom.

The ballroom was enormous. Chandeliers made of crystals hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined by elegant pillars. Soft shades of beige painted the entire room, occasional decorations made of gold provided the final touch of luxury to the royal place.

They entered the room with sheer amazement.

Countless amounts of people filled the place after them. Countless of amounts that could get them in trouble, countless amounts that would help blend in and hide. The endless contraries Jake and MC faced on their run, the endless opportunities each of these contraries brought.

It’s not about how face the world, it’s about how you view it. How you observe it. Observe the contraries, weight your chances and then face the world.

Right now, they blend in perfectly. Their chances of staying safe were high.

They stood near the windows as happy chatter sounded through the air. Closely Jake examined MC’s appearance from under his mask, not being quite able to tear his gaze away from her.

She wore a plain black mask around her eyes and an A-Line dress that hugged her figure tightly to the smallest part of her waist, until it divided into a wider, floor-length skirt. The skirt was made of a black base with uneven layers of golden fabric, which were yet again covered by a thin, transparent black net-like fabric. The upper part of her dress was black as well, covered in marvelous golden flower pattern.

MC did the exact same. From Jake’s black leather boots, to his black and white suit to his golden tie and black-golden mask. He looked breathtaking. Both their outfits matched well together, both their outfit matched well with their surroundings and other couples.

The chatter quieted down as the hostess announced herself. Applause filled the air, Jake and MC joining in.

After the hostess’ speech, music started playing and butlers walked around the room handing out champagne. Jake and MC both took a glass, smiling at each other and taking a sip. They kept standing on the sidelines, assuring they were safe and their pursuers weren’t nearby, or at least didn’t recognize them.

Once the alcohol of the now emptied glasses reached their blood flow, their tension eased a bit off. MC waved a butler over so she and Jake could get rid of their glasses.

After the butler walked away, Jake turned towards MC, a gentle smile evident on his lips and holding out his hand for her.

“Would you give me this dance?”

MC grinned and gratefully took Jake’s hand. She knew how much he hated dancing and how much he probably despised being here, but she was endlessly thankful for him to come along and even offer her a dance. Not even his smile could convince her otherwise.

Jake, somewhat reluctant at first, drew MC close and slowly started swaying across the dancefloor with her. He wanted her to enjoy the night, in defiance of the presence of danger. The only way to assure they kept safe and allow MC to enjoy herself was by dancing.

Against the fact of Jake’s initial boldness, they relished the dance and soon started to move more elegantly as Jake grew more confident. Despite the growing confidence in both of them, neither let their environment quite out of sight.

The lights of the room went out, allowing the silver-blue moonlight from outside to illuminate the place through its large windows. It was part of the ball. The guests grew excited, knowing exactly the vanishing of the lights announced the soon-arrival of the blood moon.

The music and dancing carried on. If it wasn’t for their eyes, touch and heart-stopping appearance, MC and Jake would have gotten exhausted by now. It was the adrenaline, each other’s company that kept them on their feet, kept them going, kept pushing further.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours.

They danced as the music drowned the room in mysterious beats and melodies. Tranquilized with each other’s bodies in their embrace, they lost themselves in the music and danced away in their own, little universe.

Jake’s and MC’s feet guided them over the wooden floor like they were leaping through a sea of clouds. Their caution dissolved into nothingness with each step they took. They became careless in a world with no mercy left for them.

The world around them got competitive without their awareness. Everyone wanted to out-dance one another, everyone wanted to show that they are better than anyone in this room.

The soft moonlight began to shift. The lunar eclipse has begun.

Timed perfectly, the music increased in tension and speed, sending floods of hot lava through their veins. MC’s and Jake’s minds were melting away piece by piece.

Passion burning like millions of fires ignited in their bodies as they moved over the dancefloor with swiftness and finesse. Nothing has ever felt so indescribable. Jake’s gaze remained on MC. The black mask around her eyes made them shine brighter than the stars outside, brighter than the diamonds and crystals of the chandeliers.

The moon’s gleam grew into a rosé color.

The competition that had broken loose before kept going. The ballroom now didn’t hold hundreds of people anymore, but hundreds of universes those people were floating in. MC focused on every single one of Jake’s touches, savoring, memorizing every second of this moment as long as it lasted. She looked up to see his face. Despite the mask, his face seemed so perfect, so comfortingly familiar.

By now, the moonlight seized the entire room in its deep red glow.

The meeting of their eyes was like a match thrown into gasoline to their feelings. Their performance they never imagined to appear so flawless, so powerful, reached its climax. The sea of clouds they were walking on turned into an ocean of feathers, pushing them across the floor with weightless elegance and emotion.

MC’s dress was flowing with ethereal grace as she spun underneath Jake’s hand, catching him in a trance he’s never been in before. The red, the gold, the black. Her sight was too heavenly to look away.

He pulled her close again and lifted her off the ground, pirouetting with her in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his body for better hold and tighter proximity.

MC stared deep into Jake’s eyes as they twirled over their ocean of feathers. The moonlight crossing his eyes, the red color painting his frame. He was too divine to break away from.

Jake gently set MC down on her feet again. It was time for their dream to come to an end.

Both of them noticed people pushing through the crowd, people that didn’t exactly look like guests. The fierce sensation the taste of danger left prickling on their skin made their hairs stand up.

Their chances of a safe escape slipped away.

MC felt guilt creeping into her eyes as the endlessness of this night seemed to crawl away, their pursuers drawing closer than they’ve ever been.

She placed her hands behind Jake’s neck and pulled him closer. His hands snaked around her waist, gradually giving in to her pull.

Their lips met in a soft, almost defeated way.

They knew they’ve been caught, they knew they had to fight their way out. They knew they were outnumbered.

Helplessness spread in both their chests as they broke the kiss. Their gazes met one more time with the awareness of their evaporating opportunities lying heavily between them. MC could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, feel the remorse in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Jake”

-----

A/N: Hi everyone!💕 I want to mention that I don't really have knowledge on how masquerade balls work, so I apologize for inaccuracies in advance! I still hope you enjoyed the story🌿💕

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

[kevyfanfics]

Remembering You

From @kevyfanfics to the @opal-earrings for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange event!! I hope you have fun with it because it was an absolute blast :) <3000

AO3 Link

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Stephen Strange, Helen Cho

Summary: All Tony can do is stare at the pale, unmoving form of Peter as hands force his heart to beat and air is pushed into his lungs. This time it’s different. There's no beeping to prove he's still alive as he lies there, no steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Tony doesn't realize he's on his knees until hands are gripping his shoulders.

“No. No no no no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please, don't go, I'm so sorry, I still need you, kid, I didn't-” He's cut off by his own sobs, vaguely aware of the steady arms that keep him up as he curls in on himself. I didn't mean it, he desperately repeats in his head, begging in a way he had never begged before.

Or: Peter gets amnesia after a grueling fight, forgetting who he is to Tony.

Possible TW // Temporary character death

Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

---

Tony sits with his head down, palms digging his eyes as he waits. And waits. And waits… God, he's so sick of waiting. It’s been weeks. Too many weeks to keep track of when all Tony can think of is the lifeless, comatose kid beneath pristine sheets and surrounded by get-well-soon gifts. The only thing that keeps him sane these days is the constant beeping from the heart monitor, but even that’s beginning to grate on him. It taunts him. The beeping never changes its pace, reminding him every second of every minute of every day that it’s the only proof he has that Peter’s alive.

“You should get some food.” Tony drags his half-lidded gaze to May who walks to Peter’s bedside. His eyes, surrounded by dark circles, follow her as she does so. He doesn't have the energy to respond. May expects the “what if he wakes up while I'm gone?” like every day…but it never comes. Instead, he stands and leaves without so much as a word. She worries that he's finally reached his emotional limit. That he’ll start to distance himself and detach from his emotions. That he’ll give up on them. On Peter. And god she can't go through this alone.

Tony walks down the empty hall, steps echoing against the linoleum floor. The LED tube lights above him only make everything seem more bleak then they already are. They flicker slightly, but he keeps his eyes downcast. Through pure muscle memory, he makes it to the medbay cafeteria and sits at a table. He doesn't get food, just…sits and glares at the metallic surface.

Don't fucking drag it out like this, he thinks with indignation. He just can't take it anymore, going in and seeing nothing change. He's at his limit. It’s too much. If you're gonna leave, just do it already. I can't keep seeing you like this. You already look dead. Just get it over with. All he can see is Peter’s bright, brown eyes lit up with excitement, his wide, lopsided smile that lights up the whole workshop. A soft sob forces its way past his lips as he tightly grips his hair in both hands. Stop it already. Stop it. Stop-

“Tony!” His head snaps up, eyes wide with a sudden panic that assaults his system. At first he thinks it was in his head, his mind already buzzing with voices, but then a crash cart is rushed down the hallway. No. He gets up so fast that the aluminum chair crashes to the floor, forgotten behind him. His shoes squeak as he sprints down the hall, breathing fast, heart in his throat, blood pumping through his ears.

When the flatline reaches him, he swears he could cry right then and there.

He skids to a stop, frantically scanning for something, anything to relieve his anxiety… But what he gets is a room of nurses doing too many things at once for him to discern.

“Baby, baby please don't do this,” May begs off to the side, one of the nurses doing their best to comfort and hold her back at the same time. All Tony can do is stare at the pale, unmoving form of Peter as hands force his heart to beat and air is pushed into his lungs. This time it’s different. There's no beeping to prove he's still alive as he lies there, no steady rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Tony doesn't realize he's on his knees until hands are gripping his shoulders.

“No. No no no no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please, don't go, I'm so sorry, I still need you, kid, I didn't-” He's cut off by his own sobs, vaguely aware of the steady arms that keep him up as he curls in on himself. I didn't mean it, he desperately repeats in his head, begging in a way he had never begged before.

“One milligram epinephrine and a twenty milliliter flush!” a voice shouts over the chaos, barely reaching Tony’s ringing ears. Everything is moving too fast and the whole scene blurs in his vision, but the asystole rings true. He can't take this.

“You've never given up a day in your life! Don't you dare start now!” Tony screams at the top of his lungs, but then he feels himself being dragged out of the room. Peter’s bed gets farther and farther away as he begins to thrash. “Let go! Get the fuck off me!” But the arms easily keep him at bay even as he fights against them.

“Tony! Tony, you gotta let ‘em work! C’mon, man! It’s okay!” The voice finally fills his ears and he whips around to see Rhodey. It’s been a long time since he’s seen tears in the man’s eyes, but they don't spill over. “It’s okay,” he repeats, “Peter’s strong. You know that.” Tony grips his forearm like a lifeline, pleading look never wavering.

“We’ve got a rhythm!” Tony’s attention snaps back to the room so fast it makes the walls tilt. More medical jargon is listed off but all he can focus on is the beeping. The beeping that annoyed him a mere fifteen minutes ago now filled him with hope and an indescribable relief as he continued sobbing silently.

He never complained about the monitor again.

His stare, however, still hovers over the bandages protecting the burns Peter endured all those weeks ago. Thousands of volts and the ear piercing scream of pure agony was almost more than Tony could handle. He still hears it echoing in his nightmares. Peter’s vitals have been stable for a week now and Cho said he could wake up at any moment, but the wait was still putting everyone’s nerves on edge…because there was still the chance he could never wake up. And that just wasn't an option.

Tony continues to sit in that damn chair, day after day, waiting like he isn't the most impatient person on the planet. He’d always wait for Peter.

Then the sheets shift under his touch, making him flinch at the sudden movement and sit up with his back straight as a rod. Peter’s moving. His eyes are squeezed shut and his white-knuckled fingers are gripping the blankets, but he doesn't move more than that. Tony can hear his blood pumping through his ears, searching for some, any, sign that this is it. That he's waking up.

“Fri, get May down here,” he gently calls, hoping to not jar Peter with the volume. He practically holds his breath in anticipation as the kid stills, color draining from Tony’s face and hope leaving his body in waves. No, he couldn't have just called May for a false alarm. He can't handle their hopes being drowned in despair again. They've waited too-

Those bleary, dravite eyes, that haven't opened for far too long, drag themselves open. Tony immediately presses the call button on the bedside railing before taking Peter’s hand carefully in his own, gingerly working on relaxing the fingers in his hold. The glazed-over look drags down to where their hands are connected, then back up to Tony’s face, finally acknowledging him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony greets with a watery smile, tears on the verge of falling. “You with us?” Peter’s stare bores into him, not quite lucid but more aware than moments prior. But he just…stares. His hand doesn't tighten, yet it doesn't pull away either. The tense atmosphere isn't what Tony expected.

“Peter?” The kid’s head lolling towards the wavering voice of his aunt.

“May,” Peter lets out in a relieved breath and his hand slips from Tony’s grasp to reach for her. Tony ignores the pang of disappointment in his chest, quickly shoving it down when he reminds himself that she actually raised the kid. The bandages pull at the unhealed burns, but Peter doesn't so much as flinch. Since he was comatose, his healing had been slowed along with his metabolism, going into a hibernation-like sleep that Cho assured was par for the course.

“Hey, baby.” May grasps his hand in a heartbeat, doing her best to reassure him with a smile. However, Peter swallows nervously and looks between her and Tony, a borderline panicked look in his eyes.

“Am I dying?” he chokes out, finally settling on asking May. Of all the things May expected her nephew to say after waking up from a coma, that certainly wasn't on the list.

“What?” Tony questions, completely lost and trying to keep up.

“I-” May cuts herself off, searching her kid’s face. “What do you mean?” She glances up at Tony, a hint of a threat if he kept anything from her, but he shakes his head.

“Is this some kind of Make-A-Wish thing?” Peter elaborates as his voice cracks. “‘Cause Tony freaking Stark is in here and if I’m dying I kinda wanna know what's going on.” The tension bleeds into thick silence, Tony’s wide eyes glued to the back of Peter’s head. He frantically starts pressing the nurse call button over and over. They're all saved from delving into the sudden jostling of their realities by Helen Cho rushing in.

“Peter,” she greets with a pleased nod, “you're awake. It’s good to see you again.” If Peter was confused before, he sure is now.

“Why- how am I- I don't-” His gaze flickers around the room in search of answers, then a squeeze of his hand pulls his gaze back to May. Tony feels like he's a third party to an emotional moment that he doesn't deserve to be a part of. Especially since Peter…

“You're okay,” May comforts with as much conviction as she can muster. “You're not,” she's quick to rephrase it, “you aren't going anywhere. Do you remember what happened?” Peter instantly opens his mouth, but it’s at a disconnect with his mind. Nothing comes when it’s called and having a now very obvious blank spot in his memory doesn't help with his anxiety. His fists grip the sheets at his sides, making the bandages pull at wounds he didn't even know he had. Wounds he doesn't even know how he got. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

I’m not gonna freak out in front of Tony Stark, I’m not gonna freak out in front of Tony Stark, I’m not- His fists shake, pins and needles enveloping them as he tries to keep his breathing under control. Despite his best efforts, tears gather and blur his vision as he fights for control.

Tony recognizes the signs in a heartbeat, but May’s hand is rubbing circles on Peter’s back before he can do anything. He has to sit there, watching as May talks Peter through a panic attack like Tony’s done countless times before. He should be helping. He should be able to tell the kid that he’s there, that he’s going to fix everything like he has before, but now…it feels like an empty promise. It goes against every fiber of his being to not hold his kid and rock them back and forth and do everything he would've done before.

Once Peter is calmed down, looking more exhausted than when he was actually asleep, Dr. Cho does a thorough physical and psychological examination to gauge where they’re at. The only thing that stands out physically still is the burns, otherwise his body did a great job of regulating itself. Psychologically, on the other hand…

“Amnesia?!” Peter squeaks out, staring at Dr. Cho like she’s grown another head.

“Simply put, yes. More than likely some form of memory repression,” she sighs, setting down her notes and crossing her legs

“But I don't- what am I even forgetting?!” He remembers May, he remembers Ned, MJ, all of Midtown High, so what else is there?

“Peter, the…voltage you sustained posed a number of problems. We’re lucky we got your heart back into sinus rhythm.” Tony tenses at that, knowing the grueling, arduous process of whether or not Peter was gonna make it, whether it was a shockable rhythm or time for CPR.

“Do we think it’s from the electrical shocks or…” the trauma dies on May’s tongue, worriedly glancing back to Peter.

“I'm thinking it could be a combination,” Dr. Cho answers honestly, catching her double meaning. “Any electrical shock from 120 to 52,000 volts can cause neurological damage. On a psychological level, what you went through was also traumatic.” She does her best to broach the topic slowly, but Peter’s anxiety is already kicked into high gear.

“Traumatic?” He knows it’s Spider-Man related, it has to be, but why would she know about it? God, he can't keep up. He just has to keep it cool. Yeah, cool. “So, like, I can't remember ‘cause something bad happened and now I have a Sam Beckett swiss cheese brain?” he clarifies, hiding his fear behind a façade of humor. Surprisingly, Tony snorts despite himself and the situation.

“You remember an arbitrary Quantum Leap reference but you don’t remember who I am?” He knows he shouldn't push it considering all the red flags, but since when does he keep his mouth shut? Peter might cope through humor, but Tony copes by shoving his feelings down far deeper than he needs to. Even though tears burn at the back of his eyes. Even though his throat aches with emotion. The bandaged teen’s head swivels back to look at him, his face looking caught between going pale and flushing.

“You're Tony Stark, I'm pretty sure I said that,” Peter says slowly, and suddenly Tony wishes those familiar, brown eyes weren't on him. Because he knows those eyes by heart, but they don't hold an ounce of recognition anymore. “It’s, it’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark,” Peter shifts his gaze back to May for help, “but shouldn't he…not be here for this kinda stuff? It’s embarrassing and there's sensitive topics and-” Just as fast as his ramblings, he looks back to the billionaire. “You're…you’re not here for Make-A-Wish…” Slowly, Tony shakes his head with a seemingly nonchalant sniff. He’ll never admit it’s from the unshed tears.

“No, kiddo.” He doesn't mean for the term of endearment to slip out, but it’s so natural after all this time that he doesn't even think to hold it back. The confusion shows in the way Peter’s eyebrows pull together. There's a warm hand threading through his fingers, and he welcomes the assurance.

“It’s okay,” May’s soft voice tells him from behind. “He helps with a lot. Especially Spider-Man.” This time, Peter’s face does pale several shades and he whips around to see her in shock. She couldn't have just said that. There's no way she just said Spider-Man. Oh god, she, she-

“You know?” he looks around the room, suddenly feeling like he's in the Twilight Zone while everyone else seems so frustratingly calm. “You all know?! Why do you know?! How do you know?! I-” Then, his features slowly relax as he makes eye contact with Tony once more.

He holds the gaze this time, not shying away or brushing him off. It takes every bit of strength Tony has left to not squirm under the stare.

“You're what I forgot,” Peter realizes in a whisper, not sure how to feel. “Why?” ‘Cause I'm like my father, Tony’s mind supplies him with, but this isn't about him and his insecurities. Instead he clears his throat, not exactly sure how to answer. Luckily, Cho saves him.

“Since it was an incident related to Spider-Man, it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility to theorize that your brain did what it did to protect itself,” she summarizes as best she can. “The build up was too much, so it eliminated that pressure by removing the memories involved entirely. Including Tony and I. We don't know how far that spreads right now.” May nods along with her words and Tony tries not to bite through his cheek. I traumatized him so much that he-

“At least I can't remember that lecture,” Peter chuckles lightly, veering off on a tangent as he looks down at the sheets. “I bet you ripped my head off when you found out about Spidey.” May smiles fondly and brushes his cheek with her knuckles. “I'm sorry I, uh, forgot you, sir,” he finishes sheepishly. What Tony would give to run a comforting hand through those curls, but the “sir” is like a punch to the face.

“We’ll figure it out, bud,” he settles for, instead. It’s then that he stands, knees popping, and shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling. “I actually know a neurosurgeon, so you're in luck.” He smiles tightly and makes his way to the doorway. “Let me make a few calls.” And finally he's out of the suffocating room, able to freely clench his fists even though he’d much rather punch a wall.

He's losing Peter.

Instead, he channels that frustration into something more productive, yanking his phone out and typing as fast as his shaking thumbs will allow. Within moments, a portal of orange and gold sparks appears in front of him.

“What's the emergency?” Stephen questions purposefully, still dressed in casual clothes due to the distressed S.O.S. message. Something about having someone part of their misfit family here, someone he’d trust his life with, makes his carefully placed walls crumble. The tears swell, his face turns red, and his breathing picks up.

“Peter woke up.” He had kept the doctor in the loop throughout the process, but this hadn't been the reaction Stephen was expecting when the kid eventually woke up. Before he can even ask for clarification, Tony is barreling forward. “He, he doesn't, Helen said-” A firm, grounding hand is placed on his shoulder. Stephen takes an overexaggerated breath for him to follow and nods encouragingly. Tony returns the nod, grateful for the man, and rakes a hand through his hair. “He doesn't remember me. Us. Everything before Germany is repressed because of the trauma. God, I was such an idiot bringing a fourteen-year-old kid into this.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes, despite the ever-present tremor in it, and he reminds himself to stay calm for Peter.

“We’re going to work this out,” Stephen promises, eyebrows set together in determination. “I'm not a psychologist,” he reminds, despite his copious amount of knowledge when it comes to the brain, “but it sounds like dissociative amnesia. Caused by copious amounts of stress and trauma that the mind can't handle, in Peter’s case evidently leading to localized amnesia.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters, followed by a deep breath. “Okay, alright, what can we do?” His voice is borderline desperate, but at this point he doesn't care how he sounds. All he cares about is Peter being okay.

“The good news is that dissociative amnesia tends to be relatively short,” the sorcerer is sure to point out. “Memories can be triggered by familiar surroundings, a phrase, anything, but it’ll likely come back all at once. All you have to do is get him comfortable and wait. I know patience isn't your biggest virtue, but I'm sure you’ll manage.” The snarky jab and slight smirk tagged on at the end helps things feel a bit more normal. Tony mirrors the smirk as much as he can muster

“Do me a solid and talk with May?” Tony requests, knowing it’ll be more succinct coming from him Over the weeks, Stephen has also become acquainted with May. They've been practically taking shifts with Stephen occasionally forcing both of them to rest. The doctor gives a curt nod, but doesn't release Tony’s shoulder when he turns to walk away. Tony looks back at him with an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“He’ll remember, it’ll just be a matter of time. Be there for him, Stark,” Stephen urges and Tony instantly gets what he means: don't run from the feelings. Tony huffs while waving him off, yet not denying it.

With that done, some semblance of a plan is put into place: Peter stays in the penthouse to help encourage the suppressed memories to resurface. It could be anytime from here on out, they just had to trust that it would, somehow, work itself out when surrounded by things he knows. Or should know. All in all, Peter seemed surprisingly unaffected. Aside from the obvious, buzzing excitement of staying with his childhood superhero, he didn't appear all that bothered. Awkward, if nothing else.

“So you're telling me I’ve been in your personal workshop? Me. Peter Parker,” Peter reiterates with disbelief. “This is insane!” He turns in a circle, looking at every corner and taking it all in.

“Sure have,” Tony confirms, sauntering in behind the kid with a brief smile. “You have your own room here, too. Personalized and all that shizz.” He vaguely waves his hand in the air as if it explains everything. However, Peter turns to him with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights. And for a faint, fleeting moment, Tony has hope. Hope that the mere mention is enough to make everything normal again.

“Personalized? Ned’s gonna freak!” Hope is a dangerous thing. Tony bites back the comment about how Ned already knows. To drown out the thoughts, he clears his throat and continues.

“We can do anything you want, kid,” he prompts as he leans on the nearby counter and crosses his arms. He wants to give Peter control over the circumstances. Still, the teen’s eyes flit from his surroundings to the ground.

“Um, what would we usually do?” he wonders, suddenly feeling out of place. It’s like meeting someone who knew you when you were a child but you, for the life of you, can't remember. With such simple words, Tony can't help but think of all those late nights in the lab, ordering pizza and talking for hours on end. What he would give to have that back.

“Well,” Tony starts, voice a tad too tight, “we could start in the lab if you want.” His suggestion is met with enthusiastic nods and, despite the slight discomfort between them, head down the elevator.

“What if,” Peter nonchalantly sniffs, something he doesn't know he got from Tony, yet Tony is painfully aware of, “what if I don't remember?” The insecurity and fear seeps into his voice without shame, something that rarely happens with the kid. Tony can't hold back the hand he clamps on Peter’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

“You will,” he says with a surprising amount of confidence. “Knowing your flare for the dramatic, it’ll happen when we both least expect it.” Peter snorts at that, but returns the smile he's offered. Because deep down, he knows Tony’s right.

And that's exactly what happens. They both know it can take up to days, weeks, rarely even months, but Tony sure as hell wasn't expecting it within the first few hours. They're sitting at Tony’s workbench, going over some of the Spider-Man suit schematics they left off on a few weeks prior to the incident.

“It was a choice between sacrificing tensile strength and compression because the nitrile-”

“It hurt.” The words violently rip Tony from his train of thought. It’s said so casually that it throws him for a loop before he snaps his gaze onto the kid. Peter’s staring straight ahead, through the hologram, as silent tears stream down his cheeks and drip off his chin.

“Bud-”

“It hurt a lot,” Peter continues, throat constricting this time as the emotion starts to show on his face. “It felt like I was being burned from the inside out and I couldn't- Electro he-” His own sob cuts him off and his arms curl protectively around his middle, the burns somehow flaring up at the onslaught of memories that hit him like a freight train. Tony isn't sure if he can touch the kid and comfort him the way he has so many times before because fuck what if he remembers the fight but not him? His hesitation is thrown to the as soon as Peter hunches in on himself and his breathing picks up.

“Hey, I've got you,” he gently says as he wraps careful arms around his kid, mindful of the bandages. “I know, kiddo. I'm so sorry,” he whispers while Peter’s brain catches up. It’s like the memories were never gone, and he doesn't feel any different, but being forced to process the fight with Electro so suddenly with his lungs on fire feels like torture all over again.

“I, Mr. Stark I thought I was gonna die and, and all I could think about was you and May and- you! How could I ever forget you, I'm so sorry-” He cries harder, burying his face in Tony’s chest and pulling his arms closer. “It was like, like looking at you but not seeing you and it, I just, it was awful.” He feels like the biggest disappointment on the planet, but Tony won't let that happen.

“Look at me,” Tony kneels, “let me see those eyes.” Slowly, Peter pulls himself from Tony’s sweatshirt, looking entirely like the piping hot mess he feels he is. “There is nothing that would ever stop me from loving you, Peter. You got that? You could forget me every day for the rest of your life and I would still call you my kid. Nothing’s gonna change that.” Peter presses his lips together to keep his face from crumpling further as more tears glide down his face, and nods.

“Okay,” he whispers with his whole heart. “I missed you.” He dives right back into Tony’s chest, desperately seeking the comfort they both need. Tony welcomes it and hugs the kid back, placing a kiss on the top of his head and holding him close.

“I missed you too, kid,” he reciprocates into the curls. Like he had wanted to when Peter first woke up, he gently rocks them back and forth, taking in the moment. They have each other back, and they sure aren't letting each other go anytime soon. Then, Peter tenses. Tony pulls back to see Peter has gone slightly pale. Of course, already on edge, he starts to panic. “What’s wrong?” he questions, looking over the kid desperately.

“I remember May’s lecture…” Peter says with wide eyes as a chill runs down his spine. Tony chuckles breathlessly in relief, bringing Peter back in to rest his chin atop the kid’s head. This kid might be the death of him, but he’d welcome it with open arms if it meant he’d have this.

---

Thank you for reading!🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm First Interlude: Electricity in the Springs

Kung Lao x Reader

Look, I don't even think these fit into the actual timeline of the story? But it was fun to write. An imagine that still fits in this Oncoming Storm universe! Will post Liu Kang here in a second. AND ALSO I could not make them kiss before they kiss in the actual story, so again, I'm only kind of sorry for the torture! Lol.

Part 1 of The Oncoming Storm Second Interlude: Steam (Liu Kang x Reader)

The training session had been rough that afternoon. You felt you’d more than earned a trip to the springs after how exhausting it had been. Besides, your inky arcana kept leaving you soaked. The only time you truly felt clean after a fight like that was when you got to bask in the springs. You understood why Liu was constantly covered in soot now. It was easier to function as a mess than to go out of your way to the springs. Worse than that, the springs were a time suck. You’d come down there and fall asleep or get carried away listening to stories told to you by the monks that frequented them.

That day was no different. You made your way to the springs, towel wrapped around you securely, and you joined a group of female monks who had invited you to sit with them. You listened to them speak about their day animatedly and then sat in comfortable silence while they continued to talk amongst themselves. You tended to check out when you were no longer included but had caught them talking about you several times.

Their gossip was never a bad thing, but they did enjoy teasing you for the company you preferred to keep. The fiery Liu Kang and handful that was Kung Lao. The monks jostled you awake and then bowed respectfully and said they had to take their leave. You were fine with that. There wouldn’t be anyone else in the springs but you and you would bask in the warmth of its waters and the emptiness of its walls.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed in the water and resigned that you would likely fall asleep for the afternoon. It almost always happened every time you came down there. Why did you resist the siren call of the relaxing water? You had no idea. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you resisted a great many things those days. Perhaps it was out of habit, perhaps out of guilt. Who knew? The human psyche was complicated and you had no aspirations of figuring it out.

Footsteps were followed by a familiar energy but before you’d sat up and opened your eyes, Kung Lao had leapt into the water and a great wave of bubbling warm water soaked over you in a wave. You fell over with a laugh. Upon correcting yourself, you were met with a face full of water. Kung Lao was splashing you, a grin on his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” You laughed, wiping your hand over your face. He splashed you again as if to make a point, though what the hell that point was you had no idea. You splashed him back as he made to speak and he coughed, spitting out water. You chuckled and swam a little away from him in case he retaliated.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he considered his options. “Oh, now you’re in trouble.”

“What? You started it!” You swam further away, making your way into the next pool but Kung Lao pushed into the water and the wave that it resulted in knocked you back into the water. You yelped and barely caught your breath before being submerged. He offered a hand to pull you back up and you smacked his arm then splashed him in the face. You coughed up water and then splashed him a second time for good measure.

“I didn’t mean to drown you!” Despite his insistence he was still laughing, so much so that his face had turned red.

“It’s not that funny, Lao.”

“It’s pretty funny, Y/N.” He purposely called you by your full name almost constantly. You’d thought it started as him teasing you when they were kids but now it was kind of sweet. He was the only one who did it. Even Liu Kang called you by the shortened form of your name. Kung Lao settled next to you but you scooted a cautious foot away from him. He laughed and purposely closed the gap between you again. “Hey!” He objected when you pushed him away again.

“I don’t trust you for a single second.” You accused and he seemed to think your words over before nodding.

“That’s fair.”

“You came in here very… chaotic. You do know that people come here to relax, right?” You gestured toward the water.

“What people? It’s just you. Figured you could use some action.” Kung Lao rested comfortably, arms outstretched on either side of him, taking up an impressive amount of space for one man. That was when you realized that Kung Lao was completely naked and your expression must have changed so severely to alarm that he’d noticed. “What? It says clothing optional on the door. The towels get all heavy and saggy.”

“You are a mess of a human being.”

“Oh? And you like me, so what does that say about you?” He laughed, pointing an accusatory finger toward you.

“I’m deeply flawed, obviously.”

“You’re defensive, is what you are. Always have been.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval then closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He’d gone from hyper and attacking you with water to relaxing as though he’d been there all afternoon.

“Remember when I was that comfortable?”

“You need to learn to relax, Y/N.”

“I was relaxing, Kung Lao!” You splashed at him and he wiped his face free of water.

“Come on. Relax with me!”

“You are such an antagonist.”

“Sue me for having a little fun.” He stuck his tongue out at you then closed his eyes and relaxed again. You settled a bit away from him, sinking further into the water and avoiding looking at him. When he didn’t tease you further, you finally relaxed and closed your eyes. You heard the movement in the water but didn’t think much of it. When you opened your eyes, Kung Lao was crouched in the water before you, watching you.

“…you okay?” You asked curiously. He nodded and took your hands, pulling you further into the water with him. You leaned your head back with a whine and he laughed as he kept pulling. You allowed him to do so and he took you further into the pool until they were treading water. “You just can’t let me relax. That’s it. I’ve figured it out.”

“Tell me that this isn’t relaxing.”

“…it is.” You averted your gaze but agreed.

“What’s with the look?” He urged you to spin in the water with him and you laughed.

“I’m tired. You’re so needy right now.” He wasn’t usually like this. Well, he did have a fondness for pestering you but usually it was less pulling you around and more teasing.

“No reason.” He lied, right to your face! You saw it in his eyes. “Are you really bothered by me?”

“No.” You shrugged. “It is fun to give you a hard time though.” He laughed and splashed you lightly again. “So help me, Kung Lao…”

Much to your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close in a hug. You stiffened up at first, expecting to be dunked but his arms instead were comforting. He didn’t seem willing to let you go so you relented. Sometimes fighting with him was impossible anyway. And who were you to argue with him? His arms were strong, surrounding you, and offered you a deep security and indescribable warmth that was far beyond that of the springs.

“I’m really glad that you’re here, Y/N.” His voice was different then. The usual lilt of teasing was gone and it was deep and serene, a rare seriousness beyond his usual playfulness. There was a special place in your heart for Kung Lao. A hole that only he could fill, a hole you hadn’t realized was there until you’d been reunited with him.

“Me too, Kung Lao.” You watched the corner of his lip curl into a smile, fixated entirely on his lips. His hands brushed slowly over your back and then he rested his chin in your hair, offering the top of your head a kiss. You placed your hands against his chest and basked in the comfort he brought you. You leaned back up with every intention of telling him you were going to fall asleep and drown if you stayed there but found him watching you. The look in his eyes was so serious that you weren’t sure how to process it.

You pushed some of his messy hair away from his face. He took your hand and rested it on his strong jaw. That was your Kung Lao. All grown up and one hell of a man. Your fingers crept over his jaw and down his neck, eyes following your fingers. He tilted your chin back up, closer to him. His lips brushed just barely against yours and he hesitated, as if unsure that you would reciprocate. You would have, but that moment of hesitation was enough for you to wonder if either of you were ready for that.

You smiled and placed your other hand on his other cheek. Then with a yell, you leaned back and shoved him underwater, jumping up to do so. Then you swam backwards and away from him. When he popped back up and shook out his short, wild hair with a spray, he stared at you in disbelief. Then his smile returned, as if he understood why you’d done what you had done. You shared a knowing look.

“I’m going to get you back, Y/N. Just you wait for next time.” He swam to the other side of the springs and climbed atop the stone. You sunk into the water and turned away because there he was, naked, and making his way to the locker room. You stole a look when you were sure he wasn’t watching you. He had the cutest little butt, good god.

You sunk further into the water with a sigh. Placing your fingers to your lips, you swore you could feel the residual touch of just that gentle brush of his lips. It filled you with confused butterflies. There was no relaxing after that, so you made your way out of the springs.